A few years ago I was
challenged with writing my mother’s eulogy. Not necessarily a daunting task,
after all I had 60+ years of experiences, anecdotes and stories to draw from.
As I started to pull a few things together a dear friend made a suggestion that
I eventually followed. I decided to print the full version here in honor of
Mother’s Day and my mother.
I could
spend time relating a few stories from growing up around my mom. Most would be
very similar to the experiences you have had; scrambling to get dozens of
cookies decorated for home room holiday parties in grade school, the time that
she gave to the PTA and how disconcerting it was to have your mother on a first
name basis with the principal of your school, the dozens of baseball games she
kept score at, hundreds of trips to football or baseball or scouts that the old
station wagon was packed with kids, the high school activities and dances she
helped chaperone, the extra effort she had to give to my twin brother when he
was diagnosed with diabetes and later on the letters that came like clockwork
while I was in the Army – she kept mine neatly bundled up near the bottom of
her cedar chest.
We all have
stories to tell about growing up and then spending the holidays or joining the
family gatherings as adults. Beyond that I have a more unique perspective about
my mother than most might have. I chose to return home and spend time caring
for her – much like she cared for my brothers and me. I became responsible for paying the bills,
doing the laundry, cooking dinner, making doctor’s appointments, keeping her
safe and clean and warm. During those years her mental health deteriorated to
the point where I was forced to place her in a full time care facility. But
during the time we spent together prior to that I learned a great deal about
her and our family.
One of her
daily rituals was to read the newspaper from front to back, keeping it neatly
folded and placed beside her favorite chair when she was done. In the beginning
I wasn’t sure how much she really understood and retained. Then during dinner
she’d recount something she’d read that morning and how she felt about it. On
good days we’d watch baseball or football games together. To my surprise she
would know most of the player’s names and positions. Our conversations would
drift to little league games that had happened decades before. She would always
have this little smile and glint in her eyes as she spoke.
Occasionally
she’d drag out the old photo albums with pictures from “the farm” in Littleton
where she grew up. She’d relate stories I’d heard my grandmother tell many
years ago. The next time it would pictures of my dad’s family or our family.
Always there would be some anecdote that would reveal a side of her or dad or
my grandparents that I didn’t know existed. She was most proud of the
ballooning pictures that documented the hundreds of flights that she helped
crew for my twin brother. She didn’t fly with him that often but she’d talk
about how much she loved to watch all of the balloons “glide into the blue”.
Few people knew how much she feared for my brother’s safety and how it scared
her so much.
She loved
going for a ride in the car after spending so much time in the house. We’d pick
different routes to travel, passing by old landmarks that I hoped she would
know or remember. Some she would recognize and how some had disappeared and had
been replaced. She always marveled at the number of cars and people on the
streets. “Where did they all come from? What do they all do?”
Through all
of those years I gained a new and different kind of respect for her. A new
insight into what shaped her, her life and eventually mine. As the “good” days
dwindled away it became harder for her. And the frustration she suffered was
enormous. Eventually she couldn’t tell me my name but sometimes that wry little
smile would appear and her eyes would light up again if only for a moment or
two and she’d squeeze my hand or give me a hug.
Below is the
poem I’m Free – a framed copy of it appeared on her headboard not long after my
dad passed away. She insisted on having it, a family portrait and a picture of
my brother’s balloon with her when she moved into long term care. I never
really understood the significance for her, but certainly if she could she
would tell us not to grieve for her – because now she is free.
I'M
FREE
Don't
grieve for me, for now I'm free
I'm
following the path God has chosen for me.
I
took His hand when I heard him call;
I
turned my back and left it all.
I
could not stay another day,
To
laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks
left undone must stay that way;
I've
now found peace at the end of day.
If
my parting has left a void,
Then
fill it with remembered joys.
A
friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;
Oh
yes, these things, I too will miss.
Be
not burdened with times of sorrow
Look
for the sunshine of tomorrow.
My
life's been full, I savored much;
Good
friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.
Perhaps
my time seems all to brief;
Don't
lengthen your pain with undue grief.
Lift
up your heart and peace to thee,
God
wanted me now-He set me free
Take a few moments in the next few days and learn something new about your mom. If your opportunity has passed, like mine, rekindle a few choice memories and send her your smile...
Happy Mother’s Day Mom!
