My mother died March 5th. The following is the eulogy I gave at her burial at sea on March 18th. While I’m not an expert at eulogy writing, unfortunately, I’ve given three others before this one. But, this is my mother. How do you write a eulogy for an angel?
I put it off for 12 days and then, with no time left to spare, sat down to write. Overwhelmed with much to do and unable to cope with her death in my head and in my heart, I didn’t write her eulogy until virtually the last minute – just before midnight the night of March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day, which is actually a good thing because my mother was half Irish.
So, from now through Mother’s Day (her birthday was always around Mother’s Day), I’ll share other posts, including eulogies given by my sisters and brother, highlighting my mother’s extraordinary, ordinary life.
{Photo Credit: Joel Zwink}
I’m Not Ready
I wrote this late last night. And, I was not ready.
I was not ready because I haven’t had time since my mother died on March 5th to collect my thoughts and put them to paper.
I’m not ready because the last few days are a blur of various tasks, projects, conversations, arrangements, decisions, more tasks, more conversations and more decisions made to make this shindig happen.
I’m not ready because family and friends have descended over the last few days from all over the country AND from across the pond and chaos has ensued as we come together in hugs and kisses and shared memories, leaving no time to take care of last minute details, like collecting my thoughts and putting them to paper, that I have put off for 12 days because I’m not ready.
And, I’m not ready because she is gone and I’m not ready for her to be gone.
And, now it’s my turn.
It’s my turn to share stories of my mom and honor a woman loved by so many.
And, that’s what my mother’s legacy is all about – the unconditional love that she shared with us, her family, and so many others who are her family-at-heart.
And, we mourn her equally.
Last night, many family members and friends that were my mother’s family-in-heart, gathered round to share dinner and memories. Because of the weather, we were crammed together in a small cozy one-room cabin with many couches and chairs scattered about, eating from our laps and talking in groups while young children, Jo’s great-grandchildren, ran around doing what young children do. It was noisy and chaotic and crowded.
And, wonderful and wacky and joyful.
My mother was the common denominator of this disparate group – the person that connected us all and kept us all connected throughout the years. And, I thought to myself, “we would not be here, in this moment, without her.”
What a legacy she left us, filling our lives and souls with love for others and love for family.
Five years ago, when we buried my father at sea, Mom told us that this was what she wanted – to be buried at sea. And, now she’s with him again and I like to believe that he came to get her; that he told her he’d waited five years for her to join him and that was long enough to share her with all the other people that loved her and now it was time to be with him again.
As many of you know, 3 1/2 years ago we were told her death was “imminent” by two doctors. We were told it was best she be placed in hospice. Many of you traveled to visit her, to say goodbye in your own way, some of you from great distances. But, she defied the odds and turned a corner, outliving all the experts’ expectations.
Just 2 weeks before she passed, I met with Mom’s hospice social worker and her hospice care manager. They shared with me the phenomenon of what is called “nearing death awareness.” It is not uncommon for those near death to “see” loved ones that have gone before.
One of her caregivers shared with me that on the morning of Friday, March 2nd, Mom was at the dining table having her normal breakfast of two fried eggs over easy followed by a chocolate-covered vanilla ice cream on a stick when she lifted her frail arm pointing her bony finger into the living room beyond and said, “look, there’s so-and-so” (the caregiver couldn’t understand the name). The caregiver followed Mom’s finger and didn’t see anyone. “Where Jo?”, she asked. “There,” said Mom still pointing in the distance. But, there was no one there that the caregiver could see.
That afternoon, Mom turned a corner and started her decline. I like to think that my father came to get her. Whether or not it is true, the phenomenon of loved ones who have predeceased us coming to help our transition, it was true for her. And, I like to think it was my Dad.
They shared an extraordinary love story, marrying when they were 20, together for more than 63 years. They were each other’s best friend, teaching each other things from their different backgrounds – my dad’s love of music and art and my mother’s love of camping, gardening, and adventures.
My sister, Dawn, shared with all of you the first time she saw our mother cry when we were swimming at the airbase pool and President Kennedy was shot. But, she is wrong and doesn’t remember the real first time because she was too young!
We (the 3 girls because Glenn wasn’t born yet) were at the kitchen table eating a meal when she started to cry. One of us, maybe me, probably me since I’m the oldest, said “what’s wrong Mommy?” and she said, “I miss your Daddy.” 99% of the time she was a rock, a tower of strength and determination – a force of nature. And, their love for each other was palpable; there was never a doubt in our minds, their children, that they loved each other fiercely.
And, Mom was fearless. We didn’t “get that” when we were young. My father was often gone during his 20+ year Air Force career, leaving Mom to virtually raise us on her own as most military wives do, a single mom of sorts. But, we never knew she was worried or scared or overwhelmed because she was fearless. And, she taught us to be fearless.
I was around 30 (now 32 years ago) and had just ended a bad and very messy relationship and had to move home for financial reasons. Mom and Dad welcomed me without hesitation although it had been many, many years since I’d moved out. No time limit was set for me to get myself together and move on. No expectation was set that I would pay them rent or buy groceries. They understood that I was in over my head and they wanted to help me in their way by providing me with food and shelter, but more importantly, love.
One morning shortly after moving back home, I was in the shower getting ready for work. Suddenly I became overwhelmed by the gravity of everything happening around me and to me and I started crying. I sank to the floor of the shower, curled up in a ball and sobbed with my arms wrapped around my knees.
Since I was in the shower with the water running, it never occurred to me that anyone would overhear, especially since my parents’ bedroom and bathroom were in another part of the house. But, at that moment, my mother was in her own bathroom and in that old house apparently, the bathroom pipes were connected and she could hear me through the pipes. The next thing I knew, my bathroom door opened and my shower door opened and my mother stepped into the shower fully clothed, kneeled down on the shower floor, wrapping her arms around me, cuddling me like a baby, cooing to me about how everything was going to be alright, getting soaking wet as she rocked me back and forth running her hand through my wet hair and kissing my face as I sobbed on and on until I was spent. At that moment, I was her baby and I needed her and she wasn’t going to leave me until I calmed down.
That is her legacy – a mother, selfless and true.
About 20 years ago, she called me on the phone to discuss something I no longer remember. During the conversation, she said, “well, you know I have CRS syndrome.” I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and the thought that she had something that I didn’t know about scared me. After we hung up, I fretted for days, trying to figure out if she had told me she had some incurable disease and I didn’t remember. I was really starting to get worried and worked up about it, so a few days later I called her and said, “Mom, are you sick? I don’t remember that you told me you were sick. Did you tell Gail, Dawn, and Glenn and forget to tell me? Should I be worried?” In confusion, she said, “What are you talking about?” I said, “The other day when we were talking you said you had CRS syndrome. What is CRS syndrome?” She laughed and said, “CRS means ‘can’t remember shit’, silly!” I can’t tell you how relieved I was and now that I have CRS Syndrome, too, I appreciate her humor, though for those few days I was a wreck!
That’s my mom’s legacy – her sense of humor about herself and aging. A gorgeous woman throughout her life, aging didn’t scare her and she did it naturally and gracefully. She knew we only get one shot at this life and she was determined to make her life a good one.
About a year ago, I went to visit Mom at her care facility. When I arrived, I told her that Charlie was waiting for me in the car because there was no handicap entrance that he could scale on his scooter. She told me to be sure to thank Charlie for taking Ruth flying. Well, Charlie isn’t and never has been a pilot nor has he ever flown a plane. Since my dad’s name is Charles, too, Chuck as most of you know him, I thought she was confusing my husband with her husband. But, I hadn’t a clue who Ruth was because we don’t have a family member named Ruth and to my knowledge, she didn’t have a friend or acquaintance named Ruth.
Anyway, when I was getting ready to leave, I asked her if she’d like to go outside and say ‘hi’ to Charlie and she said, ‘yes.’ So, I wheeled her outside, lowered the ramp on our handicap vehicle and pushed her up the ramp so that she could visit with Charlie face-to-face. In a sweet, sing-song voice she said, “Charlie, thank you so much for taking Ruth flying. She had a great time.” Charlie, without missing a beat said, “sure, no problem” even though he had no clue what she was talking about because I didn’t come out to the car ahead of time and tell him this story. He instinctively knew not to burst Mom’s bubble and confuse her in her moment of graciousness.
That’s my mother’s legacy – gracious and thoughtful, never forgetting to thank people for kindnesses large or small, even in her dementia.
Once my mother and father starting having children, my mom wanted to stay home to raise her children. That was ‘normal’ in the 1950’s and ’60’s and they were blessed with an income that allowed her to do so. She never felt she was marginalized by doing so and after we were well-established in school, she went back to work. In my mother’s mind, she thought she was leading an ordinary life; an ordinary life of a stay-at-home mother transitioning to part-time employment once her kids were in school followed by full-time employment once they were in high school and college.
So, I’ll end by sharing something I recently read, that I feel is most profound, and perfectly describes my mother:
“There are Masters among you. Scattered throughout the continents to shine their lights as brightly as possible, simply by being themselves, living mostly ‘ordinary’ lives. Until, with enough of them walking the earth, a tipping point will be reached at the deepest energetic levels so that all others will be raised ever higher into the light, simply for being in their midst, as if through osmosis.” – TUT (The Universe Talks)
There are Masters Among You – FREE Printable
That’s Jo’s legacy to her family and friends, that she has raised us ever higher into the light for simply having been born to her, having been loved by her or simply from having known her.
Until Next Time,
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