A Eulogy

My mother, Betty Ann, died on August 26th of this year after a long period of being in and out of hospitals and nursing homes. What follows is a modified version of the eulogy I delivered at her funeral service. It's modified because my eulogy followed my brother's, and it wouldn't have entirely made sense the way it was, as I made reference to a few things he said. He declined to become my first guest poster, and I can't blame him for that. (Except that it was really good.) Obviously, I wrote this at the time, but it has taken me this long to be able to edit and post it. I am, to put it gently, adrift. I miss my mom more than any words I can scribble down will ever capture.

The last few days have been filled with more laughter than you might imagine. My family is not a somber group and while there has been reminiscing and missing going on, there is still life, humor and joy. I'd like to think that Mom would appreciate that.

Though it might sound trite and somewhat underwhelming, to know my mom was to like her. But being universally well-liked is actually a rather impressive thing. Not that many people really pull it off while being genuine. Mom was. She was certainly a lot more likeable than I am, but I could never quite figure out what her secret was. Maybe I wasn't supposed to; everyone has their strengths and that was hers, not mine. And her strengths were often extraordinary.

This year was really rough for Mom, health-wise. I know there were times when she felt like it was all a little too much. She kept tackling each problem, though, even when she might not fully have wanted to press on with yet another procedure. But she did want to, for us, and we were there with her at each step, trying to keep her spirits up and keep her laughing, too.

She and I spent a lot of time together in the last twelve months, even more than normal, and I am thankful that was the case. Until she went into the hospital, we had developed a pattern of going out one day, getting the medical stuff out of the way and then enjoying the day with as much fun as possible; eating out, running errands, going to the library, getting a favorite treat here or there and, most importantly, shopping. Then we'd spend a few days at home, cooking when we were up to it, perusing cookbooks when we weren't, doing the crossword in the paper, reading, watching her favorite shows and, most importantly, shopping. On TV. My cousin Michael asked the other day if my mom and I had stock in QVC. He came across a stack of invoices and drew a logical, if smart-alecky, conclusion. (I send my apologies to QVC for the dip in their profits over the last few months, and I promise to honor my mom by making up for it as soon as possible.) But really, being able to shop that way and keep up to date with what was going on was important to her, and helped her feel less restricted that she might have otherwise. In many ways, our living situation may have resembled The Odd Couple more than Gilmore Girls but somehow it worked for us and we were friends as well as mother/daughter housemates.

For me, there was always a lot to admire about my mom. She raised two kids, mostly on her own, to be independent, self-sufficient and unafraid, which is quite an accomplishment given that she had a lot of fears of her own. But for the most part, she didn't let her fears hold us back. She supported us even if she didn't completely agree with or get what we chose to do, which is a lot more than many kids can expect from their parents. She trusted us to blaze our own path. She just reminded us to be careful at every turn.

Mom reminded us about a lot of things. She was the one who kept the memories for us and was our touchstone of family and history, as well as right from wrong. Whereas my brother, Sean, hears her voice in his head when making decisions, for me it was more a matter of just following her example to where it became a part of my thought process; my fearlessness tempered with her caution, my adventurousness balanced by her practicality, my impatience mitigated by her reasonableness, my procrastination...curbed...well, no, I guess there was no accounting for that. Suffice it to say that she softened my harder edges and I provided the encouragement for her to push past her reluctance to try new things. In that, we made a good team and, with Sean, an even better, closer family.

I will miss you, Mom. But I will always be grateful for everything you taught us, told us, showed us, put up with, laughed over and, more than anything, for the way you loved us.

Death Becomes Her

When thinking about a post for today, I'd planned to write about candy. I mean, why not? But then, as I do most days, I popped over to dooce to read her latest post. What I ended up reading, and the hours after, changed that. A lot.

Now, if you go over, please read what she says about the site she features before you go clicking on it, lest you be a "Mimi," too. "This somber series of portraits [was] taken of people before and after they had died..." I did read, and decided it was something that I didn't want to be looking at during work. Instead, I started reading the comments since she'd opened them, and those were moving enough. When I started reading there were about 141 comments; at the time of writing this, there are 901. By about number 44, I was already fighting tears and I hadn't even gone to see the pictures under discussion. Clearly, the subject of death, and our reactions to it, touched a nerve.

I decided I was going to wait until I got home to go view the gallery, and went to lunch not too long thereafter. I didn't have a lot of time, so I went to a nearby falafel place that I enjoy. There is a large TV in one corner that's usually tuned to Al Jazeera in English....which I don't generally watch. But when I glanced up at one point, mouth full o' falafel, I was startled to see a man in a coffin on the screen, quite dead, being made up prior to his viewing. I still have no idea what the story was about because I couldn't hear it and it didn't really matter -- the visual from it, on top of what I'd just been reading and thinking about, was enough to boggle my mind a bit and mull over how differently news is presented elsewhere in the world.

On the drive back and for a while after that I was thinking about death and its place in our society, our lexicon and my own life. Many of the commenters at dooce mentioned our fear of death and how it plays into the reactions people have to the photos. That made me think about how, on the other hand, we use the concepts of death and dying in our language so easily and perhaps carelessly. I realized that, a bit earlier in the day, I'd written an IM to someone wherein I'd said, "She is absolutely killing me today," without a second thought, the way we all do. Hmm, I'm pretty sure I'd said essentially the same thing...about the same person...just the day before. And here I am, still alive.

Think about it. "I'm dying of hunger." "This will be the death of me." "My head is killing me." "He's rolling over in his grave." "That is a dead end." Those are just the first few that come to mind, I'm certain you can think of many more. Why is it we're so comfortable referring to death in these offhand, casual manners, but the thought of death itself freaks us out?

As I've been thinking about this for so much of the day, I eventually realized something about my own reaction to the idea of death and dying: It's not the idea of my own death that bothers me, or thinking about people in my life who have died, it's contemplating the death of friends, family and loved ones in my life now that makes my own internal wig-out meter go bonkers.

So, let's see, here I am, seven paragraphs into this post and I still haven't gone to see the photos that started all this. I'm not actually procrastinating, as I don't have any true hesitation in viewing them. I just wanted to be done here because, if they're as haunting and beautiful as people said, I think I'm going to want some tissues instead of a keyboard afterwards. Now, however, as a friend of mine says, it's time to pull on my big girl panties and deal with it.