It’s been a year and five days since my mom passed away.
A lot can happen in a year. A lot has. I hope she would be proud of what I’ve done and where I am now.
I miss her in a way that can’t be quantified. I knew I would, of course, but I miss her in millions of ways I never could have imagined.
This was the eulogy I read at her service:
I called my mom every morning. I think it helped us both feel close despite our physical distance, and we enjoyed each other’s company. Even if we didn’t have much to say, it brought me comfort just hearing her voice.
Anyone here who ever had a conversation with my mom knows that she loved talking with others. On the phone, she would usually say she would let me go two to three times, creating diversions to buy just a few minutes more before getting to her actual wrap up, which was always “Aaaat any rate…”; the signal that she was actually going to hang up.
Mom had recently discovered she could virtually attend services here, at her old home church, and it made her so happy. She had struggled with a crisis of faith and had left the church for many years, and this return, though not physical, brought her a lot of comfort and happiness.
During our calls, she would talk about that week’s service, how much she enjoyed the music and all the good that was being done here.
It was here that her grandparents attended in their youth, and she would tell anyone who would listen that her grandfather and his brother not only sang in the choir but that they were so good they went on to sing at St James Cathedral. She was married here. And it was this church that welcomed her with open arms when her life took a turn she didn’t anticipate. She saw her children baptized under this roof, witnessed our first communions and confirmations, and did her best to provide for our spiritual nurturing within these walls. This was her spiritual home.
She had also, not long ago, expressed to me that she would like to visit again in person someday, if possible. I told her I would love to help make that happen.
I couldn’t have imagined that these would be the circumstances of her return, but we’ve made it happen all the same.
She lived a humble life, but I never heard her complain over what she lacked. She gave what she could of herself, her love, time, patience, understanding and advocacy whenever and however she was able. She freely offered the service of her considerable talents in knitting and crafting. It gave her no greater joy than to provide warmth and comfort to others, to let them know in some way that they were thought of and cared for.
When she made her first return to St. John’s in 1983, she confessed to a fellow parishioner that she was angry at God. At the age of 25 she was left a single mom of three children under the age of five. She was still growing up, herself, and single parents were not common in those days.
I think we can all relate to that feeling of anger, in our own way, if not now then at some point in our lives.
The friend responded, “It’s okay to be mad at God. He can take it, He has big shoulders. He can carry the weight of our anger. He still loves you.”
She found support, understanding and forgiveness within this church community. When she was in need, she never had to reach far for a helping hand. It’s no wonder this old building held, and I’m sure still holds, a big part of her heart.
She told me once, “My life didn’t turn out as planned, but I got three great kids out of the deal. Three kids I might not have had if I’d made different decisions, so I don’t have room for regret.”
James and Sarah, I want you to know that Mom loved you and was so proud of you. Never doubt that. Dubs and Ash, you were your Grammy’s pride and joy and I have no doubt she will be watching over you, delighting in your lives. Celeigh, while Mom never had the pleasure of meeting you, I know she would have adored you for making her little boy so happy. Matt, my mom did what she always did when she saw a kid in need of mothering: she took you under her wing and made you family.
She loved us all and we are better for having had her love.
Let us never forget her. Let her memory be a blessing unto us all.
germansingergirl
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