There is that line that is hard to find where privacy and
social media cross. What is exactly appropriate and what is not. I am crossing
that line right now and I know it. I envy people who look at social media
places like Facebook and immediately see the marketing and business
possibilities that can be drawn from it. For me, the site started because of a
class reunion several years ago. I was told that was how we were all going to
reconnect. Thus, I started my page. It hit me that I have been told many times
that I should write down the weird things that tend to happen to me before I
forgot them. Unfortunately , most of those memories have been over ridden by
new ones.
I started writing them down and it slowly became something I
had never had, a journal. So, for me, Facebook has always been about 90% “Dear
Diary” and 10% ….or less, networking. With that in mind, I decided to write
something to honor my mom on Mother's Day. I take notes from Facebook every now and then and post them here. I know no one wants to sit and read a eulogy but I
am putting it on here anyway. It’s my diary and I’ll cry if I want to.
It was determined a few years ago that it might be nice if I
could “say a few words” at mom’s funeral when the time came. I had always
planned on doing so and even though mom had been weak for so long, I had
still never given any thought at to what
I would say.
Well, the time came and I still had no idea. I decided that I
was pretty sure that I would be nothing but a hot mess that day of the funeral
and that I needed to just write something down and give it to the guy who was
presiding at the funeral. At the
visitation, I was fully anticipating falling apart and having to be shot with a
tranquilizer gun and carried out on a stretcher. That didn’t happen. The flood
of support lifted me up and brought back so many good memories I had long
forgotten. By the end of the fourth hour I was starving and delirious and still
standing and greeting people. There were so many familiar faces from my past
and I just couldn’t remember how well I knew or didn’t know some of the people.
By the end it seemed rude not to hug people and I was in a huggy mood by the
end of the night, not to mention completely dazed from the sugar free blood crawling
through my veins. So, if a face looked familiar, I assumed it was an old family
friend or someone at church that goes to first service (which means I only know
them from the church directory) and they got a hug. I remember a man stepping
up and I knew that I knew his face well but couldn’t place it. I gave him a big
hug. He paused a minute and stepped back and said, “I’m your plumber.” Oh! I
had just met him two days earlier when he removed a water heater for me but
apparently he knows my dad well. That one makes me laugh every time I remember
it. That night gave me a false sense of “being stronger than I thought”. I
decided that the next day, if I felt up to it, I would stand and say farewell
to my mom at the funeral.
The next day I wasn’t a hot mess and I actually felt like I
just might live through the day. I told the preacher that he was to be on
standby behind me to pick up my paper where I left off. I was fine until we had
some congregational singing. Church songs get me every time. I had bargained
with my siblings that I would go first, knowing that my sisters beautiful words
and my brother’s poignant and meaningful comments would put me in a progressed
state of leakiness. It was time; I was fine.
Our family was sitting in a side room and as I rounded the
corner and stood there beside the coffin, up at the podium, I saw the crowd for
the first time. All those familiar faces…front to back, side to side, there
wasn’t a place for my eyes to land that didn’t share some kind of meaning. I
was wearing the last suit that my mom had ever picked out for me. It had to be
at least twelve years old. I think it was for Easter. I had on the tie she had
picked out to go with it and even the cuff links she had given me for Christmas
one year. Suddenly, everything had meaning and I realized the gravity of what I
was doing. This was it; I was saying goodbye. My voice shook on the first words
that came out of my mouth and all I was doing was thanking everyone for being
there. Even though I had promised myself that I was not about to stand up there
and boo hoo (cause ain’t nobody got time for that) I refused to stop and let
the preacher take over for me. I had decided that mom would have done it for me
if she could have and that I should, if I could, do this for her. To be honest,
I was a mess the whole time and am not sure people could even understand me. I
just wanted to honor her by telling a bit about her and to try to see a little
good in all the horror that she had been through. I decided to tell a story
that most of you have heard before, plus a little bit more. So here it is:
I have to stop first and thank everyone for being here to
show their respect and to offer support. It really does help us get through
this sad moment in our lives.
I’ve had several years to prepare for today, to be ready to
say goodbye, to be ready to let go, but I am not ready. Fortunately, mom lived
her entire life for today. She used to always say, “I want to go to Heaven”, so
that’s how she lived her life.
How do you sum up a
person’s entire life with just a few words in only a matter of minutes? You
can’t , and yet, here we are. Maybe I can give you just a glimpse.
Mom’s favorite color was red and she looked great in black.
I know that every kid thinks their mom is beautiful, but my mom never thought
of herself that way, even though she had heard it all her life. In so many ways
mom had a beautiful life. Her life wasn’t easy, not with four kids, but she
worked hard to surround herself with beauty. I think that is one of the reasons
why she became a florist, an amazing florist.
Mom knew how to take flowers and turn them into works of art. She really had
the gift. I remember one of her friends saying, "Your mom could make
something out of nothing." Mom worked hard to give us a beautiful home.
Anything she could find in our house to decorate she would. She would add a bow to anything, work her magic, and
turn everything into something beautiful.
I remember a period of time when everything she would create
would either get a teddy bear, a bird or a little wooden mouse on it. Of
course, all of these creatures would be sporting a bow …. “to make it cute”.
It’s kind of ironic really that she used little wooden mice in her decorations
(especially if you knew her) because one
of my earliest memories is from when I am about 3 or 4 years old. We were living
on a farm and I heard a blood curdling scream come from the kitchen. I ran in
and there was mom standing on top of the kitchen chair with one foot up ready
to climb on top of the table. She was pointing at something in the corner. I
didn’t know what it was but I started screaming too and jumped up beside her on
the chair. Before long my sister and my brother were all in the kitchen
standing on top of chairs screaming and trying to find the monster that my mom
was pointing towards. My dad came running into the house to rescue us and mom
screamed “It’s a mouse!” Dad quickly saved the day. This scenario played out
several times throughout in my life. It’s funny how things like that can leave
an impression on you. All I can tell you is that if a mouse runs across this
floor today, you are about to watch a six foot man jump up on top of one of
this podium and scream like a white woman.
Mom loved people. She saw the good and beautiful in everybody even when no one
else could. Mom also used to stress that "you have to take care of those
who can’t take care of themselves." Her passion was being an advocate for
the most vulnerable. She was a strong advocate for nursing home residents , and
children. She absolutely loved children.
Growing up, mom would find out about children that needed help or had no way to
get to church and we would sometimes pick them up and bring them to church with
us. We would sit there and take up a whole row with kids of every race, color
and creed. As kids, we didn’t stop to think what others thought, that was just
the way things were. That was the 60s and 70s; looking back our mom was kind of
progressive and we didn’t even know it! It was vital for my mom that children
from all walks of life felt they were important and could belong, anywhere. What
a great lesson for them and for us.
Mom was kind to everyone but she did know when to draw the line, God and
Family. She would do anything she could to let people know that God loved them .She
let people know that they wanted to go to Heaven. She said it because she
believed it, with all her heart. As for her family, she would go to any length
to protect and care for her family. I think mom’s training as a cheerleader in
high school helped prepare her for being a great mother. She was our biggest
cheerleader. She helped us believe we could accomplish anything. My family just
lost it’s best cheerleader.
Alzheimer’s took my stole my mom. It is an ugly disease created by Satan
himself. It is the disease that robbed her of the last 12 years of her life and
our ability to share it with her. With all the horror of it, there were times
when all we could do was laugh.
At some point, my mom forgot who my dad was. She could talk to him over the
phone as Charles Perry, but that man that kept coming to her house at night was
definitely not her husband. She called him Charlie. She remembered my
dad from 20-30 years ago. She no longer recognized dad but talked to him on the
phone regularly and wondered why he never came home. In person, she thought my
dad was a stranger named Charlie that lived in her house.. She didn’t know why
Charlie moved in but she would talk about him a lot and really wanted him to
move out. It aggravated her that he was there every night. She would call my
dad on the phone and complain about him. I remember my dad calling and laughing
about a phone call he had just gotten from mom. She said to him, "I wish
you would tell that old fat gray headed man to move out." I remember so
many times my dad trying to convince mom that he was her husband and then she
would look at him like he was crazy and tell him, "My husband is dark
headed, a lot younger and a whole lot better looking than you.”
My mom loved to go for car-rides. She was always ready to do. Dad called her
“Lillie Go Brown” since “Go” was her middle name. She loved life, the beauty of
nature and the excitement of being around other people. When her Alzheimer’s
progressed and she no longer drove her car, my dad, or I guess I should say,
the man my mom knew as “Charlie” would take
mom for a ride around town every evening. On the weekends, he would drive her
all over the county. Even though she didn’t know why this Charlie was willing
to drive her around she always thanked him for doing it. In the back seat would
be their dog "Little Roscoe", who would be anxiously waiting the
regular stop to Baskin Robbins. He had his own bowl and preferred to be spoon
fed. Mom spoiled him as badly as she did all the rest of her kids. He was and
is the grand-dog.
One day while driving along the countryside, my mom asked my dad to pull the
car over. She insisted so my dad pulled over. She looked at him and said,
"I need to tell you something. You know, I am married to Charles Perry…I
have married the wrong man; I should have married you." My mom, with her
loss of memory from the past, had fallen in love all over again with the same
man she had fallen in love with as a teenager and married over 50 years ago.
There is no sweeter love story than that. There could have been no better
Godsend to my dad who was so often at his wits end (and never complained) than
to have heard these true heartfelt words from the woman he loved. My dad will
take that memory with him for life and know that there was no mistaking it;
they were meant to be together.
Seven years ago mom fell and got a traumatic brain bleed. She required full
time care ever since. Every time I visited I just hated to leave her . I was
worried that she would be afraid, being surrounded by strangers. I just prayed
everyone would be nice when we weren’t there. Each day when I left, I would
tell her the exact same things. I always wanted her to know that I was coming
back. So today, I will end by saying to a beautiful woman who tried
always to see and create beauty in our lives, that same thing I have said to
her almost every day for the past seven years, "Bye bye Momma, I love you
and I will see you later.”
