Editing Mom's Life

Mom's St. Pete memorial service is December 20 at her church, Lake Seminole Presbyterian.  I've been working on her eulogy and I've also been in heavy rehearsal for my performance in leading the gang in a rousing rendition of Take Me Out to the Ball Game. 

Mom, proper and always concerned with appearances, specifically and sternly forbid any such frivolity in the church but once in the social hall, all bets are off.

Mom specifically set these ground rules to try and keep Pooge and I from misbehaving while in the church.  She essentially negotiated away the social hall, knowing that was the best deal she could strike.  Pooge and I, without fail, seem to devolve into some sort of twisted Mary Tyler Moore Chuckles the Clown thing, and mom was helpless to stop it.

At daddy's mass at Jesse and Ida's catholic church, Pooge started laughing, she made me start laughing too (yes, it was entirely her fault), and when it became an issue mom pursed those lips and hissed a warning that we needed to immediately get control of ourselves. Then she started laughing too.

It was the incense that got us going.  Daddy hated strong smells and, with emphysema and lung cancer, being around any smoke, even from a candle, would trigger big big breathing trouble.  Had he been at his own service, daddy would have died from respiratory failure.

Once the service was over, the priest approached and we though for sure we were going to get tossed but he was lovely.  He confessed that he didn't remember exactly who daddy was and we had to tell him that daddy never actually came into the church.  He was a catholic on a technicality.  We asked if the priest recalled frequently seeing a small brown man who sat in a Ford Taurus under the tree in the parking lot on the 16th Street side?  Bingo!  That's our dad!

And it turns out, it counted.  I think those catholics are just happy you're on the property.

Back to mom.

She not only told Pastor Bob exactly what she wanted her formal service to consist of, she also sent a follow up email to him listing everything, outline form, just the way she wanted it. 

I've been working on her eulogy and I've got 7 short stories that illustrate her capacity to love, her playful spirit, her sense of humor that was part innocent/part devious and her suspect problem solving skills. 

When I think of how funny mom was, it's almost tragic because there's no way I can really make vivid just how hilarious she was.  She'd crack me up, we'd both lose it, not be able to catch our breath, both be snorting and gasping and wheezing, and I'd say something like "mom, how will I ever remember this? How did it start?" and she'd say something like "don't try, I've already forgotten." 

How's that for being in the moment?

Those laughing fits, and they were very frequent, became more about her giving to you, bringing you to the point of such joy and when she'd join you there, laughing just as hard, it became about the release of it all, the freedom in that release and the resetting, recalibration of all of life that stacks up and presses down on that freedom. 

And I think that's the overarching theme of mom's life.  She was in the moment.  She was really right there on the edge of her seat for you, with you, because of you.

I'm heading to Madrid on Wednesday to work with some wonderful teachers, none of whom know my loss, none of whom know the extent of my mom's passion, wisdom, strength or capacity to love.  None of whom know, as Pooge puts it, the enormity of love that surrounded mom as she lived, as she died and surely as she rests in heaven. 

All of us, everyone you see at the store, on the road, at work, at school, we all have stories, feelings, loss and gain, heartache as well as joy.  I can never make mom known to everyone who should know her, who should be loved by her, who should have had just a little of her light shine their way. 

They'll never know how proud I am of her or how proud she was of me.  I can never do mom justice but on December 20th, I'm sure going to try.

Love and prayers from here to there.