Sometimes I wonder why I'm a writer; what's it all for?
My mom passed away a couple of weeks ago. I'm glad I'm a writer. Here's the eulogy:
As you know, my brother, Ronnie, passed away in February.
Almost a week to the day of his funeral, my mom was in the hospital. We didn’t
have much of a chance to honor Ronnie’s life, so I wanted to acknowledge my
brother here today. Maybe God called Ronnie home first so my mom would have
someone waiting for her when she got there. Or maybe God called my mom home so
quickly after Ronnie’s passing so she could do there what she did best here: be
a mother. Who’s to say? We know God has a plan even though we don’t always
understand it.
I knew I wanted to write something to share with you that would honor my mother, but I wasn’t sure what to write until last night. After the visitation at the funeral home, my family went for a meal together at a local restaurant. Sitting to my right was my niece, Cassidy, holding her daughter skillfully, lovingly in one arm (who was sounds asleep during the whole meal), while try to feed her other daughter with her free hand. After watching this go one for an hour and a half, I knew what I wanted to write:
MOTHER’S HOLD
THEIR CHILDREN
Mother’s hold their children – that’s what they do. When you’re born, a nurse slides you into your mother’s safe, loving arms. And for all your years ahead – if you’re lucky -- she holds you. She holds you through scrapes, scratches, measles, mumps, chicken pox, ear infections and stomach aches just to get you to the first grade. Then she holds you through your first dog dying, your hamsters running away, your first big loss on the little league baseball field, your first kiss, your break up with the little girl who gave you that first kiss, your first visit to the hospital, your brother’s first visit to the hospital, your other brother’s first visit to the hospital, your first bike ride, boat ride and horse ride and the first time you fell off the bike, out of the boat and off the horse. She holds you through it all.
She holds you so tight that you can hardly breathe when you’re baptized in your church – so glad you’ve found God, and particularly with me, terrified I was going to lose my footing in the baptismal and go under.
With her arms wrapped tightly around you, she holds you – maybe a little less tight, but she holds you – through your teenage years. And that means holding you through acne, and your body going haywire and your hair just looking like wire – period. And more break ups with more girlfriends and more ear infections, eye infections, gum infections, bladder infections, losing teeth, growing teeth on top of teeth, more missing teeth and somewhere in all of that your appendix explodes and she’s still holding you.
In your early 20’s, you know it’s time and she knows it’s time to let go (even though secretly you hope she never does; and secretly she never has any intention of doing that). Jobs come and go, love comes and goes, friends come and go, sadly a few young friends die, relatives begin to pass away and you struggle as you watch your childhood fade. The world sees you as a young man, even though you’re not ready for all of that. But it’s okay, because your mom holds you gently, quietly through it all.
In your 30’s, you work hard to be the best you can be. Sometime you succeed; sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you make great gains and sometimes you make the biggest mistakes of your life. But for me, my mom was still there, still holding me from afar; never letting me stay down too low for too long, or get too high for my own good.
In your 40’s, you finally start to practice being exactly what your parents were to you. You see how good that was, how wise that was, how smart that was, how kind, important and sincere all that love and holding was. You, in turn, pass that forward to those that you love. You, in turn, begin to want to hold your parents as they held you for all of those years. There’s only one thing better than your momma’s arms around you: your arms around your momma.
My mom held me for 52 years.
She held my brother Ronnie for 54 years.
She held my brother Michael for 56 years.
We were so, so lucky. She was, quite simply, the most extraordinary person I have ever known.
And now I’ll hold her love forever, as close to me as I possibly can.
Love you, momma. Miss
you already.
Your son, Gary.
