Mom's Memorial

We held my mother's memorial last Sunday, a week ago tomorrow. She lived a long life, most of it good, some of it difficult, lived mainly on her own terms: a good enough score for anyone. While Mom died in November, it's really been this past week that it's hit me hard.

I'm not sure how it's hit my sister, A, yet. I'll probably call her sometime over the next week. She used this past week as vacation time, flying from Oregon to the west coast of Florida, staying in a condo at the beach, then going to visit her in-laws for a few days. She came down with her husband and youngest daughter, and met up with her son and other daughter.

Growing up, and most of my adult life, I'd been closer to our dad than mom. Even if we have a decent home-life growing up, by which I mean two great parents who are doing their best at muddling through the job of raising kids, most of us, I think, tend to feel a little closer to one parent or the other. Usually it doesn't mean that one parent is good while the other is bad, it's just that we feel a little closer to one than the other. And while Dad died back in 2007, Mom's death hit me much harder than Dad's did. Maybe it's because now A. and I don't have a parent who could fill in the blanks of any questions we might have from when we were infants, someone to stand between us and death. A. and I are now the last two people in our birth family alive, a thought that I found a little jarring through the memorial.

My son M. and I got to the condo around 5:15-ish. (J. couldn't make it, nor could my oldest, J.A., who lives in Tennessee. J.A., if you're reading this, I'm still working on the tape of the service; you will get a copy - this year!) M. and I tried punching in the code to the elevator; when nothing happened, we tried again. Then, I tried to call A. Finally, the elevator opened; my niece, S., was in it, waiting to escort us up.

"S?" I asked, tentatively, and she nodded. I hadn't seen her since she was a few years old; she's almost 17 now.

Once upstairs, we found A. and C. in the condo, as well as C.'s extended family.

Over the next 45 minutes, more family showed up: M.H. and G., A.'s other two children - now adults, one of A.'s friends, and, finally, my uncle D. and D's youngest, Ch.

My first three thoughts, on seeing Uncle D. and Ch. were how old D. had gotten, how much Ch. had grown, and the fact that, while A. and I still have each other, D. is the last - the very last - surviving member of his birth family. He was Mom's only sibling, and now she's gone.

Of course, D. and Ch. have changed: I've seen D. maybe twice since shortly after Mom's Mom - and his Mom - died in 1990; I hadn't seen Ch. since then.

"Okay, everyone," A. announced. "We'll eat first, then have the service. Dig in."

We did, and as we did, we talked, catching up, the way families do.

As soon as we'd eaten, we began the service. A. had asked me to give the eulogy. I'd written it down so I wouldn't forget anything that I'd wanted to say.

But of course, I did forget a few things that I'd desperately wanted to add. The main one that comes to mind was of our first Christmas in Florida, back in 1971. We'd moved from Rochester, New York that year, leaving in February, getting here the first few days of March. Rochester being snow country made a snowless, semi-tropical Christmas exotic. That evening, we walked on the beach as the sun set, which made having her memorial at the beach even more poignant.

After I gave the eulogy, we began telling Mom stories, laughing at many of them, getting misty-eyed over others.

One story, which I'm not sure made it on the tape (I had a video camera going, and one tape ran out...) dealt with an English As A Second Language class Mom taught. Two Vietnamese brothers who'd been coming to class brought a third brother along to join the class. Their brother's name was a "perfectly good, a great name," the older two said. Unfortunately, when pronounced, it sounded too much like an English obscenity. Mom delicately asked what the name would be in English.

"Sam," came the answer. From then on, he was Sam. Of course, we laughed at Mom trying to handle diplomacy; I'm sure she could have taught those in Washington a lesson in diplomacy that day.

My cousin, nephew (hidden), Uncle, & sister.



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister behind uncle



Soon it started to get dark, and we brought some floating lanterns out. The plan was to light all five of them and have them float off to the sky, essentially taking thoughts of Mom with them.

First few lanterns

Cousin & nephew lighting a lantern



More lantern-lighting





Several lanterns made it to the water...





One lantern, though, did make it to the sky, finally disappearing just before the rains came.

Mom's Eulogy...

It's never easy to lose a loved-one. If one lives long enough, one tends to lose too many loved-ones.

My mother died back in November. My sister and I are having her memorial today. I've been elected to give the eulogy.

We had planned to go out onto the beach to scatter a few of Mom's ashes. But unless the rain lets up, I don't see that happening. Such is life...and death.

In the meantime, here is the eulogy I plan to give:

'We're gathering today to remember a special person. Some of us remember her as Mom, Sis, Aunt J, Grandma, Maghee or friend. If we include all her names from her 83 years, she'd be J. D. H. S. C. S. Quite a mouthful of names, but then, she lived quite a life.

"J was born March 6, 1931, changing her only brother, Dave, from an only child to a big brother. From the stories Mom told over the years, Dave was her brother, friend, confidant, ruining her life – at least in her child's mind, when a stranger offered to take her picture in a secluded area, thus making her famous – to protecting her from that same stranger by calling her name as he searched for her to bring her home. There were numerous other stories she told us of her early life, many of which ended up in her book, The Color Chartreuse.

"She graduated from Penn Hall in 1950, then from St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, in 1952. It was at St. Lawrence that Mom met Dad. The two married in November, 1952. Over the next few years, three children arrived – me (Robin), Amy Anne, and Gregory John. The stories each of us could tell...The move from New York to Connecticut, the blurbs in Readers' Digest – written about the funny things happening in her life and the lives of her children – and stories published in Yankee Magazine(one of which was published in Yankee's A Treasury of New England Short Stories ), then a move to Rochester, New York.

"In 1971, Mom and Dad split up, and Mom decided it was time to move to Florida to be near her parents. Nothing like a little stress in one's life: a cross-country move with three children, an impending divorce, and hitting 40 at a time when 40 was a lot older than it is now. After buying a house in the Tyrone area of St. Pete, Mom went to work for Guide Magazine, then held several teaching positions in the area, a job she'd held at various times in Connecticut and Rochester.

"It was while Mom was teaching that she met William C. They later married, and, after moving to Largo, the two started the small publishing company, publishing materials for teachers and adult-ed classes. While in Largo, they would frequently throw pizza parties for their grandchildren as the kids stuffed envelopes for Longmuir-Jones. Later, Mom and Bill moved to Murray, Kentucky, where Bill was from.

"Mom continued to write, and read several of her short essays on the local NPR radio station. Many of these essays also made it into The Color Chartreuse. While in Murray, Mom began painting again, something she had done while living in New York (before the move to Connecticut). She enjoyed painting immensely.

"Mom was widowed in 1997 with Bill's passing, and remained in Murray for several years, writing, meeting with friends, adopting the occasional stray dog and cat.

"Then Mom met another man, James S, about ten years older than she was. James brought her back to New York, then on to Allentown, where they remained for several years. James died shortly before Mom did.

"Even with everything that happened in Mom's life – a divorce, the death of two husbands, as well as the deaths of her parents and son, Greg, Mom still maintained a bit of an adventurous soul until the end, and had looked forward to a possible move to Oregon. That was not to be, though, and Mom passed away in November, 2014.

"Mom, you'll be missed, and remembered fondly."