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.