When my dad asked me if I would be willing to say something today, my immediate reaction was something along the lines of… “Are you kidding me?! Not me! Have you heard me speak publicly during an emotional situation? That is NOT happening…!” But then he said that I could write something for someone else to read, which I figured would be much easier. I told myself that this is definitely a task that I am capable of completing, especially with someone to stand in the gap and do for me what I know I cannot.
But the reality is, it’s not any easier. None of this is easy. Nothing about death is easy. I think it is one of the hardest things our
hearts and minds have to endure on earth.
In this moment, I’m at a loss for where to even begin. How am I supposed to say anything of
significance about her in these moments?
My brain is foggy and my body feels like it is on autopilot…simply
moving through motions. I have been
staring at a computer screen for hours now, trying to decide how I can best
honor her...make her proud of the words I have to say about her.
Perhaps I will try to share my thoughts in the form of a note to her…
Mom,
I can’t believe we are here in this place today, and you are
not. I can’t believe this is how your
life on earth ended. I am so sorry. I am so sorry for all of the pain your body
has endured for so many years. I wish I
could have taken it all away for you, all the years of health problems. I wish I could have erased all of the cancer
from your body.
I don’t really know how I am supposed to reflect on my
entire life with you in such a short window of time. There are so many memories. So many stories. So many amazing experiences we have had. So many things I have learned from you.
You were, without a doubt, the most thoughtful person I know. You were ALWAYS thinking of others, even in
the midst of your own health struggles.
You always had a pulse for the needs of others. You went out of your way to send carefully
picked out Hallmark cards to so many people.
You always had a pile of cards stacked on the counter or in a basket on
your desk to be sent to someone. I know
it made you smile that I, too, fell in love with Hallmark cards, and that I,
too, have a bin full of them, ready to pull out when needed.
Gift giving came naturally to you. You loved to buy special gifts for
people. You had a knack for making
others feel special because you paid attention to every detail. I think this is something that comes
naturally to me because I watched you do it for so many years. Thank you for modeling selflessness and
kindness to me.
You always went out of your way to make things special for
us, and later, for my kids. It was the
little things…things you may not have remembered, but things I will never
forget. Every day that I took my pink
Minnie Mouse lunchbox to school, you carefully and meticulously taped a quarter
to the inside of the lid for my milk money.
Something so silly, and honestly, so mundane (milk money, for Pete’s
sake), is one of my most treasured memories, because it represents so much more
than milk money. The amount of time and energy
it takes to do things like that demonstrate care and love, something I
understand now more than ever as a mom myself.
I love that you wrote my name on all of my school
supplies. I still have several of them (…I
may or may not be a hoarder…). I look at
my Caboodle from grade school and love that it has your handwriting on it. Something I will cherish for the rest of my
days.
You taught me to take care of my things. Not in a materialistic way, but more of a “be
a good steward” way, and I am trying to do the same with my own kids.
There was a time in elementary school when I was excluded
from a group of girls during inside recess because I didn’t have a Troll. I remember getting into the car after school,
and in tears, explaining what had happened.
We drove straight to Osco Drug, where you bought me a Troll doll. Not in a spoiled kind of way, but in a caring
and compassionate way, because you couldn’t stand to see me heartbroken over
something. I hope I can pay attention to
my kids in this way, and provide for them in those formative moments the same
way you always did for me.
We had so much fun going on shopping trips together, whether
here locally, or making the drive to Springfield or Saint Louis. I’ll always remember going to your doctors’
appointments in Springfield, and then getting lunch at the mall and shopping
for a while before driving home. It’s
funny because now, when I go to my own doctors’ appointments at Mayo, I tend to
do the same thing…add something light and trivial to the otherwise heavy and
hard appointments.
I will always remember our short drives to Junior High,
listening to Paul Harvey before school, and knowing, based on where he was in
his short broadcast, if we were late or not J
I will always cherish our late night wrapping sessions on
Christmas Eve. You were a
perfectionist. We all know that I got
that trait from you. I loved preparing
for Christmas Day with you, and picking out the perfect wrapping papers for
each gift. Our whole family always joked
about the amount of tape you used, and that we could always tell which gifts
were wrapped by you because they were nearly impossible to get the paper
off. Don’t worry. I will carry on your wrapping
traditions…staying up late the night before Christmas or a birthday and getting
everything put together.
Now that I am a mom, I understand just how much you
sacrificed so that we could do the things we did. You were a chauffeur for such a long time,
running here and there for piano, dance, music lessons, school events, church
events. Goodness, I know it had to have
been exhausting! But I know you did it
because you loved us so much. You never
missed a piano recital, a dance recital, a flute recital, a marching band show,
a musical or concert.
Mom, you always showed up for me when I needed it most. Before Finley was born, and I was paralyzed
with anxiety, you came to Florida almost a month ahead of time and helped me
wash all of her clothes and get things ready.
You helped me iron a million quilt squares, and you did it with a smile
on your face. You stayed after she was
born and helped take care of us. The
craziest thing is that you did all of this again almost three years later as we
prepared for Kenton’s arrival. You
stayed after he was born to take care of us again, and even extended your trip
because of an emergency surgery! In
hindsight, I know you did all of these things while experiencing your own pain
and health issues.
Mom, you gave me a nearly perfect childhood, one I cherish so
much. You protected my innocence and
helped foster my creativity. You let me
be little, but supported me as a I grew up.
Mom, I don’t know if anything that I said was eloquent or
meaningful, but I hope you know that many of the best things in me came
straight from you. I’ll keep trying to
show kindness and love to my friends and to those who are hurting. I’ll keep trying to be thoughtful and
generous. And I’m going to continue to
pay attention to the details in my kids’ lives, because at the end of the day,
they matter. And one day, I hope they’ll
look back and know just how much I loved them, just like I know how much you
loved me.
And don’t worry, I have lots of Scotch tape at my
house…everyone will think they are getting one of your wrapped gifts because I
will go heavy on the tape, just like you J
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