Tag: death

Before I start, I just wanted to mention a few disclaimers:
I’m not a public speaker. I’m also probably going to cry at some point although I’m hoping to get through saying all of this without that happening. We’ll see how it goes. 

First of all, thank you for your presence. For listening. For caring. For your patience. For understanding… or at least trying to. This all still feels so surreal. I’ve never lost my Mom before; I don’t really know how I’m meant to behave and since she’s not here to scold me, thank you all for withholding judgment and for bearing with me… well, for bearing with all of us as we process such a gravitational loss. 

You know, you don’t really realize how grammatically strange it is to speak about someone in the present who has passed… until it becomes relevant. The tenses get all tangled up… the “was”s and “is”s get mixed together and it’s really difficult to navigate which one to use while still making sense. But then again, not too much makes sense right now. 

I know that’s supposed to be her over there. My Mom. I know the doctors said that she ‘passed away’ … and I know that I was there. I saw it. Parts of me even died with her… in the literal sense, too. But it hasn’t really clicked yet.

It’s only been 5 days… Already, I’ve cycled through a spectrum of emotion I hadn’t even realized existed. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been so resentful in my life. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for her healing. So many of us did. All over the world. For months. For years, even…

But when the answer didn’t come the way I expected, I felt lied to. I felt betrayed. I felt abandoned. Did you? In a span of mere minutes, my thoughts went from, “God, I know You’re here and You’ve got this under control.” to “God, where were You? Did You blink and miss it? What happened back there? Why did You let her go?” 

But what I’m starting to realize is that He didn’t let her go… Instead, He held onto her and pulled her closer… to Him—even if that means that she’s farther away from us for a while. Our prayers were answered. She’s not in pain anymore. And the only reason we are is because we were so abundantly blessed to have her presence in our lives that her physical absence leaves such a heart wrenching ache. She is still alive in so many other remarkable ways. 

When I look in the casket, I don’t see my Mom. That’s not her likeness at all. My Mom was much louder. [Ask anyone who has ever overheard a phone conversation between her and any one of her siblings… fourteen or so “Okie-dokie”s later…] 

When I close my eyes, I see her the way I remember… understated beauty, sometimes with the 90’s poodle-perm hairstyle, sometimes without, but always full of expression—even if more-than-occasionally that expression was the ‘mom glare’ … you all probably know the one…she’d most-likely be giving it to me right now for talking about her like this.
 
My Mom wasn’t much of a spotlight chaser, but it’s kind of hard to have a funeral without the day being centered around who she was, who she is, and who she has in some way helped shaped each of us to be. Sorry, Mom… but you’re the reason we’re all here, so…*shrug* like it or not, you’re getting some extra attention today. “Deal with it. Cope. Adjust.” (that’s something she’d always say to us… I promise I’m not being rude).

There is so much more to be said, but I don’t want to monopolize the podium. I know that Jenn has something prepared and hopefully we can convince Tris to come up here and share the one about Montgomery Moose…. Plus, I have a feeling that if you’re here—or watching from afar… you have at least a few fond memories of your own. I’d love to hear them. 

But first, a quote from a book she would always read to me:

“I’ll love you forever, 
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living, 
my Mommy you’ll be.”

Love always, 
“Pookie”




“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.”