MY BELOVED MOTHER'S EULOGY

MY BELOVED MOTHER'S EULOGY

         My mother is one of the strongest women I have ever known. Throughout her life she endured one medical crisis after another. This forced her to parent in a creative manner. She could not be the Mom who rode her bike with me or even chased me. It was by no means her choice, but she couldn't always accompany me to school activities or soccer games or Guiding events. When she was ill, she mothered from home.

         I suppose this is how I honed my story-writing skills. After each special day, I would rush home to share it with my Mom. I would describe the people I met; what they were wearing, what they did, what they said. For her, I re-created the event.

         Mom was a voracious reader. She enjoyed spending time with a good book and she bequeathed this gift to me. I think she was exasperated at times by just how much I learned to love reading. I would stay up well past my bedtime to devour a book by the glow of a streetlight. She also worried that I'd suffer from eye-strain and need eyeglasses. Her fear never materialized.

         Mom encouraged education especially reading and writing. She taught me that proper grammar and spelling were important. My kids refer to me as the 'Spelling Nazi', but I was mentored by the best. Communication needs attention to detail. One of her handy tips is still with me: accommodation has two cots and two mattresses; a clever reminder of the spelling of a word that refers to a hotel in which we'd expect to find beds.

         Despite her reading prowess, Mom was terrible with directions. I don't know if it was anxiety, but she never seemed able to follow written instructions. I remember one trip in which I was supposed to be the navigator. When I saw the road sign, I dutifully said, "It's traffle-gar, Mom." She kept on driving without responding. Soon I saw the name again warning of an upcoming exit ramp. I repeated this to Mom saying, "Mom, here's traffle-gar." She continued driving along the 401. Eventually, she sensed that we'd been driving for too long and we were nearing Toronto. She looked at me and asked ."What was the name you said?" I repeated it, but she didn't recognize it, so she asked me to spell it. That's when I was told the correct pronunciation of the road that mom by-passed. Trafalgar is a main route into Oakville.

          Actually, Mom came to driving later in life. She wanted to be independent and she was determined to be a driver. She was the mother of several children when she made this momentous decision. This was in the days of big cars; no seatbelts and no car seats for kids. We lived in southern Ontario and mom would practise driving in Sundridge. I still remember Mom's disappointment when she failed her first road test. The instructor claimed Mom had stopped where no stop sign existed. On her second attempt, Mom didn't hesitate to point out that stop sign to the same doubting instructor.

         I only recall Mom having one accident and the victim was the new aluminum siding on our house. Pulling into the driveway, Mom failed to brake before hitting the wall. She created two perfectly round dents that matched the Pontiac's front headlights.

         Mom put her licence to good use. My brother and I were always needing emergency medical attention. We began to spend summers camping in Sundridge and the summer I was fourteen, Mom and I travelled too many times to the North Bay hospital. I'd broken my thumb the last day of school and I faced spending the entire summer in a plaster cast. I ignored Mom's warnings and swam anyway. She became suspicious when I started to drape a beach towel over my hand whenever I was in her company. I think I received two replacement casts that July alone. Mom was persistent.

         When I turned sixteen Mom insisted I earn my driver's licence. She assured me, that I'd never regret it and I'd thank her one day. Okay, mom, you were right; thank you. You never completely trusted my driving ability though. You bravely rode shotgun when I was a novice because dad refused to do so after only one white-knuckled ride. I noticed your pallor, your dis-inclination to chat, and your tight grip on the door handle.

         In more recent years, you were relieved to click on a seatbelt as my passenger, but you never lost that instinct to latch onto the door handle. You loosened up enough to carry on a conversation, but your right foot would be pressing its own imaginary brake pedal. After a trip you'd say to me, "We made it." Were you surprised? Were you thanking me in a roundabout manner or thanking God?

         I enjoyed being your chauffeur Mom. We had long chats about books, movies, people, family, current events; everything and anything. You never did tell me that I talk too much. I remember a shopping trip to North Bay. You thanked me with, "It was a day well spent."

         You did, however, have an eye roll and a particular glare that expressed disapproval. Unfortunately, we experienced this during your recent and final two weeks in the hospital. Many days we struggled; you to speak, and me to understand. With no clear context your random words were confusing. A few times you spoke in complete sentences and you sounded exasperated. You'd admonish, "It isn't funny", complete with that special mom eye roll and look. Sherry and I would assure you that we weren't laughing at your situation. We'd laugh at the "two-four-six-eight" and the "Holey moley! You've got to watch that Sandra Brownlee." We laughed when you told us the coffee was boiling because you were in a critical care bed and we realized the oxygen hose sounded like a percolator. We laughed again when the narrower oxygen line sounded like a chugging washing machine. You unintentionally caused us to laugh when you realized we couldn't understand you so you said in a no-nonsense tone, "It's b-r-o", and then you never did finish. Yes, spelling is important. Mom, you made us laugh when after several trips to visit you, Sherry and I were greeted with "You again".

         You gave us the gift of laughter and humour. You taught us by example to see the silly and absurd in our everyday lives. We could cry about our shortcomings or accept them and laugh. In reading your journals, I am struck by your faith and your joy. You thank God for waking to a new day. You thank him for a good book or the pleasures of a trip. You thank God for a restful night's sleep or a respite from pain. Mom- you even thanked God for the weather no matter what you were surprised with. You were especially grateful and amazed to celebrate your 65th birthday. With your history of health woes it was a milestone. You expressed the most thankfulness for the love of family.

         I believe this was the essence of your life Mom; you loved and knew love. This supported you for close to seventy-five years. With love you endured chronic illnesses and pain. With love you created a devoted family of four children, seven grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. This is quite the legacy.

         Each time you faced another surgery; I was asked by medical professionals what I intended to do if you should die. I loved the shocked looks on the nurses' faces when I quipped that I planned to donate your body to science because I was too cheap to bury you. I did wonder how you physically recovered each time. With more and more of your body removed, how could you continue to live? The answer, of course, is that you were sustained by love.                                                                                                              

         You were the mother who always put her children's needs first. You worked miracles with what you had and we never wanted for anything. To this day, you still prepared for Christmas as a year-long campaign. It's your favourite holiday and you delighted in finding that special something for everyone in your family. Whenever I was sent to your bedroom closet, I was warned not to peek in the gift box. I suppose if I look now it will not be snooping?                                                                                                    

         I believe everyone collects and is fascinated by something; stamps, coins, Elvis memorabilia, books, whatever. From her love of Christmas, Mom nurtured a connection with angels. Over the years, her angels multiplied. All of us; daughters, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren contributed to this. We each browsed shops and craft fairs or created our own in order to gift Mom/Nanny/ "Grape" Nan with the perfect angel. Amazingly, she remembered where each angel originated; who gifted it to her and when. To Mom, each was cherished.

         Many years ago, when I embarked upon a similar life path like yours; and I became a young mother of three children within four years, I was told by an aunt's neighbour that I was "just like my mother". I was well aware that this was intended to be an insult, but I chose to see it as a compliment; the ultimate compliment. Being compared to my mother; is not a bad thing. I can only aspire to be like her.

         I used to think that the term 'passing' was inappropriate to use in the place of 'dying'. It seems so casual. A car passes through a town in a drive-by. A thought can be fleeting, here one minute and gone the next. Strangers can be known as passers-by. Now I see the relevance of saying this word. Mom will be passing through my heart each and every day. Cherished memories will be shared and passed among her family and friends.

         I'll admit it now , sometimes you were right Mom. I probably didn't say this enough, but I admire and love you.

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