As some of you may know, my mother never wanted a memorial. For those of you who knew my mother, this is incredibly surprising. After all, this is the one event in her life that is all about her and she wanted to bypass it completely! And she was never one to miss out on any event that involved flowers. I told her she had no choice. A memorial service is really for those of us left behind. It’s our time to say goodbye. It’s also an opportunity to talk about her without interruption.
You often hear during eulogies that that the person being eulogized wouldn’t want us to be sad, but to celebrate their lives and move on. Not my mother. I am certain that she wants us to miss her. She wants us to think about her when we play bingo, when we go to her favorite restaurant, or her favorite store. She wants us to feel a little guilty for doing some of her favorite things without her. If we feel sad or guilty, it means that she had an impact on our lives.
Children often have an idealized notion of who their parents are. As we grow up, we discover that our parents are merely humans, humans that don’t live up to our high expectations. I have always looked up to my parents. However, as I got to know them as adults, I was surprised to find that they not only exceeded my expectations as people, but I loved them even more than I did when I was a child.
I came into my mother’s life when she was 38 years old. When she discovered she was pregnant with me, she told the doctor to go to hell! She had just gotten a promotion at work and had settled into her life with my father. The doctor told her, very gently, to go home, get used to the idea, and come back the following week. As I have been told many, many, many times, my mother suffered through months of bed rest in order to ensure that she had a healthy child. This was the first selfless act in a long line of selfless acts that continued until the last moments of her life.
I had an idyllic childhood that never hinted at the struggles she faced growing up or the trials she faced in her 20s. Those first 38 years shaped her as a woman and, more importantly, as a mother. She was bound and determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. She made sure that I excelled at everything I did. She made sure I knew I was loved. As a mother, she did one heck of a job.
That’s not to say that we didn’t have our “moments.” My mother always thought she was right. As a young adult, I knew I was right. “All mouth and full of poop,” dad used to say. This led to quite a few epic battles, often refereed by my father.
My mother would often take credit for my success, and often times, rightfully so. She would often take credit where credit wasn’t due. One day, not too long ago, I was driving her to the mall. She commented on my good driving and took credit for teaching me how to drive. This was a bit of revisionist history. You see, my mom tried to teach me to drive. If it looked like I was in 50 yards of running into something, she would start screaming at me. Not the ideal learning conditions for a 15 year old behind the wheel of a 3,000 pound car. My father took over from then on. My mother and I were both grateful and relieved. It took nearly 20 years before I would get behind the wheel of a car with my mother in the passenger’s seat.
As I was searching for a quote for mom’s obituary, I came across this quote by Oscar Wilde: “All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.” Married men in this room know one thing- Never compare your wife to her mother. Countless times, I have been called “Donna.” Sometimes, this happened accidently. More often than not, it was because I displayed a character trait often attributed to my mother. And, more often than not, it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Growing up, I felt that I had inherited all of my dad’s exceptional traits and none of my mother’s. I didn’t look like my mother. I wasn’t tall, thin and beautiful. I didn’t have her ability to talk to anyone. Just like her, I was never quite control of my emotions. I was a tad bossy with the neighborhood kids. I even inherited my childhood allergies and asthma from her side of the family. It took me over 30 years to see the positive attributes I inherited from my mother.
When I was a classroom teacher, I found myself without a room mother. My mother volunteered to plan parties for my students and came in once a week to read with students. As I watched her work with my kids, I noticed that tutoring came easy to her. She was a natural born teacher. I may not look like her and I may not talk to her, but she gave me a gift that has shaped my entire adult life.
My mother always referred to me as a “daddy’s girl.” However, I am my mother’s daughter in so many ways. I can say, without reservation, that I am the woman I am because of her. And for that, I am forever grateful.
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