The Space Between Then and Now—A Eulogy
I went a beautiful memorial for
my friend Cara’s mother yesterday. The eulogy was absolutely the best tribute I
have ever heard. With Mother’s Day just passing and many people grieving the
loss of parents and loved ones, I asked Cara Alexander’s permission to printed
her mother’s eulogy as my Blog. You’ll be inspired by her words, because each
of her mother’s actions in life taught her the value of the simplistic ways we
tell each other how much we love:
Mom and Dad— how to live, face death
Our family has been so blessed
to have been led by Mom and Dad. They showed us how to face life with joy,
appreciation, curiosity and love of others. They also showed us how to face death
with faith, courage and grace.
Dad was at the prime of his
life with the future stretched out before him, but he remained positive, with
humor in tact, and joy of every minute showing in all he did as he faced his
untimely death. He never complained, and assured us that he was at peace with
God and would see us again.
Mom showed us how to grow old
and then face death with dignity, love, and kindness.
It’s not easy to watch friends
and loved ones go before us—we feel their bodies grow weaker, their minds less
sharp. But Mom got strength from her love of God and from her
family.
Mom always said she had a
wonderful life. Judging by the love she gave and received, she was right. But
she didn’t always have an easy life. Her mother, Grandma Peterson, fell in love
with Bryan Smith at fifteen. They lied about her age and went over the state
line to be married.
She had Uncle Art at sixteen,
Mom at nineteen, and was widowed at twenty-one. In order for this young mother
to support her two children and herself, she had to move back with her mother
and work in Mansfield, Ohio, leaving the children with Bryan’s parents. They
were staunch German farmers who worked hard and had no time for play, frivolity
or the musings of children.
Grandma brought them love and
oranges from the city on weekends when she would visit. Mom and Art had each
other and the animals that Art always had an uncanny way of befriending. This
is how Mom remembered her childhood.
They walked to the one room
schoolhouse up the road for their first eight grades. To go beyond that level
of schooling, Mom moved into Mansfield to live with her mother and attend
school there. Many of the children on neighboring farms, for varying reasons,
never went into town to complete their education. Mom and Art, however, were
determined to get their high school diploma—Art going to high school in Lucas
and Mom in Mansfield.
It must have been hard for Mom,
but she never complained. From statements she made, I think it must have taken
a lot of fortitude on her part to go into that school every day, especially at
the beginning. She didn’t know anyone when she started; she would have been
considered a country girl. Along with that, she was strikingly attractive.
Mom stood out. She had white-blonde
hair, thanks to Grandma’s family who came from Sweden on a ship called the
Swan. During one of our evening reminiscence, she mentioned how some students
and even teachers would comment on her ‘dyed’ hair. (There are no family
stories of her using shoe polish to make her hair darker.) It infuriated me
that students, but especially teachers, could be so cruel. That did not bother
Mom; she did not see anyone as cruel, only not understanding. But, that was
always Mom, always seeing, believing and thinking about the best in people. She
persevered, however, made life long friends and graduated.
Meeting Dad
Mom and Dad both grew up in the
area around Mansfield, Ohio, but never met each other until after the war. Dad
returned from the war, and one day walked by the Madison Theatre on his lunch
hour. He saw a beautiful blonde in the ticket booth. The next day he tried
timing his walk to when she might have her lunch hour. It worked. He followed
her from the ticket booth to a restaurant. When she was seated, he walked over
and asked if he could join her. She said, “Yes,” and the rest is history.
Mom and Dad were a beautiful
couple. Their easy nature, quick wit, great love and respect for each other,
and true enjoyment of each other’s company made them even more attractive. This
was evident when they were chosen to be married on air in Los Angeles, on the “Bride
and Groom” radio show, and given a honeymoon in Las Vegas. The wedding pictures
show a handsome couple, and the recording of their wedding reveals an
articulate, intelligent, witty couple who respected and enjoyed each other.
Puter
Mom and Dad worked hard to
create a home, first for the two of them, then with Cathy and finally for the
four of us. They started in Vetsville, Ohion, in a small, barely insolated
house in a community for veterans returning from the war. I remember Mom’s
stories of waking up in the morning to find icicles coming from the faucets and
seeing her breath inside the house.
Mom and Dad saved and bought
land and together they built Woodcrest, the house where Cathy and I grew up. Mom
always worked, never for money for herself, always for the family. I remember
one night at dinner when I was very young Mom was excited, because they had $25
and could now buy ‘nice’ lamps for the house. We had some lamps, but they were
very used, well-worn hand-me-down lamps. New, attractive lamps were, indeed,
exciting.
The next morning, however, we
saw that Puter, our cat, was not recovering from the birth of her four kittens
the way Mom and Dad thought she should. We took her to the Vet. After examining
her, the Vet returned and said he could take care of her, but was not sure she
would survive the stress if she ever had another litter of kittens.
The only way to ensure her
safety was to spay her, but that cost $25. Mom and Dad never looked at each
other, never spent time debating the prudent step. They each said, immediately
and in unison, “We have $25. We want her spayed.”
At that time $25 was a lot of
money, and most people had never even heard of spaying an animal. I didn’t know
what it meant, but I did know, at that instant, that if you were in our family
you would be cared for, no matter what the cost, no matter what the sacrifice
and no matter whether you had two or four legs.
Mom Working
Mom was blessed to have a job
that lent itself to her rare and special skills and talent. She worked as a
Customer Service Rep at Sears. Most
people seek out Customer Service when they are not particularly happy about
something, and Mom’s calm nature, concern, and work ethic ensured that people
that spoke with her would have their problems taken care of immediately, in a
friendly manner and with a warm smile.
When she retired from Sears
after thirty years, Sears gave her a banquet. Cathy, Ted and I were so touched
by the tributes and stories. Mom always left people feeling better than they
had before seeing her. Her compassion, humor, positive nature, can-do attitude
and resilience were described again and again.
She was well-loved by co-workers
and customers alike. Cathy and I were reminded of this over and over again
after her retirement. There was never such a thing as a quick trip into Sears
to pick up something. As soon as Mom entered, people would start coming up to
her—happy to see her, wanting to know what she had been doing and then telling
her about all that was going on in their life.
What additionally amazed us was
the cross section of friends Mom had—all ages, men and women, all races. Mom
always made each person feel special. That’s because Mom always saw every
person as special and was always honored to know them.
Dad’s Death
The hardest experience Mom, and
Cathy, Ted, and I have ever experienced was Dad’s death. It still cuts like a
knife, and even after all these years, I don’t think any of us can understand
it.
Mom and Dad were only
fifty-two. They had successfully raised their two daughters and were planning
the next chapter in their lives. Dad was going to retire as Claims Training
Director for State Auto Group, and Mom would retire from Sears in 3 years, at
age 55. They were going to move to Arizona to be by Dad’s beloved brother Mark
and his wife Evelyn. Their plan was for Dad to spend time with his art that he
loved and was so talented at. Mom would garden and help others, and both would
spoil their granddaughter Nikki and any other grandchildren that came along. The
land was bought and house plans were being created.
When one first hears the word cancer, it stops you in your tracks.
When you hear “Six months to live” it takes your breath away. Dad lived
eighteen months. His faith, courage, love of life, positive outlook, and good
humor that had always inspired others continued until the day he died. After
his death, Mom swept up the pieces of their shattered dream, sold the land in
Arizona, and showed us all how to live with a broken heart.
Strength: The Way of Grieving.
Cathy and I had always said that
Mom was a thoroughbred. We never saw her miss her stride. This was one way we
were different from her. When tragedy struck, Mom would be calm and composed. She
loved deeply. It was not a matter of not caring, but she contained her
emotions, hid her grief, and maintained a stiff upper lip. I think it was
probably the way she was raised by her grandparents—life goes on, tears don’t
help, and never show weakness. Cathy and I could never immediately muster the
strength Mom always showed.
I always wondered why we
couldn’t have Mom’s strength, and worried that we might be a disappointment to
her because of that. Something happened a few years ago, however, that gave me
peace. Although the circumstances were devastating. I received a call at work.
My husband, Tom, told me Saki, our beloved Border Collie, had died.
I went into shock. How could
that be? I had kissed Saki good-bye that morning like I always did. She was
wagging her tail, although a little slower than usual. I left work immediately,
needing to get to Tom and Saki. I imagined all who hear unexpected, tragic news
have the same thoughts and prayers I had as I was rushing to the veterinarian hospital.
I misunderstood. Tom said Saki was sick, not dead. Or, the unthinkable had
happened, but God in heaven realized a mistake had been made and used one of
his miracles to right the wrong.
When I entered Volunteer Vet
and saw Tom’s and Dr. Fields’ faces, I knew I had not misunderstood, and no
angels had been sent to intercede. When I got home, I went into the bedroom and
broke down. Mom, who was now living with Tom and I, sought me out, however. As
I was sobbing, I felt Mom’s hand rubbing my back and heard her say, “It’s ok,
it’s ok.”
When I could finally look up, I
saw Mom looking into my eyes and continuing to repeat “It’s ok.” I finally
understood what she was saying. Saki was
ok. She was with Dad, Dixie, and all those that had gone before them to heaven,
and they would love and care for her until we could be reunited. She was
also telling me it was okay to grieve and cry. She could see I was broken, but
she knew I had the strength to put
all my pieces back together again and face the world.
We all grieve differently, and
heart wrenching grief does not mean a loss of faith. So, Cathy, the next time
your heart is broken or you see an injustice and your lips tremble and the
tears flow, Mom says, “It’s okay.”
Mom’s Move to Us
Mom came to live with Tom and
me 7 years ago. I thank God for all that He set in motion that allowed this to
happen. Mom was always happy, positive, and appreciative and maintained her
fresh outlook on life.
When she first came to stay
with us, she would walk to the mailbox to check the mail. When she would get it,
she would bring it back to Tom—so happy. It didn’t matter what it was or whom
it was for, someone in the world was thinking of someone in our home. That made
her happy. Because of Mom’s short-term memory loss, within an hour of getting
the mail, she would head out again to get the mail. The first time this
happened, Tom reminder her that she had already gotten the mail.
She was crestfallen. Tom vowed
he would never do that again. So, from then on, after she would bring in the
mail, he would sneak back to the box and put something back in so she could
repeat her journey and come back with the good news that we got mail. Thank
you, Tom, for that and all the ways you made Mom’s days happy and kept her
safe.
After time, Mom could no longer
walk to the mailbox by herself, so I would rush home after work, so we could
have our walk to the mailbox together. No matter how tired I was or how
frustrating my day had been, these walks inspired me and reminded me of what
was important.
Mom noticed and enjoyed
everything—a flower, a bird singing, a squirrel in the tree. She would sometimes just stand, looking
around and taking it all in. She calmed me, making me really see what was
important and not rushing to get this job done. She silently required me to
enjoy everything—not taking one flower, one bird, or one squirrel for granted.
Eventually, even a walk to the
mailbox was too much, but it didn’t curb Mom’s happy nature. When I’d get home
from work and walk into the living room, Mom would light up and exclaim, “Cara,
you’re home!”
I’d ask about her day. She’d
always tell me how good it had been. Sometimes with some details, and sometimes
saying she couldn’t remember what she did, but she knew it was good. I’d then
share a little about my day and then excuse myself to go change clothes. When
going back into the living room ten to fifteen minutes later, Mom would see me,
light up and exclaim “Cara, you’re home!” Once again, we’d exchange stories on
the day’s happenings. Her happiness and enthusiasm never wavered, and brought
me endless joy.
As time went on, Mom needed
help getting ready for bed at night, and we developed a ritual I came to
cherish. She had pictures of the family on her bed stands, shelves and on the
wall. Each night she would focus on at least a few of the pictures and we’d
share stories. How handsome Brett is and how proud Dad would be of him. How
happy Nikki and Mike looked, and how cute Collin and Alyssa are. What wonderful
people Cathy and Ted are, and how they raised such wonderful children and now
have such precious grandchildren. Blake never ages and Christina is so kind. And
always, how special Dad was, what a wonderful life they had, and how she loved
and missed him.
Mom loved living in
‘Nashville”. She always commented that all Nashville has is beautiful weather,
and the people in Nashville are so friendly. I can’t thank each of you in this
room enough for all the kindness you showed Mom.
Goodbye Is Not the End
We’re going to miss you Mom. But,
we’re so happy that you and Dad are together again. You are both with Grandma
and Grandpa, Aunt Evelyn, Uncle Art, all the friends, family, loved ones and
saints that have gone before you.
As for me, I look toward to the
day I see you again and hear you proclaim “Cara, you’re home!”
* * *
Bo Sebastian is a Hypnotherapist and Life & Health Coach,
available for private sessions to QUIT SMOKING, Lose Weight, New Lap-Band
Hypnosis for Weight Loss, CHANGE YOUR MIND, CHANGE YOUR LIFE! at 615-400-2334
or
www.bosebastian.com.
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