The Talk I Would Have Given

 Some time ago I found myself in front of a laptop and no immediate task to accomplish on it, so after my usual web surfing I decided to jot some thoughts down about my mom.  This is a conglomeration of that day, and several others, leading up to all the times where I wrote at least something down of what I was thinking or feeling at those times.  It has only been two days since my mom’s funeral and I felt I needed to put something to digital memory before it escapes my ability to do so.  The house is quiet, the well-wishers have returned home, the bustling has died down, the flowers sit quietly beautiful, and I am left alone with my thoughts.    

At one time I thought these thoughts might be useful to compose a talk for a later occasion.  Obviously, now that she’s gone, and I didn’t speak at her funeral, they’ll just have to remain in the form of a journal entry.  Before anyone wonders why I didn’t speak, I wanted to open up that opportunity to her grandchildren first, since I would already be dedicating the grave.  She also only has one sibling whose health wouldn’t hamper his ability to speak at her funeral service, and I think we needed him to.

I held it together pretty well on the day of her funeral – only getting choked up a few times, and none of them when I was speaking to anyone, or asked to say a few words.  I was telling everyone I’d likely have a meltdown after everything was over – and I’m pretty sure I still will, but now I’m thinking it’ll happen when I’m not expecting it.  Grief is a strange thing.  I was trying so hard to make it through the day without breaking down that I fear I might have buried it too deeply.  

Crying is not a lack of character or sign of weakness, so why was I burying it?  I wish I had an answer.  I had family there for the minutia of choosing the casket, the music, arranging the program and the like, so why did I bury it at those times?  Was I trying to act tough, like it didn’t affect me?  That can’t possibly be it.  Anybody that knows me knows I’m not a tough guy.  The only conclusion I could come up with that made any sort of sense is that the heart and the head almost never agree on how to process grief.  I learned that from when my dad passed.  “Bittersweet” was the word I used when describing his passing, and I think it works just as well here as it did there.

At my dad’s funeral his brother (my uncle Kevin) gave what I considered to be the best talk of the day.  The following is borrowed heavily from him, only changing a few sections for brevity, and to remind myself that I'm referring to mom instead of dad.

He gave a quote from the novel Daniel Deronda by George Eliot.  In it, there’s a four line eulogy for Mordecai which says:

“Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness no contempt, Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.”

There are indeed, at times things here for tears.  I have shed tears.  Funerals and tears go together naturally.  John, chapter 11 has a two word verse:  “Jesus wept”, referring to the Saviors reaction to the death of his friend Lazarus.

When we think of our personal loss of never being able to be around Joan at her best again in this life, it is indeed bitter, and there are things there for tears.  If, on the other hand, we think about Joan passing into paradise, being welcomed by the love of her life, Terry, and her parents, and others who knew and loved her in this life, that is sweet, a sweet experience, and there is nothing there for tears, except they be tears of joy.

Mom had been suffering from pain (usually in the form of arthritis) since her early to mid 20’s, but I truly believe that unless she was in massive amounts of pain, she kept pretty silent to the point where we didn’t know she was hurting as bad as she was.

Physically she was probably weaker and more frail than most anyone you’d be likely to meet.  In every other way that could be used as a commentary on strength, there were probably few stronger.

I’m not going to lie.  I cursed God more than once during her long goodbye, but I had to step back and try to come up with a reason that she was either not healed, or taken from us sooner.  My belief is that I needed to learn more empathy.  There were times that I became angry with her, and everyday I wish that I could go back and do those days over.  My hope is that she knew I loved her fiercely, even with all my many, many shortcomings.  I can’t tell you how many times I think about what it will be like to see her again when she takes me in her arms and gives me a hug, and tells me that it’s ok, and that she loves me.

… and now I’m crying.