Happy Mother’s Day!

Thirteen years ago, this day had a whole new meaning for me.  That is the day I celebrated my first Mother’s Day.  I  to think there were s another Mother’s Day approaches, I think of you and all the values you taught me as a child that I still carry with me.

• Be kind: even if you have nothing to give, you always have a smile and a helping hand.
• Respect your elders: listen to their stories with an eager ear – their history gives you new perspective.
• Mind your manners: say please and thank you – and eat what’s on your plate, no complaints.
• Be a good friend:
• Put family first:  protect, uplift and support those that have been there for you from day 1 (and that doesn’t mean just blood!)

I grew up with three older brothers and I saw a lot of shit. Crazy shit. You know the kind that made you want to follow, but you just knew your butt would be thankful that you didn’t once that belt came out? Yeah, that was me.

One of the most delightful times in my life have been witnessing firsts, those moments you look upon with pride, amazement, joy…

For me it has been with my two sons, as it was, I imagine, for my mom with her children. From the sound of first heartbeats to the echos of first cries when entering the world; from first coos to first words; from first roll overs to first steps; from first smiles to first belly laughs; from first kisses to their first loves. Every moment observed with love and stored into our memory banks to reflect on as tone passes by.

As an older parent of two boys with a 6-year age gap between them, I’m also in this unique situation where not only am I experiencing some firsts for my youngest, but I’m also experiencing some lasts with my oldest and man is it bittersweet. Furthermore, there is yet a new stage of firsts, one which no one has prepared me for.

I lost my mom three months ago after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. For those that have witnessed someone going through this disease, you know too well the struggle of losing someone piece by piece a little more as each year passes. For my mom, the last five had been the hardest, most progressive. Despite that recurring loss, losing her completely, when she passed, blindsided me with such a permanent emptiness..

It’s especially difficulty to navigate during the holidays. With a 12-year old who is on the border of wanting to still believe, and an 18-year-old back from his first year at college, all I want is for them to continue to relish in the spirit and the glory of the season. Where time with family is a priority. Where joy and happiness whisper in your ears. Where laughter lingers in your home. Where gratitude and forgiveness fill your heart.

But how do you achieve this when you are trying process grief? It’s the first time that I’ve had to take a sacredly happy and joyful season and mix it with the solemn effects of utter heart break and emptiness.  Trying to balance peace and happiness with grief and sadness during the time when we have traditionally surrounded my mom with our love and presence… yeah that’s tough. Knowing we don’t have another moment with her in the physical sense. Contemplating over the last moments spent with her: should I have stayed a little longer, embraced her a little harder, made her laugh more?

So much tugging from the mind to the heart strings. I know her spirit is with us and her lessons are in the DNA of me, my siblings and our kids. I know that If I search hard enough, I can feel her all around. I know that if I just remember, she will feel close. I know that she would prefer that we celebrate her and not grieve. But for me, right now in this moment, that’s not enough to get me through. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad she can rest peacefully now but damn this world needed her longer … WE needed her longer. And Christmas just isn’t going to be as merry without her. Point blank.

But, we will get through this new stage of firsts. One day, one moment, one breath at a time. A set of new steps built off the series of lasts that we had with her. 

The circle of life… both marvelous and bittersweet.

The last time I spoke to my mom, I told her I was ready to let her go, but not ready to lose her. I asked (ok, begged!) her if she could, to please come find me in some of our favorite places and give me signs that she’s still here with me. In the gardens, at the beach, in the silent spaces of  reflection (a walk, writing or fading into a good book). 

I remember her services at the church so clearly – my mind focused on sharing stories of her love, her passions, her kindness. I was determined to find the strength deep down inside not to crumble, but to honor her and celebrate her. 

Accomplished. 

But once I got into the car to begin the journey to the cemetery, I feared I may have missed signs of her being near.  I recall after her services feeling a sense of emptiness that I thought might not have been so vast if I had just seen signs of her near me.  When I expressed this to a few people, each shared very specific observations with me.

1. (1) An Alzheimer’s walk where groups of supporters walked in unison and hope right past the church where we gathered to celebrate my mom; (2) the group of 3 birds that circled the plot as we drove up and slowly glided away as we put her to rest; (3) when the dreary clouds that had cast shadows over us most of the morning broke free to reveal blue skies and sunshine upon us as we gathered at the Pub with family and friends.

Fast forward …

It’s been three  months since my mom’s passing.without giving too much away, I was on a site visit in let’s just say a very beautiful location surrounded by sandy beaches, lavish rooms, lush gardens, and incredible hospitality. From the farm-to-table inspired dinner in the garden next to a greenhouse that produced a majority of ingredients for the resort’s dining experience, to the flowers that bloomed and cast sweet aromas throughout the property, to the kindness and gratitude from every single person that treated me like a queen. Over the past three days, I felt my mother everywhere. I mean, everywhere.

On my final day there as I floated in the pool thinking of the past few months, all the unexpected challenges, the loss, the grief … a warm breeze swept over me,  quickly followed by head-to-toe goosebumps. With the  water gently rippling over me, I slowly opened my eyes to the blue heavens above and saw three birds gliding above me … circling so delicately for what seemed like an eternity. I smiled as tears rolled down my cheeks and I whispered “love you more.” Then several other birds approached and in immediate response, they all glided away in unison towards the sea. 

I closed my eyes again and the melody of a song that I always sing to my boys filled my memory bank…”This is my message to you…ooo…ooo… Don’t worry about a thing. Cause every little thing is gonna be alright…”. 

For the first time in a while, I believe those words more than ever.

Writing A eulogy… I thought… How do I summarize my mom’s life in a way that respects her, celebrates her and gives us all the space and grace to process our grief … together. She would be so uncomfortable with this. She never liked being the center of attention. But I like to think … she’s standing right here next to me, smiling, encouraging me all the way, like she always used to.

Thank you for being with us today, to celebrate the life of a remarkable woman, my mother Judy.

I wanted to start by sharing what I think to be “nuggets of goodness” about my mom. It is my hope that these bring you warmth and reflection on the special gifts she shared and lessons she taught us all.

My mom loved gardening.

In fact, she took great pride in her nursery and her flowers. And even more, she loved sharing them with her community. A garden, much like other living things, requires patient labor and special attention. Plants do not grow merely to satisfy ambitions or to fulfill good intentions. They thrive because someone put love, effort, time and attention on them. I think that gardening offered my mom a calm,  peaceful place to reflect, grow, and nurture. A way to leave this place – and people’s lives – a little more special than it was before. My mom was a gifted gardener. Her dedication and love for it is the very reason why every time I smell lilac or see a sunflower that I’m instantly transported to an image of my sweet momma digging her hands in the soil, laughing and being free.

My mom was also an avid reader. 

I mean an entire-book-in-one-sitting kind of reader. She read everything, literary novels, biographies, short stories, and yes, romance novels.  You know, the ones where  Fabio’s magnificent hair graced the covers?!  Wherever she went, she had a book in her hand and she seized any opportunity to open it and escape to a place where she could explore, learn, imagine, believe – and sometimes transform into someone else. I believe it is through reading – and the characters within the stories – that my mom developed her gift of empathy.  Relating to other people, no matter what their background.  Understanding the situation from another person’s perspective – even if she didn’t hold the same beliefs. I think my mom’s love of the written word is what guided my passion towards writing. Lifting spirits and healing souls through words, understanding a different perspective. Thanks for igniting that passion in me, mom.

My mom had strong faith and beliefs.

In fact, her childhood dream was to become a nun. She went to St Joe’s here in Keene, she worshipped and got married in this very church. Then, she met my dad! The love of her life, Clovis. The handsome, funny man that swept her off her feet and gave her a glimpse into another world, one she never even considered. A seed of hope that was planted, a love that was nurtured, and a life that was cultivated by these loving hands for nearly 60 years. It’s beautiful. It’s built on loyalty, trust, respect, responsibility, love and a whole lot of laughter. She lived and breathed these things every single day and it helped infuse these traits in us, not only her children and her grandchildren but every single person in this room and beyond. Yes, we joke often about my dad stealing her from the church… but she carried on her faith and it’s values in different ways.  She cultivated a sacred space for us to thrive, to be the best versions of ourselves, to be humble and kind, resourceful, to give back and pay it forward. This was her legacy and it lives on through us all.

My mother loved family.

And she often felt most at ease when surrounded by them.  From early days with her mom, her memere, her brother, and her sister on Park Ave, she learned the importance of taking care of and being there for those you love, no matter what.

My mom was so proud of her children. She spent early days as a stay at home mom, then once I started school, she went back to work part time. Once we became more independent she embarked on her 25-year career at Genesis. She put her heart and soul into that job. Her compassion and sincerity bringing ease and peace to every family she touched. While my mom worked, she always balanced family time. She was ALWAYS present. Showed up at all our games, coordinated family camping trips, took us on long drives around New England, led our 4H troop.  But she also let us explore freely with one rule, be home every night for dinner. We were carefree, inquisitive, some would say wild…but she kept us grounded and humble.

Mom was so proud to be a memere! Surrounded by all her boys. She was their biggest cheerleader, they were her world. Zach, Kevin, Ryan, Hudson, Foster, Porter, Ledger, Willem, and Max …she loved you with all of her heart, she celebrated your accomplishments, she lifted you up in prayer, even when she couldn’t communicate, she wrapped herself up in this blanket and embraced you every single day with love. She’s with you always…in your dreams, in the smell of the flowers, in the songs of the hummingbirds that visit your window. Remember that.  

My mom’s love extended beyond blood. Everyone felt like a part of our family. She had an open door policy, loved and accepted our friends. No matter what. No judgement. Every Sunday you could find loads of teenagers overflowing the dining room feasting on her meals, sitting in the living room sharing our stories from the night before. Boy did laughter fill our walls!. Hers was the best. The ease in which she grew and nurtured love all around her. It was something beautiful.

Her final moments here were .. in her own way … actually beautiful and gentle and generous. Each one of us getting special time with her. 

For me… i remember the moments so clearly. I kissed her goodbye—with my eyes full of tears—I held her hand and promised her that I would be OK, and that we would all be OK. And that we would take care of each other, of my dad, and all the kids. I told her that we had her strength. And I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for filling my life with the greatest gifts a daughter could ever possibly receive from a mother. And, finally, I asked her to please come visit me … in our special places. In the garden, where the scent of flowers tickles our noses, the characters in books come to life,  words of wisdom are whispered in the wind, birds sing their beautiful songs, laughter fills the air, and rest comes peacefully, uninterrupted. 

I know she’ll answer that prayer; until then, be at peace, sweet momma. May god bless you, always. Love you more.