It's still surreal to write that. I feel like I'm talking about someone else, when I read it. My mom was never supposed to pass away. We'd had a good, symbiotic relationship. She would call me every so often and complain that I didn't call her enough; and I would explain to her that we had the rest of our lives – there was no urgency.
I guess that was wrong.
The past week has been a complete blur. My mom had gone to the emergency room last Friday, although the situation was far from dire. True, she suffered from pulmonary hypertension, emphysema and COPD (the latter two, almost certainly linked back to years of smoking); but the past few weeks, she'd gotten progressively (and rapidly) worse. She went to the ER, primarily to get acute care; but even during the day, I was texting my wife (who works in the hospital) to see if it was necessary for me to come there – no one thought it was. She needed oxygen and rest (and what better place than a hospital).
My wife and I actually attended a party that evening. And we arrived home around midnight. My wife called the ER, and found that they were moving my mom – not to ICU (as we'd suspected), but to a lower unit. Good news all around.
An hour later, my sister called with the news. She'd simply passed away. And, even now, there's no rhyme or reason. Every doctor was shocked. Yes, she was sick (and, almost certainly, she had a long road ahead of her – the cat scan had showed other issues that hadn't been seen before). But, still, the suddenness was shocking. I'm still in shock.
From that hour (1am on Saturday morning) until now, I've run through a gamut of emotions. I don't really even know what day it is. Plans and arrangements had to be made. People needed to be notified. In just a few days, my life was turned upside down and violently shaken like a toddler with a snow globe. The days were a combination of exhaustion and distractions. I slept for hours (because, at least when I was asleep, I didn't have to be thinking).
And, suddenly, the distractions were gone. All that's left is the mourning and emptiness. And one word: "Never" - which is now completely synonymous with my mom. I'll never see her again. I'll never speak with her again. I'll never laugh with her again. I'll never be annoyed with her again.
I put on a good show this week. I smiled and laughed with people, but the word "Never" hadn't sunk in yet. I know the next few days ... weeks ... months ... years ... will be changed forever now.
Interestingly, my recent transformation into a father had been instrumental in changing my relationship with my mom. As an example, for years, my mom (and the rest of my family) would go to an Easter play ... she'd ask my wife and I, and we always declined ... wasn't our thing. This year, I thought how much it would mean to me if my son would willingly do things with me that I wanted to do, just because I asked him; and that changed my perception. So we went. I'm very happy we did (not because the show was great; just because it really was the right thing to do).
I still believe that I need to be strong for others. During the wake and funeral, it was others' emotions that most moved me. Seeing my family hurting caused me to feel even worse. In fact, for most of the week, I was upset that I wasn't more upset. It was my family's emotions that caused me to feel sorrow.
And, then last night, for no reason, I broke into a crying fit. I told my wife I wanted to videotape interviews with all our relatives. I wanted to get video of my mom so my son will be able to build memories of her. And, I told her I wanted to make sure my son was a better son than I was. And that was it. Cue the waterworks. Exit stage left.
Obviously, the wake and funeral was a blur of emotions. My current friends, oldest friends, ex-friends, current co-workers; previous bosses – even my ex-wife showed up to pay respects ... it certainly continued the surreal feeling of the week.
And, on the last night, I gave a speech; a tribute to my mom. It wasn't nearly as emotional as I feel now (I had days to write it, rewrite it and edit it). And, I thought I wanted it to sound as though it came from the elder statesman of the family. If I could do it over, I probably would change some things; but, I wanted to include it here.
On behalf of my entire family – my father, my sisters and their families, my aunts and my cousins, I want to thank you all for coming to pay your respects and provide support during this exceptionally difficult time.
When we were writing out the information for my mom’s obituary, the funeral director asked what her profession was. And, I answered, “mother.” She certainly had jobs – as a realtor and working for the county, later in life; but I think she would’ve liked to think her career (and what she’d be most remembered for) was as a mother.
She was a strong, passionate woman, who sought out causes to be an advocate. For many of us, the clearest example is when she formed PEGAT (the Parents and Educators for the Gifted and Talented organization), which almost certainly is her shining accomplishment. She founded the group because she felt the school district was ill-prepared to embark on this new initiative, and she wanted to ensure the parents (and teachers) were on the same page. For nine consecutive years, she led the organization, as it became – arguably – the largest and most involved PTA in the district and, almost certainly, the most progressive gifted and talented advocacy group on Long Island.
And, when I graduated from the district, she stepped down as president. It was never about the prestige or the power, for her; it was always about her children. Once her children were no longer involved in the program, her involvement was no longer necessary.
I remember asking her, years later, if it bothered her that while the organization continued, there was no homage paid to her for her hard work and the guiding principles she established, and – not surprisingly, she said no. It was never about that for her; it only was about ensuring her children benefited from the program, and whatever she could do to facilitate that was her only objective.
When her children grew, her energies led her in new directions. She was a woman who sought out purpose in life and causes to support. She became the primary caregiver for my grandmother, until she needed to be placed in an adult home. And when that happened, she formed and ran a patient advocacy program at the Good Samaritan Nursing Home in Sayville. Eventually she was a board member and volunteer with the Sayville Cabinet for the Sick and she volunteered with the Sayville Food Pantry as well.
And, sadly, in the past few years, none of us, including her, recognized that the cause she should most have been championing, was herself.
But, she would say all of these accomplishments were ancillary; because, as I said before, her top goal was to provide for her children and ensure their happiness. When we were young, she volunteered as a cub scout and girl scout leader, and she never tired of coming up with ways to make our childhood a happier time.
I can still recall being quite young and being fascinated with dinosaurs. She set up a birthday party where my friends were blindfolded and led through a museum of dinosaur artifacts she had created … there were peeled grapes, which were the dinosaurs’ eyes; and cooked spaghetti which was the dinosaurs’ veins. This was just one example of the type of mom she was. All she needed was an inkling of her children’s interests, and she was off and running with creative, engaging ideas.
She always wanted to be the house where people met. She took pride in being the destination, not only for family; but for friends. No doubt, the number of people who felt the touch of her hospitality and her generosity is almost uncountable.
Interestingly, through social networking, over the past few years, I’ve been fortunate to reconnect with countless friends and relatives from my youth, and each time I’ve connected, they shared their extremely fond memories of my mom (when I connected with one of my cousins; the first thing she remembered was how she would come to our house after school and eat frozen ding-dongs, which was the afterschool snack my mom would serve). Obviously, since her passing, those stories have just multiplied exponentially. It’s extremely comforting and I really think she’d be contented to know that her legacy and memories were so rich and warm.
I don’t want this to be entirely sad. And, more importantly, she wouldn’t want that either. I sat my eight-month old son down yesterday and explained to him, “It’s a good thing you don’t understand pressure; because there’s a lot of it on you now. The next three days, you have but one job – your job is to make people smile.” And he looked at me, and moved his bowels; which I assumed meant he understood (since that’s normally the way I acknowledge people).
One of the things people loved about my mom was her sense of humor. And, she was comfortable with – maybe she even preferred -- self-deprecating humor.
For example, even as technology evolved, she continued to use her antiquated devices; even through her family purchased newer items for her. At Christmas, one of her grandchildren might be doing something cute, and we’d all grab our smartphones to start shooting video; while she’d be struggling to load a VHS tape into the 1987 camcorder she had. For years, even after getting a cellphone, she refused to get rid of her beeper; which may have kept that industry alive for another 2-3 years.
One of my favorite stories of all time took place when we were doing my college visits. She wanted to be worldly and knowledgeable. We were looking at the campus map for New Paltz, and she said – very seriously – “oh, I don’t know if I want you to go here.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, it sounds like there’s a lot of accidents and injuries here.”
“Really?” I said
“Oh yes,” she said. “There’s this whole area in the upper part of the map called the Tripping Fields.”
As her children shifted into adulthood, the relationships changed, obviously. I’m especially happy that we all – as a family – went to Disney World in 2009. My mom had always wanted to go; and it was a joy to go and experience it with her, with us all as adults. The trip certainly had its bumps (one of us (who shall remain nameless) might have had a slight meltdown in the parking lot on the last day, when the limo company showed up with a vehicle that was too small to transport us) – but, as I look back on the vacation, my memories are only happy; and I’m sure they’ll continue to get even better.
Obviously, the past few days have been a mixture of emotions – anger, guilt, depression, sadness and even some moments of humor. I think each member of my family has felt every raw emotion at some point. I think I’ve struggled, quite a bit, with what to make of this event. The sheer unfairness of her passing has – at times – consumed me; especially since I’m someone who always likes things to make sense. And, for the most part, this simply doesn’t.
Nothing any of us can do can change what has happened; we can only change our future and attempt, in some way, to make changes that honor her memory and her values. For her family and friends, who knew her, it’s important to find ways to ensure her passing was not in vain.
For me, I have no doubt that my family will become closer through these events. We already have.
I will no longer think, “oh, there’s enough time…” It was sobering and saddening to see that we had only ONE photograph of my mom and my son. There was always tomorrow. That can’t be my philosophy anymore.
I have no doubt that her virtues and life lessons prepared me to be a stronger father than I’d ever have been otherwise, even if I didn’t know it at the time.
My goal, each day, is to ensure my son smiles. And each time he does that, I feel confident that I’ve done right by her, and I know somewhere above, she’s approving of kind of father I’m becoming. And, she would certainly say, more than anything else I do in life; never lose sight of the fact that being a father is – absolutely – the most important job I’ll ever hold.
Rest in peace, Mom. You’ve earned it, for all you’ve done for everyone.
At the risk of making this sound like I’m accepting an award (which my wife cautioned me about), I did want to mention a few other things.
I do want to thank my sister Debbie, who completely stepped up and handled the lion’s share of the responsibilities leading up to today – from selecting pictures to making dinner for the entire family each night. I know, as I’ve reflected on things these past few days, that my mom held a special role in this family; one with shoes that are almost certainly too large for anyone to step into. But, if one person has the capacity to do so, it would be Debbie.
And, I do have to thank my wife, who has done even more than her usual 90 percent of the work these past few weeks, to make sure that I can stand here and actually look composed and in control, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Once again, I would like to extend my thanks and deepest appreciation for all who have come this evening. Your support has truly been overwhelming.
At this time, I’d like to invite anyone else who would like to speak and share a memory or story to do so.
When we were writing out the information for my mom’s obituary, the funeral director asked what her profession was. And, I answered, “mother.” She certainly had jobs – as a realtor and working for the county, later in life; but I think she would’ve liked to think her career (and what she’d be most remembered for) was as a mother.
She was a strong, passionate woman, who sought out causes to be an advocate. For many of us, the clearest example is when she formed PEGAT (the Parents and Educators for the Gifted and Talented organization), which almost certainly is her shining accomplishment. She founded the group because she felt the school district was ill-prepared to embark on this new initiative, and she wanted to ensure the parents (and teachers) were on the same page. For nine consecutive years, she led the organization, as it became – arguably – the largest and most involved PTA in the district and, almost certainly, the most progressive gifted and talented advocacy group on Long Island.
And, when I graduated from the district, she stepped down as president. It was never about the prestige or the power, for her; it was always about her children. Once her children were no longer involved in the program, her involvement was no longer necessary.
I remember asking her, years later, if it bothered her that while the organization continued, there was no homage paid to her for her hard work and the guiding principles she established, and – not surprisingly, she said no. It was never about that for her; it only was about ensuring her children benefited from the program, and whatever she could do to facilitate that was her only objective.
When her children grew, her energies led her in new directions. She was a woman who sought out purpose in life and causes to support. She became the primary caregiver for my grandmother, until she needed to be placed in an adult home. And when that happened, she formed and ran a patient advocacy program at the Good Samaritan Nursing Home in Sayville. Eventually she was a board member and volunteer with the Sayville Cabinet for the Sick and she volunteered with the Sayville Food Pantry as well.
And, sadly, in the past few years, none of us, including her, recognized that the cause she should most have been championing, was herself.
But, she would say all of these accomplishments were ancillary; because, as I said before, her top goal was to provide for her children and ensure their happiness. When we were young, she volunteered as a cub scout and girl scout leader, and she never tired of coming up with ways to make our childhood a happier time.
I can still recall being quite young and being fascinated with dinosaurs. She set up a birthday party where my friends were blindfolded and led through a museum of dinosaur artifacts she had created … there were peeled grapes, which were the dinosaurs’ eyes; and cooked spaghetti which was the dinosaurs’ veins. This was just one example of the type of mom she was. All she needed was an inkling of her children’s interests, and she was off and running with creative, engaging ideas.
She always wanted to be the house where people met. She took pride in being the destination, not only for family; but for friends. No doubt, the number of people who felt the touch of her hospitality and her generosity is almost uncountable.
Interestingly, through social networking, over the past few years, I’ve been fortunate to reconnect with countless friends and relatives from my youth, and each time I’ve connected, they shared their extremely fond memories of my mom (when I connected with one of my cousins; the first thing she remembered was how she would come to our house after school and eat frozen ding-dongs, which was the afterschool snack my mom would serve). Obviously, since her passing, those stories have just multiplied exponentially. It’s extremely comforting and I really think she’d be contented to know that her legacy and memories were so rich and warm.
I don’t want this to be entirely sad. And, more importantly, she wouldn’t want that either. I sat my eight-month old son down yesterday and explained to him, “It’s a good thing you don’t understand pressure; because there’s a lot of it on you now. The next three days, you have but one job – your job is to make people smile.” And he looked at me, and moved his bowels; which I assumed meant he understood (since that’s normally the way I acknowledge people).One of the things people loved about my mom was her sense of humor. And, she was comfortable with – maybe she even preferred -- self-deprecating humor.
For example, even as technology evolved, she continued to use her antiquated devices; even through her family purchased newer items for her. At Christmas, one of her grandchildren might be doing something cute, and we’d all grab our smartphones to start shooting video; while she’d be struggling to load a VHS tape into the 1987 camcorder she had. For years, even after getting a cellphone, she refused to get rid of her beeper; which may have kept that industry alive for another 2-3 years.
One of my favorite stories of all time took place when we were doing my college visits. She wanted to be worldly and knowledgeable. We were looking at the campus map for New Paltz, and she said – very seriously – “oh, I don’t know if I want you to go here.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, it sounds like there’s a lot of accidents and injuries here.”
“Really?” I said
“Oh yes,” she said. “There’s this whole area in the upper part of the map called the Tripping Fields.”
As her children shifted into adulthood, the relationships changed, obviously. I’m especially happy that we all – as a family – went to Disney World in 2009. My mom had always wanted to go; and it was a joy to go and experience it with her, with us all as adults. The trip certainly had its bumps (one of us (who shall remain nameless) might have had a slight meltdown in the parking lot on the last day, when the limo company showed up with a vehicle that was too small to transport us) – but, as I look back on the vacation, my memories are only happy; and I’m sure they’ll continue to get even better.
Obviously, the past few days have been a mixture of emotions – anger, guilt, depression, sadness and even some moments of humor. I think each member of my family has felt every raw emotion at some point. I think I’ve struggled, quite a bit, with what to make of this event. The sheer unfairness of her passing has – at times – consumed me; especially since I’m someone who always likes things to make sense. And, for the most part, this simply doesn’t.
Nothing any of us can do can change what has happened; we can only change our future and attempt, in some way, to make changes that honor her memory and her values. For her family and friends, who knew her, it’s important to find ways to ensure her passing was not in vain.
For me, I have no doubt that my family will become closer through these events. We already have.
I have no doubt that her virtues and life lessons prepared me to be a stronger father than I’d ever have been otherwise, even if I didn’t know it at the time.
My goal, each day, is to ensure my son smiles. And each time he does that, I feel confident that I’ve done right by her, and I know somewhere above, she’s approving of kind of father I’m becoming. And, she would certainly say, more than anything else I do in life; never lose sight of the fact that being a father is – absolutely – the most important job I’ll ever hold.
Rest in peace, Mom. You’ve earned it, for all you’ve done for everyone.
At the risk of making this sound like I’m accepting an award (which my wife cautioned me about), I did want to mention a few other things.
I do want to thank my sister Debbie, who completely stepped up and handled the lion’s share of the responsibilities leading up to today – from selecting pictures to making dinner for the entire family each night. I know, as I’ve reflected on things these past few days, that my mom held a special role in this family; one with shoes that are almost certainly too large for anyone to step into. But, if one person has the capacity to do so, it would be Debbie.
And, I do have to thank my wife, who has done even more than her usual 90 percent of the work these past few weeks, to make sure that I can stand here and actually look composed and in control, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Once again, I would like to extend my thanks and deepest appreciation for all who have come this evening. Your support has truly been overwhelming.
At this time, I’d like to invite anyone else who would like to speak and share a memory or story to do so.
I know this will get easier. And, it will get harder. There will be small things that will trigger great outbursts; and years from now, when I'm "introducing" my son to my mom, there will be a cavalcade of emotions all over again. My own regrets will fuel my efforts to show my son how amazing his grandmother truly was. Her beliefs: love your family, advocate for the less fortunate, be frugal; will be passed on to him.
One of my mom's favorite activities was going to garage sales. She'd head out on a Saturday with my sisters and their families and they would hit 20 garage sales. She loved a great deal (even though, there was a better-than-average chance that her purchases would be given to her children as gifts and – eventually – would be sold, again, at her OWN garage sale later on).
In her memory, my wife and I went to three garage sales today. I bought a copy of "Four Christmases." Her favorite holiday (and mine, by far) was Christmas. I hope she smiled.
9 comments:
Such a loving tribute.
That was a wonderful. I never met your mom, but feel as I just did from what you have written about her. I actually found it deeply moving.
Beautiful
Sorry for your loss Chris
I really am sorry.
I truly hope you do not put too much pressure on yourself to be a good dad. You are there for your kid, and that is an amazing thing, more than many children have.
It was a very nice and moving tribute. I was glad to have been there.
Thanks all ....
I appreciate the kind words and all the support, over the past week-or-so.
I gotta call my mom today. Thank you for the reminder
Chris, i'm sorry for your loss. When my mother died, it was unexpected, and the shock took awhile to abate. I found about six weeks afterwards, when others had pretty much gotten on with their lives, i started truly processing the loss.
I've now lived more years on the planet without her than with her. I still miss her. I'm glad she thought to give me the tools she thought i'd need some day rather than wait. I'm sure she didn't expect to leave the planet when i was 19 and that there were more tools she would have passed along.
It sounds as if your mom wanted to do what was best for you, too, and wanted to see you succeed. I'm glad she got to see you become a dad and had a chance to hold her grandchild.
megan
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