A few people have asked me to share the words that I spoke at my mom's funeral service on this blog. I hope that her inspiring spirit helps you find peace, comfort and courage.
When I started writing this piece, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I wanted to pay tribute to my mom’s life while at the same time offer some comfort to all of you. Rather than attempt to reflect on Marguerite Conrad in her entirety, only to fall miserably short, I decided to try and capture a fraction of her essence in a single snapshot of our time together. This is only part of the story. Some may call it the end. But, I know that it is really the beginning.
A few years ago on Mother’s Day, before “cancer” had entered our lives, I gave my mom this small, handwritten journal titled “Things My Mom Taught Me.” I wanted her to know the many ways, big and small, her love had shaped my life.
Here are a few excerpts from that journal:
- No one can make you happy, except yourself.
- The edges of brownies don't have any calories.
- The most special gifts come wrapped in brown paper bags.
- Wishing (really hard) can make a difference.
- Independence.
- The best story is nonfiction.
- To make another person feel good, listen. Just listen. And listen well.
- Bald eagles can build a next 20 feet deep.
- Never take 15 teenager ANYWHERE! Especially to a foreign country.
- The best way to get rid of something is to poison it - slowly. (Ask me about this one sometime.)
- It doesn't matter if you play the piano well. Play anyway and play often.
- When it comes to learning, follow your heart. When it comes to loving, follow your head.
- Before you retire the single most important household appliance is your vacuum cleaner. After you retire, the single most important household appliance is your husband. Choose both wisely.
- Work to understand and appreciate people who are different from yourself.
- Life offers no guarantees.
I remember sitting at my desk one day, adding excerpts to the journal. Suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, I realized that while my mom had done a wonderful job preparing me for life, I was totally unprepared for her death. I remember bowing my head and sobbing deeply at the thought. One day I would be in this world without her. I cried aloud, “What will I do when you die? How will I go on? Please teach me.”
Although I truly wanted to ask my mom those questions, the words never made it into the journal. After all, it was a gift of happiness. And, her death was far, far off. I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Little did I know, the river was building momentum.
Then the cancer came. Friday the 13th of January, 2012 we received the diagnosis. Our lives would be forever changed. We don’t have time today to discuss the many, many lessons that we all learned over the past year. And, I am certain there are many more lessons to come. At some point, I will write about the lessons I have learned and post them on my blog. Today, I am going to share with you just one lesson – perhaps the greatest lesson my mom ever taught.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the toilet in the bathroom as my mom was getting ready for bed. At the time, she was no longer able to walk, but she could still sit up unassisted. And she was capable of managing most of her personal care. Still, I wanted to sit with her and talk with her as she washed up. I didn’t feel obligated. I just wanted to be with her.
I will never forget being in the bathroom with her that day as she looked at me and said, “Kerry, I have been thinking a lot about my purpose in life. Everyone needs a purpose. I have been wondering what purpose I can serve now that I am disabled and will continue to decline. I will need more and more help, and will be less able to give anything in return. Then, it occurred to me. I am a teacher and always have been. Now, my purpose is to teach you all how to die.”
That evening, when my husband Charlie gave me a kiss goodnight, I told him what my mom said. Tears rimmed his eyes and he looked at me with such love. He said, “Your mom is a wise lady, Kerry. But, she is wrong. Mimi is not teaching us how to die. She is teaching us how to live.” He couldn’t have been more right.
In the last months of her life, my mom felt the decline in her health daily. One day it was a slight tingling sensation in her legs. The next, double vision; numbness; inability to navigate stairs; inability to move her right leg; inability to move her left leg; inability to walk, turn over in bed, sit up, or even hold a mug of coffee. And yet, every day she woke up at 5:30, got out of bed, ate a bowel of Special K, and unwrapped the miracles of the day. She spoke of the miracles often.
What were the miracles? Simple things. A phone call from a friend; the laughter of her grandchildren; a tasty piece of chicken; a meaningful sermon; a warm cup of coffee; a husband willing to cut the legs off the bed so she could get in it; a sunny day; clean sheets; a good poop. (Now the poop may sound silly, but when you are no longer able to feel yourself having a bowel movement, a good poop is a great relief.)
Although she hid it well, I knew that my mother’s death was approaching. End stage cancer is not a gentle wave, far out at sea, rolling in quietly. It is more like a freight train, with its lights blaring brightly, horn roaring fiercely—an unstoppable force that caused the ground beneath me to quake until I was so greatly shaken that the very idea of getting out of bed in the morning seemed impossible.
But, I got out of bed everyday, because my mom got out of bed everyday. And, she shook my dad and brother Kevin out of bed everyday, too, at 5:30 in the morning. In fact, Mom told me once that she never wanted to spend an entire day in bed. Once in her life because of a nasty flu, she was forced to stay in bed for a full day. But, she never, ever wanted that to happen again.
And yet, here she was, dying of cancer. New debilitating symptoms presented everyday. At some point she would become bedridden. She may become blind, severely cognitively compromised, and even fully paralyzed. Did those thoughts stop her? No. She did what she could, controlled what she had, and loved every moment that life offered. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with her one evening, reading aloud a passage from a book. She reached out her hand and ran it ever so slowly and gently down my hair and the side of my face—a lifetime of love expressed in one, fleeting moment.
Late afternoon on Saturday, March 9th, Mom was resting in her easy chair. Sitting beside her, Mom looked over at me. She said, “Kerry, it is time for me to go to bed. I won’t be getting out of bed again. Please call Craig and tell him that I won’t be here next week.” With the help of the hospice nurse, Dad and I transported Mom to her hospital bed one last time. On Sunday, March 10th, having experienced one full day in bed, Mom decided it was time to get up. It was time for her to go home to be with her God.
It is hard to believe that a week has gone by since my mom died. Without a doubt, it has been the most difficult week of my life. And, as I understand grief, it may get worse before it gets better. Every single one of us gathered in this church today is grieving a tremendous loss. Mom had a way of touching the lives of every person she met. A world without her is simply unimaginable. And yet, we are forced to move forward in our lives. And so I return to the questions that I first asked when writing this journal. “What do we do now that you have died? How do we go on? Please teach us.”
The answer is really quite simple. But, the action will not always be easy. Get out of bed. Then, go unwrap the miracles of the day.
Mom had a very strong spiritual sense. Her and I spoke many times about God, faith, the journey she was about to take, and that we will always be together because love is eternal. She understood the difference between dogma and the Divine. She welcomed people of all different faiths into her life, knowing that there are many channels to God. The only doctrine that she outright rejected was anything that left one feeling alone or unloved.
In October, shortly after we learned that the cancer had metastasized to her brain, Mom had an experience in nature that can only be described as Divine. She was walking with my dad and their little dog, Luci. When they came to the end of the road, Mom decided to venture into the field. One of the trees had caught her attention and she wanted to get a closer look. As she approached the tree, she was filled with an intense feeling of unconditional love. She received the message that she was special. Very, very special. Never one for attention, Mom turned away from the tree. The communication subsided. She decided to look back at the tree, to see if the experience would return. The message surged like the opening of a floodgate. Once again, she was told that she was indeed very special and loved unconditionally.
When she shared this story with me, she cried. She couldn’t understand why she was special and why she was being told this. She said that she never saw herself as “special” and that she didn’t deserve this attention. I explained to her that God loves and cherishes every one of us beyond earthly comprehension. Only God knows why she was selected to receive this direct communication.
Like my mom, I too have received spiritual messages while in nature. For me, these messages did not come all at once, but over the course of several months. I was told, “Yes, she will die. But death is not the end. She will go on. And, so will you. Life is eternal.”
Less than a week before her death, Mom and I met with Pastor Jo to discuss this funeral service. When selecting music, I suggested that we play “Annie’s Song” by John Denver. Not only do my brothers and I fondly remember Mom singing this song when we were children, but it is my hope that the lyrics and melody will speak to everyone, of any faith, that has ever felt the sense of peace, hope, and love that the natural world—our everyday miracle—offers. My mom, Marguerite Conrad, is no longer here. She is everywhere. Allow her spirit to fill your senses and penetrate your being wherever you are.
At the end of this reading, Mom's good friend Ruth played a special tribute to my mom — Annie's Song, by John Denver. I invite you to listen to enjoy the music that can be found at the link below.
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