My Eulogy for Mom- Temple Beth Zion, August 12, 2011

You will have to forgive me if my thoughts are a bit mixed up today, because that’s how I feel, mixed up. I’ve written and re-written this eulogy over and over in the past few days and I simply don’t know how to convey to you how much my mother meant to us. This much I know: I’m writing this at 3am and I have hit the wall. No matter how long we have with our parents, it’s always a shock when they go, and while I knew Mom’s passing was probably a blessing, that her time had come, I think I was in denial. Though she hadn’t been herself for quite some time, her love, her strength, and her influence on me were so profound that I simply could not bear to face the inevitability of her demise. I am still her little boy.

When Jill and I met Rabbi Pokras the other day, we had a good talk, and he reminded me that this should be my attempt to honor my mother. I cannot do that by listing her many accomplishments in the community, though they were impressive, or by listing the things she loved, though they were many. Most or all of you knew her, and this would be preaching to the choir.

I’ve been so pre-occupied with the past 5 years of my parents' health care and the various complications inherent in their growing old that I have lost sight of one fundamental truth: both my Mom and Dad lived a long and mostly wonderful life together, full of travel, horseback riding, a vigorous social life, and a remarkable ability to find the humor in almost everything.  Dad was the humorist but Mom was quite funny too.

I arrived in Buffalo Sunday night and Mom passed away the next day. In a flash of life, last Monday afternoon, my childhood home became simply a house again. For all of my 54 years, every plate, every stick of furniture, every cooking utensil, every picture on the wall, was part of that wonderful home, lovingly picked by my Mom to make our lives beautiful. As a child and a teenager, for the most part, I took all that for granted, and I took my Mom for granted as well. It wasn’t until I was a young adult that I began to appreciate my extreme good fortune. I always felt safe in that house, and that house was all Mom‘s vision. Those walls that surrounded us lived with all the humor, joy, heartbreak, love, and passion that not every family is fortunate enough to experience. Mom and Dad had established that cocoon of security, filled with guidance and patience and all the indescribable traits that made them special parents. It was a place where celebrations were warm and filled with laughter. But those walls are simply walls now, and without the people who made them breathe, they too have lost their life. As I said, this morning I hit the wall, and I cried and cried.

I was looking through one of Mom’s old yearbooks and in the description under her senior picture, she was described as diminutive but strong. She might have been little but she was one tough lady, and everyone from the gardener to her banker, to the many members of the community with whom she worked so hard, knew not to underestimate her. Even through the ongoing challenges of her struggle with Lewy Body Disease, Mom showed courage, grace, and humor. All of her nurses loved her and told us stories of her wit and her generous, unselfish nature. It is telling that during the challenging last years of her life, she managed to let her good nature peek through the sometimes thick veil of dementia. Courage under fire, that was my Mom.

When I was a little boy, maybe five or six, I was with Mom in Ward’s Pharmacy, around the corner from our house on Chapin, and I tried to steal a box of crayons. Unschooled as I was in the finer points of criminal behavior, I stole something much too large to conceal - if I recall, it was one of the jumbo boxes of 72, complete with the built-in sharpener, and Mom caught me before the owner of the store could. She took me by the hand, led me up to the counter, and made me confess my crime to the manager. She told me to apologize and ask for his forgiveness or else he might send me to jail. I was mortified, but I learned an important lesson about consequences that day. Therein began Mom’s lifelong campaign to steer me in the right direction. I say without hesitation that was an uphill climb. Grace, honor, humor, and dignity are not things which I embraced, but my Mom and Dad led by example, in subtle, gentle, and understated ways. While I might have been a slow learner, I had plenty of lessons, and got the message, loud and clear. Jill and I were both instilled with a strong sense of right and wrong, and through our parents’ upbringing, we knew we had an obligation to give back.

Many of you knew my Mom well, and you are familiar with her contributions to the community, to hospitals, schools, and other institutions. You may know she loved all things to do with horses, and that in general, she had a profound interest in and love for her dogs and all animals in general, she created many beautiful needlepoint canvases, and many spectacular floral gardens. You may know that she had impeccable taste in fashion … but did you know that she was artistic? She rarely spoke of that fact, but as a young woman, she was an accomplished artist, and earned her living in Manhattan as an illustrator in the fashion industry. Her creativity was infectious and her artistic side had a profound influence on me. Somehow, without pushing, she managed to encourage my love of music, writing, and photography. Mom didn’t care what we did as long as we grew and learned. Again, it was that unselfish, unforced guidance that made me respect my parents the most.

This past week, living at 140 Chapin Pkwy, the house in which Jill and I grew up, those memories, captured in the volumes of old photos through which we have pored, have overwhelmed me. The family put together some pictures on a bulletin board which you can see at the reception to follow, and I think those particular pictures best depict a life well lived … certainly better that I could ever verbalize.

We are, all of us, the product of our experiences and the love we receive. I go back to the differentiation between a house and a home. As I did with my Dad, I measure my Mom’s life in terms of the lives she touched, the love she radiated; the home she created. In all of those ways, she excelled. Neither Mom nor Dad was particularly overt about their love, but make no mistake, Jill and I, and our extended families, knew by their actions how much they loved and cared for us. Their love trickles down and has now touched the three generations that have succeeded them. Mom and Dad did that for us and I can never explain how thankful I am for that blessing. For those of you who have long since lost both your parents, you probably know how we feel, and we all cope in our own ways. This morning, I broke through the protective emotional wall, and I broke down. There is already a huge void left in the absence of their guidance and love.

I know it’s time to start paying it forward. I hope I am up to the task. Thank you Mom, you were as good as they come. I miss you very much, and I will do my best to live up to the wonderful example you set.