I have so loved loving you

No one should ever say that they have become good at writing eulogies because such a statement, beyond arrogance, implies a familiarity with the genre of which no one should be particularly proud.

When my father passed away, I wrote and spoke his eulogy. When my mother passed away, it was her desire that I write and speak hers as well. A few people have asked for a copy, so I am placing it here for easier access.

One of the more astute members of her writing group made the observation that the last sentences said all that needed to be said, so I will repeat them here, first.

It is my greatest pleasure to have been your son. And I have so loved loving you. Your smile, and your laugh, gave me meaning. Goodnight, my darling.

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I would like to spend some time speaking to one of my mother’s most prolific and secretive hobbies: something that she did every day, something that she did for each of us. That something, of course, being mechanical, structural engineering. As you may know, Dorothy was an accomplished architect and bridge-builder. Certainly not in the physical sense – this dear lady would barely cross a bridge – too windy – much less go out and construct them.

No. Dorothy built bridges into the hearts of people, and in doing so crossed the chasms that separate us. Throughout today, and we heartily encourage this, you will hear stories, and remember your own stories, of how this woman sat with you, and talked with you, and came -- in short measure -- to understand you. And what we are recollecting are not only conversations, they are the construction of beautiful bridges. Bridges that we can easily see still stand in our hearts, as strong as the day she built them.

And what traffic did these bridges see? For what purpose were they built? Love. They were simple conduits of love. Dorothy wanted to know people so that she could love them and so that they could love her. This was the way she had been raised, in loving community. This was why, when recovering from surgery, she cleaned her house and made lunch for her maid each day before her maid come over. This was why she gave my first car away to a man whom she paid to do work on her home. Or why she worked so hard to be a second mother to so many of the people here today. She sought connection with people and, once established, she used that connection with loving care.

Which quite clearly explains her deep adoration of Christmas and the general holiday season. It is this general “holiday spirit” that brings families together in generous celebration. It is a time when people “come home” physically, emotionally, and spiritually. And this time became her time because it so fully captured her spirit. Nothing gave her greater joy than to make her house a home to anyone who would visit her during the season. She worked tirelessly over days decorating her house for Christmas. My father often warned people not to stand too still for too long lest they find themselves decorated. For over 10 years she and her daughters would spend the weekend after Thanksgiving shopping at outlets in Pennsylvania. My college friends and I would take this time to decorate her house with Christmas lights and it took no less than 5 able-bodied young men a period of no less than 20 minutes to unleash the boxes and bags of decoration from her attic.

And when she knew that she would be so very ill during this joyous season she was heartbroken. At one of our talks at her bedside she asked how could this be allowed to happen, that she would wilt during the time of year when she was most often at full bloom. I had no answer. Several days later, she answered her own question and made me promise to pass it to you at this time.

Outpourings of love, affirmation of relationship, and celebration of life and family were her most desired gifts. They were what made her so unique. They were what made the holidays so close to her heart. These past several weeks have been filled with her most precious gifts. As she lay in her house in the shade of her glowing Christmas tree and received notes, and phone calls, and visits she experienced the most true Christmas of her life. Dorothy was grateful that God had decided to share the celebration of the birth of His son with her own spiritual rebirth.

Mom also understood that going through these trials during Christmas time, her time, meant that none of us will ever be able to partake in Christmas celebration again without taking a moment and remembering the humble love in this woman.

And so she surrendered to this fate with courage and grace. Too young, I had never been able to connect surrender with strength. So, I will end with a few words from my mother on the topic. I imagine there is much one needs to know about life lurking in these few sentence fragments.

I think life is all about surrender… We surrender ourselves from the warmth of womb… to life unknown.. tender minds, to wisdom demanded … we surrender to love… to lust… entrust ourselves to promises and hopes … to vows, some kept, some broken. At the end, even to the last … we surrender to fear and from fear to God … seeking His warmth… in cradling arms… of faith and hope … we float in peace .. wombed again… in blissful peace .. we surrender.

It is my greatest pleasure to have been your son. And I have so loved loving you. Your smile, and your laugh, gave me meaning. Goodnight, my darling.