A Eulogy… Mine.
*In my psychology course— Life Span Development— my final assignment was to write a eulogy, my eulogy from the perspective of our choice; I chose to write it from the voice of my three daughters.*
Thank you to everyone here today, here to celebrate our mom and the amazing 99 years she spent living with our dad, who– as you know– passed last month. None of us are surprised that mom said goodbye shortly after; our parents… well, they were so deeply in love. Plus, mom always said she wouldn’t live long past dad dying, and she told us that at probably too young of an age. Although, she did clarify if we were still small and young, she would move us to Ireland to start all over with an Irish lad. Apparently, she was inspired by some movie.
In all seriousness though (at least for a moment) one of the things mom struggled with in childhood and early adulthood was feeling like she wasn’t rooted, like the fact she didn't have a large family of origin, or dozens of cousins, or grandparents, or…you get the idea– left her wanting and without. Mom was excellent at letting narratives or what ifs run wild, which is why people devoured her novels. And now I’m letting this narrative run wild– she would be proud. The point, our point, and her point is proved by the many of you that are here today. Take a moment to look around the room. How many people do you know? Have you met before? Briefly? Nights out? Travel? Our sports? And if you take a moment to think about what the common denominator is I’m confident that if I asked you to name that connection on the count of three the walls would reverberate with: Nicole.
So, mom, you are deeply rooted with the family you built. You are deeply rooted because you were strong, kind, witty, had no poker face, authentic, fun, and simply, as you always told dad, “One of the best humans I know.” Of course mom told us that too. And her twelve grandchildren all had the privilege of being reminded of their greatness with regularity. Yes, twelve grandchildren. I remember mom being so diplomatic, not wanting to pigeon-hole us into thinking motherhood was the only option. Our whole lives she would say things like, “You don't have to be a mom and I’m hoping at least one of you wants a kid at some point but to be clear if you don’t that’s okay too.” And as small children we all said we wanted to have four kids, and mom would laugh and say, “Oh sure… but you don’t have too. You do what you want. I’m here to champion your choices.” After we all decided to have four kids she finally told us her truth: she was so hopeful that we would build the big family she always dreamed of.
We stand up here happy, doing what we want, empowered to make the choices we wanted, which was motherhood– how could we not, she really made it near impossible with her intentional-generational-breaking mothering. Mom, you are our roots– we love you.
Of course, we would be remiss if all we talked about was how our mom was an awesome mom– in fact, she may haunt us for that; although, she always told us she would haunt us– in a loving way– once dead.
Mom was an advocate for women, in particular moms, encouraging them to embrace the word “and” because she didn’t want them to forget all the other things that made them women, humans. When we were small we remember putting up posters for Moms’ Night Out Events she was hosting. She hustled a location, swag bags, and a DJ, creating a space for moms to have fun but early: 7:00 to 10:00 at night– #danceuntilbedtime. She created content and wrote essays that were raw and a fair representation of her motherhood journey. She shared to connect, to help, to empathize, to guide, and to learn. And yet, we always felt like we were her priority. And she made herself a priority, and perhaps, with a bit of magic dad always felt like he was a priority– mom was full of mirth, not martyrdom.
Ever the learner mom eventually did another grad program while we were all in elementary school. That woman was magic. She continued to write, submit, and deal with rejection. She was vulnerable with us, sharing her failures. We take failure so well because of her transparency. Mom completed the program in psychology and did all the hours to become a LMFT. She built a successful practice that she tailored to parents that wanted therapy to do and feel better, and had a deep understanding of the challenges that “doing the work” can cause while you're in the trenches of parenting. She helped so many. And I’m sure with a bit of her magic you all felt like you were a priority.
Perhaps, it wasn’t magic– it was just her.
Mom loved a lazy morning, with a cup of tea and a book, and also, mom had so many ideas that it made it impossible for her to feel that her job was done or that there was no other mountain to climb. She wanted to accomplish so much, help so many.
And she did.
Mom and Rach had an idea that they teased out over many, many months. And as things do in motherhood, flexibility was critical; the project morphed from a potential TV show to mom’s first best seller, Coming of Age…Again. To say she was proud is an understatement. We were proud. Dad was beaming and just like he used to wear the t-shirt of her alma mater, he started wearing the merch from the book– just another display of their deep love, it was the kind of stuff that made for a 68 year marriage.
Mom kept writing and we could go on, and on, and on about her successes (or you could go to her site) but we think mom was most proud of…us; and maybe, her work in public education. Mom used her backgrounds in education and psychology to impact public school curriculum. We were lucky to have her because we got all the things she wished that all the kids would have access to. She fought to have social emotional learning start in Kindergarten, including mindfulness practices, yoga, and daily affirmations– Snoop’s affirmation song always being her favorite. Mom became the crazy-sex lady to the districts because she created a curriculum for K-12 to educate kids on their bodies, including puberty and sex– and she didn’t leave anything out and was always willing to answer a question, any question. Over the years the stories she would tell us had us laughing so hard and partly wondering: How did she handle that so well– magic.
Mom was a victim of many things, and that word never bothered her because she was the one who gave it meaning, she was the one who took that victim-ness and made it into something powerful and empowering for herself and others.
Mom was, our mom AND she was a human who lived her life the best she could, and that best, was beautiful. Since you’re sitting here, crying and laughing with us, we thought we would tell you what mom wanted to be remembered for because she told us; and then, told us to tell you all– mom never stopped thinking about others. She wanted to be remembered for how she lived her life to the oldest old (a term she still laughed about):
Love yourself first. Remember the power of the word “and.” Just because it’s not happening right now, doesn’t mean it won’t happen then, so keep doing, trying, and being. Say yes more often to adventure and fun. Say no to all the other bullshit.
And with that, if you reach under your seats you’ll find a bottle of mom’s most favorite wine. Take it home and drink it– don’t hang onto it, don’t keep it as a memory, don’t wait for a special occasion, drink it. She told us to tell you that too.
*Part of the assignment was to share our reaction to the process of writing our own eulogy: Ummm, so many tears. The emotion wasn’t about the prospect of being dead, especially if I live to 99 and only have a month without Brendan, it was more about the possibility of accomplishing all my dreams and goals. It was also a great exercise to sit back and notice the things I have already done. It’s easy to focus on the failures and the future (what’s next) and when I do I don’t honor enough of success and past/present (whoa look what I’ve done). More tears when I thought about my girls as adults, full of love, empowerment, and joy. This idea of the three of them standing together to deliver my eulogy is– beautiful.*