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A eulogy for my mother

 It is customary in a eulogy to begin with a name, a date of birth, death date, those who have gone before and those who are left behind. However, mom does not deserve customary. So this letter is for her…


Mom,

    I feel like I am back here too soon. Once again, I am giving words about someone that I loved most who left me too early. Monday afternoon, I sat in front of Father Desmond and he asked me this, “Give me one thing that describes your mom.” I will admit I drew a blank. How could I take your entire life and micro focus it into one thing? How could I take you and break you down into a simple idea of one thing? I can’t.

    I mean…

How can anyone describe the North Star without seeing it? The only star that never rises or sets. The only star that is in the same place every night. The star that is the easiest to find and the one by which we navigate. 

How can anyone describe a compass without using one? The most accurate means to guide us through the muck and the mire. The instrument that has improved safety and efficiency of travel. The small tool that, even though there are no stars to guide due to fog and clouds, still help us make our destination. 

How can anyone describe an anchor without needing one? The one thing that gives stability when the storms are raging. The hardened steel that grounds a vessel so much bigger than itself. 

I can’t. But, it is you. You are my North Star, my compass, my anchor, my friend, my mother. And now…one of my favorite memories. A glorious memory that I would give so much to have a reality once again. 

And as much as I am going to miss you, my heart breaks for the 2 little kids that God granted us. 

I knew that you had struggled to find a purpose to live since Andy passed. You lived a half-life living the reality of a mother who lost her son. But then God gave us Owen. The first bright spot in a series of dark times we endured. And your life began once again.

It was one of the most beautiful things to watch you love him. To watch you give of yourself to him till he yelled for you at the top of his voice as he ran down the hall to find you. Nana! Nana! 

Then we had Claire…our newest miracle. The one you touched through my stomach till the day she was born begging her to show up early. Then you held her already in love with her. Your unyielding endurance of helping me adjust to another new born was life-giving to me, and that first week home, just a week and a half ago, I will cherish forever. 

I am still unsure how I will be able to raise them without you, but I will do my best. I am unsure how I will even remotely do half as good as you did with me and Andy, but I will do my best. I will do all I can to give them the values that you gave to me. I will keep your memory alive in my heart and share with them as often as I can.

I will show them you…our North Star, our compass, our anchor. I will show them you…my best friend, my mother. 

I miss you something fierce, mom. Pray for us. Kiss Andy, and rest in the eternal peace of Christ. 



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