Mom

Heartfelt thanks to all who were able to come to mom’s life celebration. From life-time friends, to neighbors, to even casual acquaintances and inclusive of great food, all at the church and home she loved so much; it was a perfect celebration of my mother, and even moreso because you were a part of it. She was well loved. Mom would have been quite pleased. For those who couldn’t make it, I thought I’d share my eulogy as, even in a partial manner, it exemplifies my unusual bond with my mom:

I am one of those fortunate people who had an honest, raw and authentic relationship with my mother. As I say that, it may conjure up images of admiration adorned on mother from daughter, and hours spent hanging out easily sharing the beauties of life together. Though we were uniquely bonded, we had almost none of that. Partly because we were dramatically different women so our bond was forged in quite an unusual manner. For example;

Mom was a devoted wife to two wonderful men and loving mother to five children, and many grandchildren. Her main purpose in life was to care for those in her family as well as her close friends. I on the other hand, am divorced, have had many more relationships with men all over the world, which mom diligently documented in the meticulous photo albums she kept, and have chosen not to have children so that I can spend my money adventuring, exploring, and giving back to greater humanity.

Mom was generally fearful of anything that put her even slightly out of her comfortable 70 degree bubble—for which she would have purchased insurance if it were an option. I have sought the unknown, and any means to up the ante at every opportunity.

Mom spent a reasonable portion of her life watching soap operas. I abhor soap operas and believe they, along with most shows on mainstream TV, should be extinguished from the planet.

Mom was most comfortable living by many of the traditions and morays of her Italian heritage and her upbringing. Living by what those that came before decided was optimal, has never made a lot of sense to me.

So with some exception, including her traveling with me around the US including to Hawaii 11 times and abroad several times when I had really big events, mom spent a lot of time at home worrying about whether I would die as I traipsed around the world doing heinous stuff. And she regularly made sure I knew, that she worried, a lot.

I grew to wait until the last possible moment to tell her I was heading out on another adventure because this would save her additional weeks worrying about me prior to my leaving (and me having to tend to her worrying). This was not a seamless tactic.

One time when mom and I were sitting in our favorite coffee shop, a friend walked in and enthusiastically asked me about my upcoming mountain climbing trip, which was a few weeks off. It was apparent to her that many already seemed to know I was leaving—except mom. I got a deserved reprimanding for that one.

Yet our relationship not only thrived, it flourished, with deep, strong roots, the kind of roots that are nourished through many joyous and just as many challenging, times—and through our unspoken commitment to be there for each other. We may have been dramatically different but, we accepted and respected each other. Two strongholds for a healthy relationship.

As the youngest of five kids mom was pretty darn tired by the time I popped out as a “mistake” much too quickly after Julie was born. So she gave Julie and I free reign to be who we were. Partly because she saw that Julie and I didn’t seem to need significant guidance. If she and dad gave us free reign, we would just fly on our own. So we did.

But regardless of the twists and turns that life inserted or that all of us kids provoked, mom was always there for each of us. Always and with no hesitation. Julie and I watched our elder siblings execute all of the classic screw ups and no matter what, mom was there.

I find this remarkable for a woman who was steeped in the way she believed things should be. She left us to be who we were, while praying diligently it would all work out. I still got the heavy sighs, stern looks, or the occasional, “If you run too much your uterus might fall out,” comments. Mom made solid attempts at inserting her perceptions, but in the end, she stepped back just a half a step and let us all be who we had decided we needed to be.

She and I would discuss our differences often, not to try and change each other, but as a means of discourse and to gain a better mutual understanding. We would each listen, challenge the other, then ultimately accept the others view point.

This didn’t work because she was some benevolent matriarch who seamlessly supported her rogue child. She was as short sighted, stubborn and manipulative as any self-respecting mother out there. It worked because she actually paused and contemplated, when I called her out on her stuff, as I often did.

This is a classic, raw, Terri/mom conversation:
Terri: Mom, what’s with the passive/aggressive attitude? What is it that you really need to say to me right now?
Mom (with attitude): I’m not being passive aggressive.
Terri: Consider that you might be.
Mom: 10 minutes later: ok maybe you are right, I really need to talk with you about….

And she would then honesty and frankly tell me what was up.

Mom and I were close because she allowed me to be as forthright as I am in asking each of us to step up to who we could be for each other—which was solid and vast and beautifully flawed. And she in turn felt comfortable doing that with me.

But this didn’t always play out seamlessly.

There was the time, in the last several years of moms life when I had become her primary care taker, when she insisted on coming with me to Target where I needed to buy some supplies for an upcoming extended trip to Bhutan. I told her on the front end that I would need to run around Target quickly and that I would find her when I was done rather than painstakingly meander each aisle with her. When driving there, I could tell she didn’t think I would actually leave her when we got to the store, but sure enough, we arrived and I told her to shop as she wished and when I had finished collecting my items I’d find her. She was quite pissed off about this.

When I ultimately regrouped with her, she let go a tirade on how I was the worst care-taker ever.

I responded with: “You’re right. I love you dearly yet I suck at care taking. But it appears there is no one else here to do it, so we are stuck with each other.” At which she started laughing so hard, I had to get her home because she had peed her pants.

Even in my fierce independence, I knew that when the time came when mom needed extra care, I would step in and support her. She had been there always and after my beloved step father, Dave, died, mom and I had strengthened who we were as family for each other. Our dramatic differences remained ever present, but she knew that I was her rock and after so many years of her giving so much and asking nothing in return, I found comfort in being that for her.

When a beloved, aging parent slides slowly and not so gently toward death, we involve ourselves in their care, hoping we are making the best choices, all the while believing that we are readying ourselves for when they are no longer present. Even toward the end in mom’s demented, invalid state, she wanted us to continue to share our lives with her as well as try and be all that she had been for us. Even toward the end I could see the desire in her to still be that mother. The absence now, of even that subtle effort, leaves a strange, and disjointed essence in my life.

Mom was a vital and grounding presence for me. She tended to operate in an unassuming manner yet her physical absence now, shifts everything into an unfamiliar configuration. So I sit with the simple memories working to reorganize it all. The daily ‘I love yous,’ the way she always listened when I shared, her constant acceptance for all in her family, and her incessant willingness to go to an uncomfortable place, so that she could gain a better understanding of herself and our friendship. That was my mother. She was simple, she was loving, and for me she was always quietly present, like a lingering shadow of love. For me she was the most perfect mother because she let me fly free, and because of that I am the woman I am today.

So in that light, just last week I completed a bike journey across northern Spain on the 500 mile, Camino de Santiago trail—for thousands each year, it is considered a most holy of pilgrimages—so along the way I lit candles for mom in each village church. The trail ultimately ends on the most western tip of Spain in Finesterre. I carried some of Mom’s ashes with me, and spread them at that wind-swept point that so long ago was believed to be the end-of-the-world. I am certain she would be pleased to have pedaled on this arduous journey with me, to ultimately be set free in such an auspicious place.

A number of years ago the Sentinel interviewed mom about what it was like to be my mother so in closing I’d like to share how she so simply yet eloquently summed up our relationship:

“All children really want, particularly if they have chosen a path that is a little different, is to feel supported. That’s all they really want. Terri knows she’s got my support—its so great to see her do what she does—even if I have to close my eyes while she does her thing. If she wants to fly, I let her fly—and I say my rosary while she is flying.”