Eulogy for my Mom

Eulogy for my Mother

My Mom was a child of The Great Depression.  It shaped her life.  Her people were potato famine Irish...drinkers and jokesters...shanty Irish. Impoverished and proud. They were strong, resilient people.  She was definitely one strong woman.

She and my father were the Mad (Wo)Men in their time...heavy smokers, and heavy drinkers.  I was the second born of four children and the oldest girl.  My Mom told me recently, before she died, that I was absolutely fearless. About everything. She found me, more than once, sitting on the roof of the house, with my feet hanging over the edge at age four. I was the kid who was the "handful".

At an early point in my childhood, my father began molesting me regularly.  It started at about age six, and ended at age thirteen.  During this time, he was a raging alcoholic, and could no longer hold down a job. The bitter battles between my Father and Mother were endless.

Eventually, my Mom went to work, teaching First graders, and became the sole support of the family.  It became my responsibility to babysit for my younger two sisters until she got home from work.  She was a bitter, difficult woman during that time. I hated her.  I simply did not have the maturity to understand the toll that this took on her physically and psychologically.  She was not there for me in a warm, motherly sense, in any way.  I was chided for every grade I received that was not an "A".  I was never good enough.  Her aspirations for me were dependent on my looks.  I was the "pretty" one.  She had dreams of me becoming an actress, a news anchor, or a model.  I did model for a while in High School and beyond, but she rarely came to my shows.  Not being a "Hands on" Mom, she did not teach me the skills I would need as I was growing up.  Instead, she sent me to lessons...on EVERYTHING!  I took swim lessons, and swam on the local team. I learned, ballet, acrobatics, and tap dancing. She sent me to cooking school, sewing lessons, riding lessons, ballroom dancing, Oil painting and drawing lessons, and, yes, even "charm" school.  I didn't appreciate her at all during this time.  She was so harsh, so mean.

After I left home for college at IU/Bloomington, I never really looked back.  I was so happy to be out of that house that I cried tears of joy that first night in my dorm room. For many years we were estranged.  We did not agree about anything...not religion, politics, or the role of women in society.  When I finally told her about the childhood sexual abuse at the hands of my own father when I was in my 30s, she denied that it even happened. (Although, on some level, I always thought she knew.) My own brother and sisters turned bitterly against me.

We reconciled about five years ago.  I had finally come to recognize, and understand her struggles, and her strength.  I know now, that she struggled to pay for all of those lessons I received as a child.  In the last few years of her life, as she slowly lost her memory to Alzheimer's Disease, I spoke with her several times a week.  We chatted about the happy times in my childhood...the summer days spent at our swim club all day, with a trip to the public library afterward.  I enjoyed these chats, and I believe she did, as well. We laughed, and rekindled our relationship.

As an adult, I now understand that I owe her.  She was responsible for my success, and continuing love of swimming, my passion for horses, and my skills as an artist.  She did that for me.  She made me the woman I am today.  She was, at heart, a good woman.

She died, suddenly, after an ill-advised heart surgery several weeks ago.  I promised beforehand that I would call her after her surgery to check on her progress.  When I tried to do so, the nurses could not release any information to me due to current HIPAA laws.  I was told I would need a passcode.  My youngest, sister, a Scottsdale area Pediatrician, who was there at the time, refused to give me that passcode.  After she had recovered sufficiently to "talk", I called her and spoke with her on several occasions.  She sounded as if she'd had a stroke.  She was barely able to mumble a few words, but she did remember me.  I am grateful for that.  The last time I spoke with her, I told her over and over again, how much I loved her.  Several hours later, my other sister, called to tell me that our Mother had passed.  She went into septic shock after a urinary tract infection, that her body could not fight.

I grieve for my Mom.  I also grieve for the fact that I was too young and stupid to recognize her for the strong, independent woman that she was.  Though our differences were great, I loved her nevertheless, and she loved me.  She was my Mom.  I will think of her every day for the rest of my life.