We buried my mother one month ago today. Everything still feels unreal, especially on the other side of Thanksgiving and with Christmas on the horizon. I’ve been meaning to post what I shared at her funeral and a video I caught just before the service. My lovely friend, Sydnie, and my cousin’s husband, Taylor, quickly learned and prepared Sandra McCracken’s “Thirst No More” to perform as a closing to my words. Today seems like a good day to share.
When my mother first told me she needed to go on dialysis, my mind immediately went to the movie Steel Magnolias and Julia Roberts’ character’s untimely death. I was terrified, and my mom later shared with me that she had the exact same thought when the doctors first mentioned dialysis to her. I am so thankful to have had six years with her since that scary word entered our lives.
We’ve all grieved the losses my mom experienced along the way … her vision … her mobility … but most of all, her loss of freedom. She told me early on that the thing that saddened her the most was not getting to go on little trips with Clementine. In these past six years there have been a lot of unknowns, several scary moments, and I’ve had some time to think about this day. In imagining what I would say, I couldn’t fathom getting up to speak in the face of such grief. I thought it would be impossible. And this grief is heavy, so very heavy. But in these last few days, I have seen so many moments of awe-inspiring grace. The Lord has been our strength and comfort in ways I hadn’t imagined possible.
I have felt the sustaining prayers of his people, and I feel them now. However, I’m also going to give myself a little bit of a crutch and lean on something I wrote for my mom on her 60th birthday. I shared with her “60 Reasons I’m Glad You Were Born,” some serious, some silly such as “You love Designing Women as much as me!” (Number 22). I was able to reread these to her at her bedside, and it was so good to be reminded of what an incredible person she was. Wife, mother, sister, aunt, friend, teacher, Gran.
I won’t read all 60, but I want to share a few of my favorite reasons I’m glad my mother was born.
1) You always think of others. Nothing I could plan could compare to the way you have celebrated each of us in incredibly meaningful ways. A six-foot long Subway sandwich in the courtyard of the Grace for my thirteenth birthday comes to mind.
She drove innumerable miles to watch nieces and nephews compete and perform. She planned the best birthday parties and Christmases. She was always so full of joy and genuinely loved celebrating others.
4) You love Daddy so well. You always speak well of him, a trait I try to emulate in my own marriage.
She did this to the end. While in the hospital, she told the physical therapists that her husband was 81 years old and that she always thought she would be taking care of him in his old age. She lauded his care of her these past few years, telling anyone who would listen what a wonderful man she had married.
8) You are perhaps the most selfless servant I know. You have volunteered to teach Cubbies, Sunday School, and VBS. You never seek to draw attention to yourself but rather serve quietly where there is a need.
She, to me, was the embodiment of Philippians 2:3-4, which says, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.”
9) You are an excellent teacher! You care about the students other teachers write off, and you have a way of making everyone feel so good about themselves. I love hearing your former students say how much you meant to them.
Anytime I went somewhere in Abilene with my mom, we would run into a former student or parent who would always express how much she had meant to them. My Facebook wall is covered with posts from former students. I want to read one of them now. “Mrs. Reed was my 1st grade teacher at Crocket Elementary. She truly poured her heart and soul into her kids. Your mom made a tremendous impact on who I am today, actually. I had a learning disability and was held back because I couldn’t read. Your mom spent extra time with me, she was loving, nurturing and so patient. Our one on one time after school was the highlight of my early years. Now, all because of your mom, I love to read! I’ll never forget the bathtubs in her classroom with the cozy pillows – it was the best part of my childhood and your mom would hug me every single day before I left to walk home.”
17) You are a morning person. I am absolutely not. However, for many years you modeled what it meant to have a consistent quiet time … in the morning! Talk about inspirational.
She loved the Lord so deeply and modeled for me what it meant to pursue him devotionally. I can just see her sitting at our dining room table with her Bible open in front of her, starting her day in the best way possible.
33) You have a small group that you’ve met with consistently for years. You’ve developed deep friendships because you love your friends so well.
She not only modeled what it meant to follow the Lord individually, she pursued him in a community of other women, sharing their burdens and joys, praying faithfully for their needs.
35) Gingerbread houses! You are the master! You sold them every Christmas season to make extra money (which I’m sure you ended up spending on my Christmas presents), but best of all, each year you gave one to my class. For at least one day I was the most popular girl in school because no one could wait to devour that candied house! As I got older you allowed me to invite a friend over for a gingerbread tutorial.
I am so thankful that my mom, Clementine, and I got to make a gingerbread house together just after we moved back from Indonesia.
42) You gave me good advice and didn’t let me be a “mean girl.” When I complained about my friends (or my perceived lack thereof), you encouraged me to find someone who needed a friend and be a friend to her.
My mother’s genuine kindness and complete lack of pretense has shaped me and the way I try to parent my own children. More than nice or polite, I want them to be kind and to look out for people who need their kindness.
50) You are one of my best friends. There are times that there is no one I’d rather talk to more than you. You always listen well but also try to help me see things from the other person’s point of view. We don’t have to do much when we’re together. It’s enough to just sit around and talk.
I will miss this the most.
60) You are the best Gran! You overcame all your flight fears to be here to help me take care of Clementine the first month of her life. She loves you so much. She got quite spoiled by Gran’s early morning day care.
There was only one grandchild when I wrote this eight years ago, but the joy I witnessed in my mom as she embraced her role as a grandmother is one of my greatest joys as a parent. She loved Clementine, Phinehas, and Margot dearly. She was the “always in your corner” grandparent. The “sure, you can have another treat” grandparent. The “never miss an event” grandparent. Her last visit to Midland was for Clementine’s baptism, a gesture I pray Clementine will remember and treasure all her life.
The last days and moments with my mom were filled with singing and Scripture. Sitting at her bedside, holding her beautiful, smooth hand, I read to her the book of Philippians. In those sacred moments, I proclaimed over her the truth of chapter 3, verses 20 & 21. “But we are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. And we are eagerly waiting for him to return as our Savior. He will take our weak mortal bodies and change them into glorious bodies like his own, using the same power with which he will bring everything under his control.”
A weak and mortal body. She could barely see. She couldn’t walk well. She couldn’t satiate her thirst. It’s not lost on me that Jesus healed blind Bartimaeus. He healed the paralyzed man. He offered the Samaritan woman living water, saying “whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst.” My mom is with Jesus. She sees clearly. She walks confidently. She does not thirst.
The D&SH 