Words I Read at My Momma’s Funeral

I know a lot of people, including myself, will mention today how sweet and kind my mom was.

I want to make sure that we really get the full picture of her, and the only way to do that is to tell you about the time when I was about 7 years old, and my mother told me, to go to hell.

Being the absolute angel child that I was, I truly do not remember why she finally hit her breaking point but I do remember going upstairs to pout on her bed and wait for my father to come home so I could tell on her.

When my dad did get home, I told him through (mostly fake) tears that mom told me to go to “heckamoley” because I was a sweet, innocent child who didn’t want to swear. Eventually that evening was settled and we hugged it out but I never let her live it down.

Now that I am an adult, and I’m watching so many friends raise their own strong willed little girls, I know that my mom should’ve told me to go to heckamoley a lot more than that one night she did.

But my mom had an unmatched grace.

She is the reason I know what forgiveness really looks like and have never questioned if she loved me.

Although I have always known, I am not her favorite child.

We joked all the time about who the favorite was. Depending on who was doing what, she’d change her answer but she very recently (and Eric, you need to know this was very recently) told me something that made it so clear to me.

While driving to a chemo appointment we were talking about my brother, and she said, “he’s exactly like me, just so easy to love.”

So I’ll let Eric have that one and we can know he was the favorite all along.

But the bond of being the only daughter to a mother like mine is a prize in itself.

Even though there were times in my fiery, feminist 20’s when I admittedly wished she was more of a loud diva like so many of my idols, she was iconic in her own calm way and never lacked in empowering me.

In the 3rd grade, I went with my mom to Geneva College for my first “Take Your Daughter to Work Day.” I had been to campus a million times with her before when she’d go in to finish a project after hours or on the weekend, so I knew my way around, but this was the first time I had gone during a full workday with her.

At some point during the day she sent me on an errand to run something to her friend Barb’s office. I knew that route better than any and walked there with so much confidence.

On my way back, I overheard a couple boys say, “Whoa, she’s must’ve skipped so many grades to be here.”

I ran back to my mom and beamed while telling her I just fooled some college kids. She said, “Good, let ‘em think that. They should be intimidated by you.”

That empowerment led me to take on so many things, knowing without a doubt I’d always have her support.

And although I’ve always told my mom everything, many of those things I took on I just didn’t tell her about until I was done. As calm as my mom has always been, she has also always had a little worry in her head. So anytime I did something that could be considered risky or dangerous, if I could avoid telling her until after I survived, that’s what I did. 

When I had to fly across the country for work, when I did a Tough Mudder and started powerlifting, and especially anytime I went on a zip line, I knew she’d have the worrying covered so I was free to live in those experiences instead.

However the most recent experience I took on, I couldn’t hide until it was over. My race for State Representative worried my mom before I even truly decided to run. But again, she had the worrying handled, so I could do what I had to instead.

When she was diagnosed in early September, we were in the thick of the campaign and she made it known that her goal was to make it to Erie for Election Night. Anytime I’d call and tell her how much I wished I could be with her she’d say, “You keep up your fight there and I’ll keep up mine here.”

And damn did my girl make it up to Erie for Election Night.

Momma never missed our big moments. But more importantly, she never missed the every day ones either.

My mom is a chicken casserole shared around the kitchen table even after a long day at work.

She is a stop at the local bakery on a Saturday morning for one donut a piece before running errands.

She’s a ride between a tennis match, band practice, and a dress rehearsal.

She’s the tradition of a sleep over in her bed, watching Jurassic Park while father is away at hunting camp.

She is church on Sunday mornings and yelling for the Steelers in the afternoon.

She’s leaving a note for my dad when we went shopping in the days before cellphones and signing it, “from us guys.”

She is a piping hot cup of black tea with one Sweet’n Low in the evenings before bed.

She’s putting our presents in boxes but letting me wrap them because that’s my favorite part.

She is a front porch swing while watching a thunderstorm roll in.

She is laying on her side and leaving the space between the back of her legs and the couch open, just incase I want to sneak in and cuddle. And I always want to cuddle.

She was and will forever be in every special and seemingly mundane moment of our lives.

She was sweet and kind, full of grace and forgiveness, empowering and funny, calm and iconic, and just so easy to love.