PilgrimsProgress
Well-Known Member
Thinking about grief today -and remembered how much that first trip to Canada after my husband died was such a healing time for me......
As it's connected, I'd like to share with my Canuck friends my four minute eulogy for my lovely Mum at her funeral.
Memories of Mum
I’d like to briefly share with you three time memories of Mum – a woman I knew for 69 of her 91 years.
The first memory is our last day together, which was to be the last of her life.
We went out onto the large balcony at Dougherty Hostel for a walk, and, as we often did, talked about her mother, my Nana.
I noticed a flower blooming in one of the gardens and said to Mum,
“When I was a little girl, Nana would kneel down beside a flower, and say, “Aren’t we lucky, Chris, to be just walking by, when this flower came into bloom?”
Mum smiled, and said, “Yes, she said the same thing to me. She was wise, wasn’t she? “
She was Mum, just like you……..
I then asked Mum if she could remember all us kid’s names.
“You were the first, you’re my love child.”
“Yes, but what’s my name?”
Although she had difficulty remembering what happened an hour ago –she said without any hesitation,
“Christine Shirley, Susan Margaret, David Stewart, Lee Elizabeth and Amanda Joan.”
That night you left us, in the same manner you lived your life, with a minimum of fuss.
My second time memory is the things I heard you say when we were kids. It’s these sayings that will instantly bring you back to me.
Coming home from school, you were always THERE.
I remember getting off the train from High School, when we lived in that big country schoolhouse at Illabo.
I would walk round the side veranda into the kitchen.
If it was in winter, you would have a soup on the stove. The saucepan lid was invariably propped up by a huge lamb bone, and all these years later I can still hear that rhythmic rocking sound of lid against bone.
If you weren’t in the kitchen, I’d say, “Mum, I’m home, where are you?”
A tiny voice from another room would say, “I’m in here.”
Mum, you’ve no idea how secure that familiar little voice made your kids feel.
You were an excellent and adventurous cook. At a time when Aussies thought spaghetti was something in a Heinz tin that you put on sandwiches cold, you made Spaghetti Bolognaise.
I’ll never forget that first time you served it up…..
Five little kids sitting around the table, our eyes as big as our plates. “What’s this stuff called?” we asked.
Without batting an eyelid you said, “It’s Italian, - Marta, Minsa, Getti.”
Sounds Italian to me - I still call it that!
My third memory was when my husband, John, died. I sort out my mother, as you do at such a time.
I remember telling her I didn’t think I could go on.
I’ll never forget what she said…..
“Remember when your Dad moved on to another school? You were the oldest, yet you were always the most upset. “I’ll never make any more friends.” You’d say it every time – but you always did.”
She squeezed my hand and said “Chris, it’s a time for you to move to another school.”
It was so wise, it spoke to me, as she knew it would.
I now think of it as a metaphor, a metaphor for those transition times in life that we all face.
The two most significant, being our birth and our death.
We love you Mum, but, - in your own words, - “It’s a time for you to move to another school”.
As it's connected, I'd like to share with my Canuck friends my four minute eulogy for my lovely Mum at her funeral.
Memories of Mum
I’d like to briefly share with you three time memories of Mum – a woman I knew for 69 of her 91 years.
The first memory is our last day together, which was to be the last of her life.
We went out onto the large balcony at Dougherty Hostel for a walk, and, as we often did, talked about her mother, my Nana.
I noticed a flower blooming in one of the gardens and said to Mum,
“When I was a little girl, Nana would kneel down beside a flower, and say, “Aren’t we lucky, Chris, to be just walking by, when this flower came into bloom?”
Mum smiled, and said, “Yes, she said the same thing to me. She was wise, wasn’t she? “
She was Mum, just like you……..
I then asked Mum if she could remember all us kid’s names.
“You were the first, you’re my love child.”
“Yes, but what’s my name?”
Although she had difficulty remembering what happened an hour ago –she said without any hesitation,
“Christine Shirley, Susan Margaret, David Stewart, Lee Elizabeth and Amanda Joan.”
That night you left us, in the same manner you lived your life, with a minimum of fuss.
My second time memory is the things I heard you say when we were kids. It’s these sayings that will instantly bring you back to me.
Coming home from school, you were always THERE.
I remember getting off the train from High School, when we lived in that big country schoolhouse at Illabo.
I would walk round the side veranda into the kitchen.
If it was in winter, you would have a soup on the stove. The saucepan lid was invariably propped up by a huge lamb bone, and all these years later I can still hear that rhythmic rocking sound of lid against bone.
If you weren’t in the kitchen, I’d say, “Mum, I’m home, where are you?”
A tiny voice from another room would say, “I’m in here.”
Mum, you’ve no idea how secure that familiar little voice made your kids feel.
You were an excellent and adventurous cook. At a time when Aussies thought spaghetti was something in a Heinz tin that you put on sandwiches cold, you made Spaghetti Bolognaise.
I’ll never forget that first time you served it up…..
Five little kids sitting around the table, our eyes as big as our plates. “What’s this stuff called?” we asked.
Without batting an eyelid you said, “It’s Italian, - Marta, Minsa, Getti.”
Sounds Italian to me - I still call it that!
My third memory was when my husband, John, died. I sort out my mother, as you do at such a time.
I remember telling her I didn’t think I could go on.
I’ll never forget what she said…..
“Remember when your Dad moved on to another school? You were the oldest, yet you were always the most upset. “I’ll never make any more friends.” You’d say it every time – but you always did.”
She squeezed my hand and said “Chris, it’s a time for you to move to another school.”
It was so wise, it spoke to me, as she knew it would.
I now think of it as a metaphor, a metaphor for those transition times in life that we all face.
The two most significant, being our birth and our death.
We love you Mum, but, - in your own words, - “It’s a time for you to move to another school”.
