A Eulogy to My Mother

One year ago today, my Mother said her final good-bys to her family here on this earth and joined her eternal family with her Maker and Lord. I miss her, but I am so happy for her new life now, for the one here had become too burdensome. The following is a eulogy I gave at her last service and a poem I had written about her. This is in honor of her memory.

There are lots of stories, lots of memories, I could tell about Mom.

I would have a hard time coming up with just a couple of favorites.
Mom didn’t have an easy life as a young person, or even as a young mother, raising four kids.
But, she had a great attitude. I guess I didn’t really appreciate it at the time, but as I became an adult and had to deal with my own life problems, I began to wonder at just how she could always have such a good attitude; always a smile for folks.
As we, kids, grew up and grandkids came along. We used to always have so much fun at family gatherings. Mom – Grandma – Mima, would always join in the fun, laughing, and mostly at herself. These were great times.
There is one thing about mom that stands out to me now.
She had an uncanny gift at “sizing” people up. She could see through a phoney in a second. She knew right away if someone was sincere or if they were just putting on a front.
But in spite of this insight, she never had a judgmental spirit. She would love and accept all, maybe with a bit of appropriate caution.
I believe I inherited a bit of the former trait, but wish I had more of her grace.
In the last couple of years, the monstrous dementia began to steal her mind and her ability to communicate. Coupled with a loss of hearing, put her somewhat in her own world.
There were many times, I would peer into those deep blue eyes and wonder just what she was thinking
Did she hear me?
Did she understand?
Was she trying to communicate, but just couldn’t connect with her voice?
This was especially true in the last couple of years.
I wanted so many times, to be able to step into her mind, to see and hear her thoughts, to know her mind. Because it would seem at times that she really wanted to communicate something but just couldn’t.
It was frustrating to me that I couldn’t know for sure just what she was comprehending.
It was after one of these kinds of visits that I wrote the poem printed below (A Mother and A Son). It reflects some of my frustration.
On Monday of this (Feb 15,2011) week, I visited her in the hospital. As I came down the hall and within her line of sight. She immediately locked her gaze on me. As I stood by her bed, holding her hand, I sensed that she knew what lay ahead for her. I sensed that she wanted, needed the comfort of those who loved her so much. But, one just could not know for sure what was in her mind.
This thought must have stayed in my mind that night. I woke up in the early morning hours, got up, and began to write my thoughts. I would like to read those to you at this time. I think it is very close to the kind of thing she would want to say if she could speak to you now.
When I was young, I can remember her teaching me at appropriate times; shaking her index finger at me and saying, “Now let that be a lesson to you, young man.”
So, I think of this, as her final lesson to me.
 

The Final Dimension

As we travel through our world in the dimensions of space and time,

There comes a point for each of us that we approach that unknown portal.
With just one small step, we will step through that portal in time,
And perhaps, for just one moment, we will be able to glimpse
Back through this open portal and see the dimension of time from the outside.
We cannot imagine a world without the space and time dimension in which we are born.
But, what if we could imagine what this world may look like from the outside?
What would this momentary glimpse reveal?
Perhaps as we took a look back through this portal,
Those things which seemed so very important as we travel in this present dimension
Would not only become unimportant, but would disappear entirely.
We might see this present dimension as we would see the weatherman’s blue screen.
We see the illusion of a weathermap, radar reflections, fronts and such
But when we see what is actually there, we see only the weatherman
Standing in front of a blue screen.
Perhaps as we look back, stepping through this final portal,
We will see only the people.
Only those objects which will last forever.
And not only that, but we will see that each one is frighteningly close
To taking that small step though their own portal.
Yes, all things might disappear to us with the exception of these people.
And since we will not be bound by the dimension of time,
We will see that each one is standing ready at their final portal.
But, as we step through, there would be only that briefest of moments
Given to us to glimpse back.
For upon taking that final small step through our own portal
We will immediately step into our final transport.
The transport which will deliver us to our ultimate destination.
To those who have been chosen,
Chosen through their own will
Which has been given to them to exercise,
Chose to accept the free gift given them,
Those will enter into the eternal presence of their Creator.
But those who have not so chosen
Will be transported to their final, eternal destination
Outside of His Presence.
Would it be a gift to be allowed this perspective of time outside of time?
To see those important things disappear?
To see that only the people remain as that which is real?
Would such a perspective give us a different set of priorities?
Would it change the way that we relate to and treat people?
We are standing beside our portal.
This perspective is only a small step away.
What will we see?

Dwight Suiter

February 15, 2011
(The day my mother stepped through her final portal.)

A Mother and A Son

She sat alone and in her silence stared.

Not a word to speak , no thought was shared.
Her gentle smile would on occasion break
The notion that at last she could not speak.
It seemed that any moment she may share
Her thoughts so deep and stir the stagnant air.

Peering into her eyes, her aging son

Looked for a sign that she felt not alone.
He longed to hear her laugh as long ago,
And hear her call his name, her love to show.
He tried to make her hear his own weak voice.
That sharing of his love she might rejoice

And just when hope seemed dim and almost lost,

A nod, a sigh, as if it did exhaust
Her fragile frame and all her strength did take.
Her head would bow and hands begin to shake.
He took her hands and gently kissed her cheek
And wiped a tear away, but could not speak.

Dwight Suiter

April 3, 2010