paul_viapiano_guitarist
music, technology & life in pasadena, california
For My Mom
I usually don't write personal entries here, but today I must make an exception. My mother passed away on Saturday May 6, 2006 after a short illness. I wrote the following words for her funeral, and they were read by my cousin, Tom Unger.
How does one say goodbye to one’s mother? It must count as one of life’s most difficult tasks, for a mother is there at the beginning, our host into this world, a tether to connect our lives and ground our feelings. And when that tether is lost we feel disconnected, adrift in that same world we felt so safe in.
The bond of trust and friendship that grows between a mother and her children is a special one. An unbreakable pact that holds firm through times of happiness and times of sorrow. It is the glue that holds a family together, sustaining long after the children have left home for college and for work, to make their mark upon the world.
My nearly three-year-old daughter is fond of a book which tells the story of five little ducklings leaving the nest for the first time to take a swim with their mother. Each time the mother duck calls on one of her youngsters to jump in the water and follow her, she says, “You can do it. I know you can!” And each duckling, after much hesitation, follows their mother into the lake; all fears subside and they end up loving the experience. Mother as teacher, guide, cheerleader, protector and friend.
And even as I write this, overwhelmed with sadness and grief, I can hear my mother saying, “You can do it. I know you can!” Even when they have left this Earth, mothers continue to teach, to guide and to console. We may feel so alone in their absence, but the life’s worth of lessons they’ve given us continues to live within.
My mother was a woman of many talents and one of the skills she took much pride in was her wonderful baking. When she was still working, she would take her vacation just before Christmas in order to set aside enough time to bake many batches of at least 2 dozen different types of cookies. It was hard work but she loved to do it. The pleasure it gave her was beyond words.
Last week, on my last night in Buffalo, we were gathered around my mother’s dining room table for dinner. My brother Mitch and his girlfriend Sue were there, my wife Laurie and daughter Elise, and my longtime friends, Rick and Barbara. I discovered that one of the many cookie tins that sat atop the refrigerator wasn’t empty and upon opening it, found that there were enough leftover Christmas cookies, perfectly fresh, for each of us to share one last taste of cookie goodness.
As night fell and the day drew to a close, we all said our goodbyes to one another and my daughter, who is too young to comprehend the seriousness of our visit sighed, “What a nice day.” My friend Barb called her a Little Buddha, such an enlightening remark, in view of the circumstances, coming from a child.
My daughter’s innocent observation reminds us that although we may be grieving today, life on this Earth marches on and will continue to fill our minds. But as for lives remembered, they will continue to fill our hearts.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom…
May God keep you in his holy and mighty care.