*I’ve gone back and forth about whether I should post the following or not. While the purpose of this blog has been to be as entertaining and fun as I can make it, I also did set out to make sure it was always unflinchingly honest. Whenever I felt myself shying away from any embarrassing truth, I’d stop, recalibrate, and instead lean hard into that truth. So, I’m going to do that here.
I haven’t written this blog in a long while because I’ve had some really, really good excuses not to. For a writer, a good excuse is like cocaine. Ankle surgery and my mother’s sickness allowed me the cover to be as lazy with my fingers as I wanted to. So I was. Unfortunately, yesterday I went to physical therapy and jogged for the first time in about 5 months…so the ankle excuse is toast.
My Mother passed away two weeks ago today, and that’s a really sucky thing to write. I don’t know how to write it without sounding awkward and weird and guilty and sad and relieved. I don’t know how to write about her…but I did. My Mom loved reading this blog and has been on me to make sure that I always put writing first. Whenever I’d stray away from it, snort the hell out of some excuse not to write, she’d remind me that this is what I love to do. This is what makes me happy. So Mom, here’s my return to the blog, and to honor this dumb blog’s number one fan, here is a post about her (pssst, that’s you, Mom).
This is the eulogy I wrote for my Mother and read on Tuesday, July 9, 2019. (I never know when to capitalize the ‘M’ in Mom or Mother, but I feel like this post necessitates constant capitalization.) Also, if you don’t want to read this because it’s Friday and you don’t feel like reading something that’s not light and fun, I get it. Don’t read it. I’ll be back writing fun, dumb stuff about my maniac dog and the VP of Ops very, very soon. If you do feel like reading about this blog’s number one fan, though, here it is:
No one in my family every saw my Mom run. I’m not exaggerating. Over the past week this has come up a few times, and we’ve all sat around doing our best to close our eyes tight and remember ONE TIME when ONE OF US saw my Mom running. We can’t do it.
There was a time when I was around 6 or 7 and my Mom made lasagna. Being the picky eater that I was, for some reason, I decided I didn’t like lasagna as a little kid. I wish I could go back to not liking lasagna in my 30s, but…anyway, I started pouting about the menu and my Mom told me that I could either eat the lasagna or go up to my room. So I got up from the table and made my way upstairs. When I got to about the top of the staircase, I heard that kitchen door fling back open and saw my Mom coming after me. Evidently, that “choice” she gave me wasn’t really a choice. Now she was moving quick-ish, but I still wouldn’t describe her movements as “running”…it was more “charging”.
Then there was the time I was playing football with my friend in the front yard, and I went deep. He threw it, and I sprinted, keeping my eyes on the ball right up until I ran, face first into the metal hammock stand at the end of our yard. I remember my Mom holding an ice-pack on my right eye while I laid on the couch, but no, I do not remember her running.
Or, there were the times we used to go to the Winnetka Fitness Center together when I was in High School and some in college. I’d run for a few miles, go downstairs and lift for a bit, come back up and see her, the entire time she was walking on the treadmill. After the workout, when I asked her how it went or when I’d overhear her talking to some other person about her workout that day, she’d say “good, I ran for a while.” She didn’t. She walked for a while. I’m sorry Mom, but that was walking.
I don’t know, maybe my Mom didn’t even know what running was? Being in a family where my Dad has run almost every day I’ve known him, my sister would run on treadmills next to me, my brothers played sports and included jogging in their workouts, her aversion to the action is surprising. I mean, I ran a MARATHON and dedicated it to her, and she STILL didn’t seem to quite grasp what running was.
And I think that’s what made her the bravest person I’ll ever know. While I’m aware that this whole “not running”-thing initially sounds like a negative, I’m coming to understand that it was anything but. Why? Because this whole “not running”-thing also extends to the toughest moments in and around her life. Whether big or small, soul-crushing or seemingly innocuous, my Mom didn’t run from even the slightest whiff of a tough situation. Nope. She stood in there, while others sprinted away, and shared her gifts: the bravery to show up anywhere, and the skill to tell anyone exactly what they needed to hear in their moment of need.
As a teenager, when her Dad got sick, she took care of him. When a friend needed a babysitter, she became those kids’ second mother. When her 20-something year old son would call her whining dramatically about how some girl didn’t like him back, she’d listen, and as easy as it would have been, didn’t make fun of me…I mean him. When her older brother was killed, she consoled her Mother. When a neighbor’s dog would die, she would send food and flowers. When a waitress didn’t have plans on Thanksgiving, she had her over. When a nurse would come in to give her pain meds, she would ask that nurse how SHE was doing.
That is bravery. Look, she fought that stupid disease time and time and time again, and exuded as much in-your-face bravery and strength as I’ve ever seen in real life. The kind of bravery that is played on “Sportscenter”. The highlight reel of brave acts includes: fighting disease, chasing down the bad guy, running into a fire. But as I’ve thought about my Mom, what I find even more impressive and inspiring, is that subtle brand of bravery she displayed every single day of her life. She didn’t run away from anything, big or small, that may have been hard or uncomfortable. She was so aware of struggle and hardship, that whenever ANYONE, ANYWHERE close to her was having even the most minor of issues, she’d be there. For someone who didn’t run, she sure got to where she was needed fast.
I think back now to how easy it was to roll my eyes or almost be annoyed that she was so giving, because it made me feel guilty for not being as good of a person. The easy thing, the cowardly thing, is to justify a reason to run away. I’ve done this. I bet most people in here have done this. My Mom? Remember, nobody has ever seen her run. She once went across the country to be with a friend she hasn’t spoken to in years, but who was currently going through a divorce, and I remember thinking “come on, Mom! Gimme a break!” Would I have been there for that person? Or, would I have justified a logical excuse for me to take the easy way out? I would have taken the easy way out, blamed that former friend for losing touch and chalked his or her distress up to “something that doesn’t affect me directly”. My Mom, on the other hand, was allergic to the easy way out. She’d take a sip of Pinot Grigio, snarl at the camera and charge right into that fire.
So now it’s my turn to see flames and embrace the heat because that’s the standard that she set. I plan to honor my mother’s legacy, by being more present for everyone around me. Her legacy will inspire me to become a better husband, brother, friend, neighbor, co-worker, acquaintance, passerby on the street, you name it. Her legacy will inspire me to become a truly brave person.
I’ve been going through my Mom’s facebook page lately, and I saw that she posted a quote not too long ago that read: “As a parent, it’s my priority to help get you into Heaven, not Harvard.” Well Mom, I didn’t get into Harvard, and I’m gonna make sure I get into heaven. I figure the only way is to follow your lead. I love you to the Moon and back, Mom. You earned your place up there by having your priorities in line…better make sure you save me a seat.
Jimmy's Chair 