So my Mom died of Alzheimer's Disease in December, and her funeral was in early January. This was the eulogy that I wrote for the funeral, which Mar delivered and thus made everyone there think I was the second coming of Edgar Allen Poe. (The guy is a brilliant orator, but for some weird reason only does his thing when it confers no benefit on us whatsoever.) Anyway, here's the poem. Our last word on Mom.
Who sings for the comforting fire in their hearth?
Who extols the praises of quiet support?
Who describes the perfect laugh for other people’s jokes?
Who speaks of the triumph of a will against the darkness
Those many triumphs that no one records?
Who writes treatises on an unassuming painting?
Painted with passion and grace and gentle spirit
Who discusses the virtues of social skills that calm and heal?
Who lives through countless perfect walks
Under a golden forest Sun
And writes of the person beside them?
No one writes about people who do those things
No one speaks of their glory
No one drinks to their name
No one lets their voices be heard
Rarely do they get what they deserve
I knew a woman like that once
I remember her well
She was there when I had a tale to tell
She was there when I blathered on about fading glory
She read every last horrible story
She was a consummate mother and wife
She was there at the last moments of her life
I came in selfish and with dignity gone
My sick Mom took one look and asked me what was wrong.
Beth Israel was there for us all
With a kind smile and gentle nod
And she will be there at the throne of God.
