Hey y’all, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here today in support of my mother and my family.
I’d like to give a special thanks to the man who just spoke before me- my mother’s best friend and partner in life. My father was by my mother’s side through the test of her lifetime. Dad, thank you for devoting your life to Mom. You put in the hard work- every doctor visit, every therapy appointment, every ounce of research. . . anything to help Mom be more comfortable. . . anything to help fight her horrible disease. There were restless nights and disturbed sleep, breaking down of comfortable barriers, and you handled it all. You never held on to anger and you never said quit. Even though it was hard, you’d always say ’not as hard as it is on Mom’. I thank you for all the years with our Mom but I love you more for the most recent. For the memories you helped us make with Mom and for every moment you were by her side. You’ve shown me what true love means in service to our mother. I love you Dad.
My mom was a trailblazer.
Her spirit was fierce and she had a lot of energy.
This was my mom.
She was a HOOT. I was often SO embarrassed by her. But that’s the thing about my Mom, she loved being ‘out there’. She said what was on her mind, did what she wanted, and was frankly funny. She had a laugh that filled the space and she loved to talk. She organized everything to make my family a well oiled machine. Her skin glowed and she always presented herself so flawlessly. She did it all.
But five years ago my mom started to realize things weren’t right. She went to the doctor’s and they told her she wasn’t sick, that it was just part of getting old. But she was persistent and in April of 2014 my mom was diagnosed by the Mayo Clinic for PSP (progressive supranuclear palsy). This horrible monster of a brain disease started to slowly take away the two things my mom loved most- walking and talking.
So my mom geared up, put on her warrior suit, with her family of knights by her side and fought the progression. She went to a gym designed for movement disorders multiple times a week. She had a personal yoga teacher- her dear friend Carol, who helped her in mind, body, and soul. She visited Gwen the massage therapist weekly who helped her constant jaw clench and overall body stiffness. And there was the handwriting specialist. There was the speech therapist. The physical therapist. The psychiatrist. But even though she tried, even though we were there for her, we couldn’t make this disease stop. It’s such a rare disease, that has so little research and no cure.
Little by little PSP started to take more from my mom. And it was the little things my mom really cared about. The first little thing was when she could no longer do her own hair and makeup. If you really knew my mom you knew how much beauty meant to her. She always looked immaculate and carved out self-care time to achieve her overall Bev Luce glow. So, that was a frustrating moment when her hands became too stiff and her vision became too unstable to complete her routine tasks with the curling iron, with the mascara, with her glam tools. Frustrating for her because she’d lost one of her core bits of independence. And frustrating for me because I’d never had the patience to do my own hair or makeup. But she taught me, she taught me how to do things I’d never cared doing. And it was a spitfire in the bathroom- we’d have our yells and our laughs. Mom was struggling, but she was also teaching me the lessons of patience.
My mom and I’s relationship was tested in these last few years as I started to care for her more than she could physically care for me. Like I said before, it was not easy. My dad was right, it was always harder for Mom. She spent her life taking care of everyone else and suddenly had to let go and let others take care of her.
And my mom didn’t want people to know she had to be taken care of. She didn’t like the onset of inappropriate laughter or her distorted voice. She didn’t like her weakness or your possible pity. So she retreated from a lot of you. She wanted to remain the vibrant person we all remembered.
This disease was like a slow leak, taking away bits of my mom’s essence. Her ability to walk unassisted. Her ability to speak clearly. Her ability to eat independently. And then this past August that slow progression changed to a rapid decline. Her ability to make words. Her ability to swallow liquid. We surrounded my mom with family and replayed memories of all the great impacts the self-proclaimed Queen had in our life. And as she spent her last month with us my mom was reminded of the love that she created and shared with so many of you. She felt special. Sad that she had to leave. But very special.
My mom and I didn’t have the easiest relationship growing up. We weren’t the perfect mother-daughter pair. We bitched. We complained. Ok, maybe I did those things. But I had the honor of helping out and living with my mom during her last years. This disease took away the most special person in my life. but also brought me the closest to her. Thank you Mom for giving me the most valuable lessons on love and care.
My mom was a trailblazer.
Her spirit was fierce and she had a lot of energy, a week before she died she did 5 squats on the banister.
This was my mom.
She was a HOOT. Even in the end when she couldn’t talk, she was still making me laugh. I remember trying to make her a delicious vegetable soup, and she just put her finger in her mouth like this (show action). My mom loved being out there. She said what was on her mind and did what she wanted. Even in the end when she couldn’t walk, she made it clear if she didn’t want to be somewhere. I’d wheel her to a room, turn around for just one moment, and she’d be kicking away, getting back to where she wanted to be. She lost her laugh, but she filled that space with those special, only genuinely produced smiles. Those smiles were like gold to me. She continued to bring our family together and challenged us to keep the family a well oiled machine. Until the day she died, my moms skin was perfect and her beauty was radiant.
So thank you Mommy. You did it all. And we love you.
