I started this blog to document the journey and recovery of my kindred spirit, Villere, whom I rescued from a dumpster in 2010. Preoccupied with my work at
The Sula Foundation and
Your Pit Bull and You, I only ended up writing 2 posts here. But today, I felt compelled to post about my mother, my family and my friends.
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| Me and my mom |
My mother left this earth last week, after a long battle with emphysema. I've been with her and my family, 70 miles away from home, for 2 weeks now. When you're deeply entrenched in rescue/shelter work, you tend to forget about the importance of human relationships (at least I did). But these past 2 weeks have given me a renewed appreciation for my own species, and the profound significance of having them to lean on.
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| Dad, Mom, Cissy and me |
It's incredibly moving, and deeply consoling, to see how those who care about one another come together in times like these. This has been the hardest thing I've gone through in my life, no doubt. But thanks to the unwavering support of those I love, I got through it. Everyone whom I cherish assumed his or her own role throughout this melancholic time - whether it was my brother's handling the arrangements because he knew that my sister and I were too overwhelmed with grief to do so, my dear friend Kacy's bringing me an embroidered handkerchief to wipe my tears at my mom's service, my precious little cousin's comforting me with the stories that comprise my mom's legacy, my husband's holding down the fort and taking care of our dogs while I was away or the beautiful poignancy of my niece Logan's sorrow over the loss of her grandmother.
Each unfiltered expression, each act of kindness, each selfless gesture, each sharing of oneself - they all melded together in a beautiful assembly of compassion and empathy that has allowed me to walk away from this experience feeling whole.
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| 1981 |
Writing and delivering my mom's eulogy was the most cathartic experience of my life. Reflecting on the mark that she has left on this world, and sharing that with those whom she touched, healed me in a way I never thought possible. I've included it below, because her legacy deserves to be shared again.
When I think about how my mom would have wanted to have been
remembered, what she would have seen as her legacy, I am reminded that there
was no one on this planet quite like her. She was truly one in a million. She
wasn’t your typical mom. Yes, she was kind, caring, loving, compassionate, and
all the traits that people often use to describe a recently lost loved one. But
more importantly (to me at least) she was her own person. She knew exactly who
she was, and she truly loved who she was. And that love, that certainty in self, that
raw authenticity, was profoundly magnetic. Everyone wanted to be around her.
She was like a sponge – collecting more admirers than she ever even wanted. And
there was never a dull moment in her presence.
A few days before she passed away, as I was sitting by her
bed, holding her hand, I said to her:
“Mom, you’re my favorite person.”
She smiled and replied, “Who else have you said that to?”
“No one,” I said, “you can only have one favorite.”
“What’s your favorite thing about me?” she asked.
“Your honesty,” I replied.
“Oh, I’m not always honest,” she said.
“I know,” I said, “but you’re honest with yourself.”
And when it came to protecting her children, she had no
problem bending the truth. During the final months of her illness, she tried to
disguise her shaky voice and shortness of breath when we spoke on the phone. “I’m
fine,” she’d say, when she was anything but. She never let me, my siblings or my
nieces know how bad things really were, because she couldn’t bear the thought
of us worrying about her. She was a special kind of selfless.
Growing up, I told my mother everything. Every thought I
had, every unwise thing I did, everything I experienced, I experienced with my
mom, whether she was physically there or not. It wasn’t as though I could hide
anything from her anyway, even if I wanted to. One glance at my face, and she
knew exactly how I was feeling. It didn’t matter if I was depressed, elated,
ashamed or numb, she could read it. There were no secrets with my mom.
The only standard that she ever wanted me to live by was the
fulfillment of my own happiness. She never pressured me to play sports, to get
perfect grades, to write thank you notes, or to behave in any sort of expected
or proper way. Because all that was secondary to what she wanted most for me: whatever
I wanted for myself.
I will always cherish the memories that she has left me.
The sound of her rustling in the kitchen while I napped on the couch. The
morning that I insisted on riding my bike to school, and she followed me in her
car to make sure that I made it safely. The sound of Alfred Hitchcock episodes
emanating from the den when she finally sat down to relax. The stories that she
would tell me of growing up in New Orleans: the alley cats that snuck into the
bedroom of her childhood house on North Dorgenois Street, the fact that she always knew that she was the smartest and most beautiful girl in her class, the first time she ever
met my dad and the Bermuda shorts that he was wearing, the fact that she had to
tell my dad that it was time for them to get married. These stories, this
language, her legacy, I will carry with me forever.
Thank you for giving me life, mom. And for being the
authentic, hilarious, and magnetic being that you were. You have left your
colorful stamp on this world, in the hearts of those who loved you.
