My Super Mom

My Mom passed in December of 2021. This is the eulogy I wrote for her memorial service on April 23, 2022.

Mom was a superhero. Obviously. Good parents are superheroes, come to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men and women. They protect us, teach us right from wrong. They show us how great power demands great responsibility.

I like superheroes. Mom supported that interest, buying comic books and helping me read them. Later, she'd listen patiently as I became able to tell her the stories. Mom encouraged me to dream, to imagine, and to create. My ability grew, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive. Reading made it so.

Mom made it so. She loved to read. Our house was always full of books. Mom read throughout all her years, until her vision faded. She switched to audio books, still eager for the stories. Mom asked me to read my own writing to her, every day. Did she remember reading The Avengers to me years ago, inspiring me in that specific way? I didn't think to ask her. But I'll always remember. I appreciate the fullness of that circle.

Mom also loved music. Oh my gosh, Mom loved music! Her time with Dad was defined by music, a life together played to a soundtrack of Dixieland, swing, Broadway. They loved to dance. They'd travel across the country to dance at jazz festivals. Crazy kids, with their music. 

Of course, Mom thought rock 'n' roll lyrics were just "yeah yeah baby baby." They weren't the poetry she heard in the songs that moved her.

Though you're far away
I have only to close my eyes and you are back to stay
I just close my eyes
And the sadness that missing you brings
Soon is gone and this heart of mine sings

Mom's favorite song. "Meditation," Frank Sinatra and Antonio Carlos Jobim. "Yeah yeah baby baby" couldn't compete with that. But she was open to learning about rock lyrics that might have more depth.

I may not always love you

As long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it

God only knows what I'd be without you

"That's beautiful," she said. "It's the Beach Boys, Mom." "That's beautiful," she repeated.

Mom listened. She listened to everyone, whatever your troubles, whatever your story, whatever tearful refrain you had to sing. She heard you. And she'd take your sad song and make it better.

Mom believed in something greater. But she cherished the here and now. She cherished you. All of you. By whatever name you knew her--as Jean or Miss Jean, Mrs. Cafarelli or even Elma Jean, as Aunt Jean, Grandma, Nonnie, Great Grandma, Mom--she believed in you. She would risk the sin of pride, not on her own behalf, but on behalf of us: her kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, the out-laws who married into this clan, nieces, nephews, her brother and sister, all of my aunts and uncles, family, friends. She saw you. She heard you. She knew you. She wanted the world to know you--to know us--the way she knew us. 

That was her super power. One of her many super powers. Mom, God only knows what we'd be without you. Our story is to be continued. A superhero. You saved us, Mom. And so we turn our eyes to the sky. Up, up, and away, Mom. Up, up, and away.