I have had the unfortunate chance to write not one, but two eulogies. Three if you count me getting up to speak at my uncle Corey’s funeral in elementary school. That one was a little less heavy as I mostly talked about how funny he was, and how he was terrible at the game Trouble when we’d play at Hospice. I couldn’t bring myself to write anything for my Gram’s. Because I didn’t know how to put my love for that woman into words. I figured if I got up there and opened my mouth all of my grief would come pouring out, and my parents would’ve had to pick me up off the floor. So I surprised myself when I didn’t even think and the words out of my mouth at the funeral home were, “I’ll speak”. I’ll speak because I knew my dad couldn’t. He couldn’t put all of his love and grief into words. I’ll speak because that’s what she would have wanted. I’ll speak because I can. I kept that same promise for my dad when it was his turn. Because how could I do one and not the other? I thought I would have more time to prepare between the two, but that’s not the way life worked.
How on Earth was I supposed to write and speak and put into words all of the feelings, all of the love, all of the memories? What I cherished most about the both of them, and what I think they cherished about my brother and I in a short speech that was a fraction of the time I spent with them. How could I possibly convey to everyone how deeply this love ran, or how we did everything we possibly could to take care of each other? And then it hit me. I didn’t. I didn’t have to convey all of those things because everyone there already knew. They knew my mom was stubborn as all hell, smart, funny, the type of person you could call on and she’d be there, the person who smiled through the pain. They knew my dad was also stubborn (slightly less than my mom but she came from a long line of strong women), he was funny, smart, and the first phone call I made when things went wrong because I am sure he was that for a lot of people before me. They knew they loved Tyler and I to the fullest extent of unconditional love as you could get. They knew they were proud of us, because I am 99% sure they never shut up about us.
Which led me to thinking: what do I want to be remembered for? And not for things I had or adventures I went on, but what I brought to people and myself at the end of it all. I saw myself through my parents’ eyes a lot. Because they were very vocal about it. When they told me they loved me, I believed it. When they told me I was super freaking smart and could do anything, I believed it. When they told me I was the strongest person they knew, I believed it. I want to be that. I want to be the person that when I tell you I love you, or that your are beautiful, or that you can do really difficult things, or that you are smart that you believe it. Because I believe it. I believe it with my heart and that comes out through not only with my words, but with my actions. I want to be the person that you know you can call at 3am because something went terribly wrong, even if we haven’t talked in a decade, or if we actually don’t know each other super well. I want to be remembered for being strong, but also for having a smile on my face throughout it all. I want to be remembered for being real. For telling you how it is, but with a dose of love that encases it like a warm blanket.
I want to be remembered for having all of the best qualities of the best people I knew. I want to have my Gram’s sass, her fight, her stubbornness, her ability to show love through her cooking, and for making people feel like the most important thing in the world. I want to have my Mom’s strength, stubbornness when it serves others well, her hustle (like raising two kids, working full-time, and becoming a nurse), her ability to love unconditionally, her acceptance of others with no questions asked, her smile through the pain mentality, her ability to remember tiny details about people and showing them she heard you, her adventurous spirit, her “I don’t give a fuuuuck” attitude and doing things that used to scare her, her spirit, her ability to say the things I didn’t even know I needed to hear, her caring heart. I want to have my Dad’s humor, selflessness, his ability to see the good in all of the bullshit, his fight, his calm in the storm, his steady heart, his stubbornness for when it serves me well, his ability to not take things personally, his ability to know that people who love me and that I love are just trying their hardest, his way of telling someone “I’m proud of you” that would bring me to tears, and of course his fan-boy tendencies.
I hope I am the cumulative of all of their best qualities with a little bit of my own. The sum of all of their spirits. It took a really long time for me to look in the mirror and not be saddened by the person looking back. Depending on who you ask I look like the freaking spitting image of my parents. (Although John REFUSES to admit I look like my Dad). I look like them, I joke like them, and I like to think I love like them. We all know I got the stubbornness from both sides. I didn’t have a chance in hell with that one.
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou
“The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect.” – Neil Peart
I want to be remembered for how I made people feel for all of the good reasons. I want my life to be measured in love and respect, not by things I had. So now I get to ask you: what do you want to be remembered for?