The Service

It was a little quieter this late afternoon, except for the chain saw. Jennifer was pulling weeds out of the back yard garden that was so over grown she rustled up a leopard frog, the snake and a forty pound toad. Her intensions were to plant the beautiful rose bush given the family by the Peter and Charlotte Smith in remembrance of Mom. The yard work and gardening prompted Dad’s decision to cut the juniper down, something that would horrify my mother. Mike, Jennifer, Darryl and I all had the same thought. We each had a private conversation to be sure Dad he wanted to do this. Maybe he thought Mom might come back and before she did he was going to get it down. The lumber jacks would have brought it down sooner, but the chain saw would not cooperate. Undeterred, Dad went to the neighbors to get a chain saw and the men cleared the tree, carting the branches off into the woods in the back of the house.

While all this outdoor stuff was occuring, I did the dishes, answered the phone calls from those who offer their condolences and tried to write, not getting too far in the process.

The Service

It is a small country church and it was packed. I stood in front of the people who had come to pay their respects to my mother. I was to say a few words. I wanted to do this, yet knew it would be so very difficult. I had something to share with those who came and something to share with the family.

Four years ago, prompted by my Uncle David, a retired minister, I wrote a eulogy for my mom and dad and made plans for my memorial service. I was traveling to Nepal and worried I might be someplace from where I could not get home, yet I wanted to share my thoughts about my mother with others at the service. And if something happened to me, I wanted my wishes known.

Now I was faced with my mother’s death and her service and the reality of my inability to retain my composure and share the words. The strength came from somewhere while I spoke about my mom and while I did hit a couple of emotional spots in the text which choked me and the congregation, I delivered my mother’s eulogy so that I knew she would have been proud.

Eulogy for Florence H. Perez, my Mother

Mom was not the type of person who wanted to be lavished with the finer things in life. Mom did not desire the newest, the finest, the biggest, or the most of anything. If she did desire the finer things in life, she checked those feelings, foregoing the desires - as a sacrifice for us kids. Certainly if the US economy was driven by my mom’s personal spending habits, our country would be in dire straits.

My mom appreciated the simpler things that life offers. It never took a lot to make Mom happy. She took pleasure in things found close to home. One thing she enjoyed was flowers. Not the big fancy bouquets from the florist, but the flowers that were found in the woods, the fields, the yard or along the side of the road. The wild flowers.

As a little kid, I could brighten her day with a collection of wild flowers—daisies, Black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s lace. And in the early spring a collection of pussy willows. A small bouquet picked while I was on my way home from school or play, brought through the door just before dinner, could always bring a smile to Mom. She made me feel as if that was the best gift I could ever give her and that I was special for bringing them to her.

Mom’s favorite flowers were found close by. In early spring sometimes even before the snow had vanished, daffodils challenging winter’s dominance punched their way up through the cold, damp earth. With yellow daffodils and fat robins in the yard outside the kitchen window Mom enjoyed the prospects of longer days and warmer temperatures.

Spring might have meant many things to Mom, but one thing it meant was that she could now chase all us kids outside. Mom liked us outside. I can hear her saying, “You kids get out of the house.”

The month of May brings Lilacs. Regardless of where I went if I saw lilacs in the spring, I’d always think of Mom. She used the lilac blooms as a metric - comparing to the previous years’ blooms to the current. She observed how soon they appeared, how many blooms filled the branches, how rich they smelled, or how long they lasted. This spring I was home and while the trees have grown older and produce less, the joy and the appreciation Mom had for the lilacs never diminished.

It was the appreciation of the simple things in nature that Mom gave me. The excitement when the grosbeaks returned for the winter or the hummingbirds to the feeder, or the sighting of the Pileated Woodpecker in a dead tree. The joy she found in nature’s offerings, she passed on to me.

As an example, the other night just hours after her passing, Robin and I drove up the hill to our house and saw three young bucks standing in the middle of the road. Their bodies lean and healthy, their coats shining in the headlights, their velvet racks like crowns. They were not startled. They stood there as if to stop us for a reason. After a couple of minutes they quietly and peacefully walked into the woods and disappeared. Three young bucks - the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost came for Mom.

Mom always wanted the best for us. She worked hard to make our house a home. Inside this home was security and love. It was a place to run to when I skinned my knee. Or fell off my bike. Or had my heart broke. Mom was there to mend our wounds and make things better. It was a place to find a well cooked meal. A place to drown our deepest thirsts. It was a place to hear the sounds in the kitchen of breakfast being prepared while laying deep under thick warm blankets on a chilly morning—much like this morning. The best meant ‘home’ and it was home because of Mom.

Mom wanted us to have the best and the best meant having choices. Mom wanted us to have choices in life. So she and dad stressed that education was the ticket to opportunity. They believed that nothing came free, that you worked hard and you were rewarded. She encouraged us to be whatever we want to be. And this made us independent and self-reliant - two qualities Mom valued.

Mom took great pride in what her children became. Not doctors, or lawyers or even Indian Chiefs. The status found in career wasn’t important. She wanted us to be happy. What we became were five adults who converse, share, laugh, love and find joy each other’s company and friendship. We were family—we are family—and that was Mom’s greatest achievement.


So what is next?

I am going to take the next couple of blogs tocapture my family’s oral history. Dad has spent the last couple of night reminiscing about his family history and mom. Suddenly I am very aware of being first generation American, how decisions and sacrifices affected my life. I want to capture some of these things before the details fade and before I lose my father.

My book tour is interrupted for a few weeks while I help dad transition into living alone after sixty years.