I recently experienced a loss and the big BIG emotions that come with it (i.e. grief, depression, sadness). The feelings still creep up on me from time to time and remind me of the great loss I experienced. The huge gaping emptiness that was left behind when she was taken from our family. Death and loss are things I have dealt with my whole life, but this one was devastating. Even a picture that suggest a memory is enough to bring me back to that difficult emotional state. Clearly I'm still grieving. I think it's important to normalize that though. How people grieve and for however long it takes for the grief to ebb away is their path and their journey. We cannot judge. Each loss is different and takes it's toll in various ways. This one is emotionally exhausting. Mostly because I haven't really fully allowed myself to feel everything. WHY? because I'm a scaredie cat! As a therapist I would ask my client what they were so afraid of. I'm afraid of falling apart and it would be devastating and I might struggle to get my pieces back together. I'm just not ready. If I let that feeling out of the box lord only knows what else will come out of Pandora's box. At any rate the point of my writing all this is my eulogy. It was the hardest thing in the world to write and even harder to speak in front of the people who loved her every bit as I did. I wanted to post it because she was an amazing woman and her legacy deserves to be shared. Here you go.
Hands
When my mother asked me to write
Lola’s eulogy, I said yes, with trepidation.
How am I supposed to capture everything this woman meant to so many
people in one short speech? Moreover, how
am I supposed to speak it without falling apart? After days of avoiding the
tasks and the various emotions that come with it. I realized I can’t. I won’t.
More importantly it’s not necessary. Lola was so much to so many people. Her
legacy speaks for itself and will live far beyond any of us. So I’ll just say goodbye
as eloquently as I can.
Five years ago when Lola first
had her stroke, it consumed over half her brain and left her less able bodied
than she was accustomed to. She remained in the hospital for about two months
as we waited for her recovery. Even in
that state of disrepair, in her state of need, she covered me with blankets
when I laid in bed with her. She held my hands reassuringly as if to comfort me
as I struggled with the heartbreak of seeing her bed ridden.
I see and feel her hands when I
think about her now. Which is a lot
lately. When I was younger her hands were firm and tough, they doled out
punishments effectively and as fairly as she could. Lola’s hands taught
valuable lessons about perseverance, independence, faith, love, and family. Her hands were calloused from life and play
because she lived a full life without fear or regret that I was allowed to see.
Lola’s hands were fragrant and
bejeweled even when she was getting ready for bed, because, as she explained
it, “you never know who you’re going to meet in your dreams.” Her hands were
open, generous, and selfless. She
provided for her family, neighbors, and strangers. She gave willingly from what she had
available without pause. Whether it was money, her time, or shelter, Lola would
provide what she could without hesitation. As I grew older, her hands became soft
and playful. They reminded me to enjoy life. To gallivant and adventure now
that I had completed school and begun my career.
It’s strange how a pair of hands
can be so much, and that’s just one piece that I will miss. I haven’t even
begun to discuss her infectious laughter and joyful smile; or her endearingly
curious nature, nor the ease in which she made friends of strangers. There is
not enough time. There will never be enough time to enumerate the many ways she
has affected me.
At the beginning of this eulogy,
I said I was going to say goodbye as eloquently as I could. So I want to end
with a story, a suggestion, and a letter. If you don’t know me, I am a mental
health therapist and I recently assisted a client to deal with her grief by
asking her to look past me and tell her deceased grandmother everything she
wished she could have said before her grandmother passed. It was such a powerful experience to be a
part of her healing. I watched her sigh
a breath of relief as she let go of the words and the heavy emotions she had
been holding onto for years since her grandmother’s passing. As we explored her relationship with her
grandmother further, we found that she had already said goodbye to her
grandmother before she passed. So if you have any words left unsaid, I
encourage you to do the same. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to speak to my
Lola now:
Dear Lola,
I can only hope that I have an
ounce of your grace and goodness. I
strive to be everything you believed I could be and to never disappoint
you. Lola, I wish you could have met my
future husband so that he would know the durability of the cloth I was cut
from. I wish my children could have met
you and learned from you as I did. I
wish you could have held them so they could know what it felt like to be in the
presence of a powerful matriarch. Thank you for loving me as fiercely as you
did. For teaching me about my
culture. Thank you for accepting me as I
am without condition. Thank you for
instilling me with strong family values.
I will carry your legacy of kindness, love, faith, generosity, strength,
perseverance, fearlessness, and sense of adventure with me always. I’m so grateful to have had a Lola like you.
See you soon. I love you. Good
Bye.
