This morning at the memorial service for my mom. Gathered together, former students, colleagues, friends, neighbors, family. People I hadn't seen in years. People I had never seen before.
A fitting eulogy which convinced many that the rabbi had actually known my mom, though he hadn't. Reading from the 23rd Psalm ('Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil'). Reading from and discussing Proverbs 31 ('An accomplished woman, who can find? Her value is far beyond pearls'). The mourner's kadish. Sniffling and kleenex using from assorted parts of the chapel, heard but not seen from the front 'family' row. People in suits who are not normally in suits.
A lagoon-front reception, eating and reminiscing, catching up with the seldom seen. Hearing how much my mom meant to people I barely know, and to people I know well. Her caring. Her sharp wit. Her many talents. How proud she was of her children. Vowing to keep in touch, now that the glue holding the rest of the family with her small part of the family is gone.
My mom, who was she? A private person, not someone who would want fifty-odd people meeting in her memory. Not someone who would want to be written about for posting on the internet, or possibly at all. But someone who deserves to be eulogized, and remembered.
*photo: me, my mom, my mom's mom, and my mom's mom's mom: four generations of women of valour*