Words for Mom

Good morning everyone. I cannot make it today so I hope you don’t mind that I’ve asked Uncle Bob to read some words for me to mom. It is so totally unfair to do so but thanks for doing this for me. Funerals are hard enough for everyone and to have to step in and speak for someone else is especially difficult. Here we go.

My dearest precious loving mother –

This is both the hardest and the easiest thing I’ve ever written. It’s the hardest because it is a goodbye. A final goodbye. I said goodbye to you mom many times over the past 30 years since I left home. Hard as many of those goodbyes were I knew there was a hello coming soon. When I said goodbye to you in December when I left for Africa I knew then it was quite likely I would never see you again. You knew it too. It was hard. We both knew we weren’t going to get to say hello again in this life. Yes there is that great gettin’ up morning promised someday when we will see each other again but today is goodbye. Goodbyes are just plain hard

This is also really easy to write though. When you have a great subject and some great stories the words flow. Mom, you can’t imagine the flood of memories and stories that have crossed my mind over these last few days. I hope it’s ok if I mention some of them to the folks here today. Each and every memory speaks to your kindness, your love for your family and friends, your selflessness, your faith, your optimism, your laughter, your gorgeous voice and your sense of wonder.

Let’s start with the last one, your sense of wonder. Mom, did you ever think when you were growing up in Natick that you would ever marry a hillbilly, raise three boys, make countless treks across the country by car and air, spend 18 summers in the Ozarks, live in California, Hawaii, visit Europe. The list goes on. Your life was filled with adventure and wonder. I can’t believe you spent your honeymoon without running water. Even I didn’t do that to Jess. The adventure never stopped until this past Friday. The wonder I’m sure continues as you sit at the foot of the Father.

Let me tell them about your kindness. I think the first Bible verse you taught me was Be Kind. You always, always were. There are a million times I remember you being kind but one stands out because it was so quiet, so simple but so kind. Remember when we worked at GBC – General Battery Company? I made 8 dollars an hour on Saturdays there. That was awesome money in the 70s. There was a kid there named Steve. I can’t remember his last name. He and his girlfriend had a baby girl and as you were fond of saying “didn’t have a pot to pee in”. On our way into work together one Saturday at 5 in the morning you had me get some bags and boxes into the trunk. They were filled with clothes, diapers, toys, and a baby seat. I asked who these were for and you said Steve and his family. I started to ask who gave them to you and before I could finish my jaw dropped. I realized you had bought all the stuff yourself and were just giving it out of the kindness of your heart. I saw it repeated by you throughout my life but that one memory really stands out. When we got there you called Steve to your car and had him bring his car over. He had no idea. When you had me open the trunk he just stared. He couldn’t speak. His jaw dropped. He too realized that you did something like this simply because you had a pure and perfect heart.

Let me tell them about your love of family. Nothing came before family in your life. As a child you just assume you are the center of the universe but Billy and Stevie and I really were to you. Your husband too. You had an unbreakable bond of marriage, faithfulness to family and a strength that defined your love. You constantly kept us pointed in the right direction and served as a model for others. I can’t tell you mom how many people asked me over the years what you “did right”.  I don’t know the answer and I don’t think you did either but it worked. Everyone recognized how special a mom you were. You touched so many with your love over the years -from little babies in cradle roll, to the neighborhood kids piled in the huge Imperial with you carting us all to Wingaersheek Beach, to college roommates who asked every other day when we were heading over to your house, to me. You always listened, never criticized and loved unconditionally.

Your loved your friends too and they loved you with a purity and a power that is present today. It was just second nature to you. Everyone in your orbit loved you - your brother and sisters, your in-laws, neighbors, church family, dental patients, the pizza guy, the gas station guy, the bank lady. I often wondered why you were so friendly. Were you born that way? Did you decide to be that way? I’ve come to the realization it was your name. Myrtle. People named Myrtle have to be friendly. And people named Myrtle Crabtree have to rise above the moniker and be extra friendly and be the most normal, friendly genuinely loving person possible. You always were. I think you had practice with the name thing though. Your mom was Bessie Mae. Your mother-in-law was Gertrude. Goodness. When it came time to name our daughters, Jess and I never really considered Myrtle but maybe we should have. It defined you. Folks may forget Myrtle is mentioned throughout the Bible. It’s found in Isaiah, Nehemiah, and Zachariah. It always refers to the beautiful, fragrant evergreen that to this day adorns temples in times of celebration.  It is fitting the plant was named after you.



Your selflessness. It seems to be a special hallmark of the women of your generation.  And it certainly was with you. You always sat down last.  Whether it was scrambled eggs at O dark thirty on Sunday mornings so Dad could get to church to set up the speakers, or beans and franks on Saturday afternoons, or Thanksgiving dinners for my college classmates you always served yourself last. You also, quietly gave us more than we deserved and more than you could really afford. You let us talk you into the Victoriaville hockey sticks with the Bobby Orr signature when the Gary Doak Sherwood would have been fine. You made sure we had Levis when Toughskins were the smarter and more economical choice. You always sacrificed. You never thought of yourself first.

Your faith and your optimism. Your faith was unshakable. I may have questioned parts of your beliefs but I never questioned your faith. The thriving church community that exists today in New England was built in large part on the bedrock your faith provided. All things were possible. Everything would work out fine. Your church burned down on your wedding day for goodness sake. How does one march on in that setting? You did. In the end, you knew your days on Earth were numbered but you never gave up. You accepted the fact that our bodies are not perfect that they wear out and that yours was quickly doing so but you met each day with promise and possibility. Just a few days before you left us mom you honestly told me when I called that you felt pretty good that morning. That today was a good day. Your optimism was your greatest gift to me. I like to think I share it in whole but I know only in part. Your optimism was boundless.

Your laughter was infectious and continuous. Sometimes you laughed so hard you peed your pants. Many of us, especially your sister Irene, learned long ago not to get on the Tilt A Whirl with you. You found joy in all things. That was another lesson your sons learned, your friends respected and God will reward you for.

Your gorgeous voice. Mom, you filled our house and our hearts with music. Dad had the big speakers but mom you had the voice. Yeah, I know dad has a distinctive voice but you had the signing voice - angelic, alto and oh so pretty. I close my eyes and hear you in the old Wellesley Park on a Sunday night when it was ok to rock a bit. I hear you in the St Joe Baptist church competing with Sarah Beth for the high notes, I hear you in our living room harmonizing with Dougie Mitcham on Unclouded Day and I hear you singing lullabies to your grandchildren. When I hear these songs I think of so many things. I think of Bert Mitchell’s perfectly scribed lyrics on the ancient overhead projector, I think of Tommy Mitcham and Wilma Shedd raising the rafters with their piano and organ and I see your hand tapping out the beat on the top of the pew. How I wish I could hold that hand again. Those songs often sang of a sweet forever… of a land beyond the river…of a place we only reached by faith’s decree…of a time when the King commands the spirit to be free. You’re free mom.

Mom, promise me you’re singing to folks in Heaven. They deserve it.

Mom, let me say a few words to the folks here. To all of you I am so sorry I could not be there in person. As many of you know I am in Liberia running a piece of our US government’s effort to help defeat Ebola. We are close. Your support made the difference. The war is not won but victory is in sight. Unfortunately one can only fly out of here once or twice a week. I just couldn’t make it. More importantly, Massachusetts would not let me participate in “public gatherings”. I guess funerals fall in that category. And can you imagine being there and NOT being able to hug each other? But worse, it is the cold and flu season and someone will have a fever and sniffles sometime in the next few days and I just couldn’t make them think they might have Ebola however unlikely. Mom and I talked about this possibility and I remember her words clearly. You take care of those folks. I’ll be with Jesus, everyone else is fine and I expect you to finish your job. It doesn’t make it any easier but I hope you all understand.

Finally mom, I need to say a few words to dad. Dad, I cannot imagine the sorrow and heartache you feel right now. Mom was a wonderful mate. But I know your faith is strong too. I know you know you will see her again. And if I know my mom she’ll have a table set for you when you next meet. Only this time, what a special table it will be. Mom will have a place for you at the Master’s Table. Can I hear a good old-fashioned Grampie Sellars Hallelujah!  And when you sit next to her dad please hold her hand under the table and give her a kiss for me. To all of you, please remember that first Bible verse mom taught me. Be kind. Take care of one another.

If God truly did make us in his image then God is not the blue-eyed bearded guy shown in the painting that hung in the staircase of the old Wellesley Park. No, God looks like you mom.

Jessie and I miss you so much mom. Piper and Haley miss their Nanny. Jess is here with you today. I am in Africa and Haley and Pipes are back home in Hawaii. But all of us want to say aloha and a hui hou. Until we meet again.

Goodbye my dearest precious loving mother. Enjoy your eternal reward. No one deserves it more.

Your loving son, Tommy