First, I’d like to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate my mother’s – Margo’s – Grandma’s – life. Helen Keller said “What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes part of us.” If that’s true, then my mother’s love has become part of me, and I can only hope to share that – the empathy and acceptance that she gave so freely to me.
How do I summarize a life that included a husband of nearly 60 years, four children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, a sister, nieces and nephews, not to mention her extended church family and friends? I am so grateful to see so many people here today who knew and loved my mother and were loved by her, and she would be thrilled, and humbled, as am I.
My mother loved fiercely but quietly. She felt things – strongly – but she rarely spoke about it. She sometimes seemed surprised – almost grateful – when people showed they loved her – like she didn’t realize that of COURSE, when she loved as much as she did, others couldn’t help but love her back.
Mother truly did love her family, and she was always happy to accept another family member. Over the years, she’s welcomed sons and daughters in-law, grandkids, dogs, cats, calves, goats, turkeys, geese . . . man, she sure did love Willy Wonka the Honka, that goose, didn’t she? (As an aside, anyone who’s met StormBob NaughtyPants, now you know where I get my pet-naming skills!)
One of my very earliest memories was when my parents packed my sister, Laura, and me into the car and we drove across the country to California. Today, I can’t even imagine driving that long with not one, but TWO toddlers in the car! It must have been okay, though, because a few years later, after my brothers (Wes and Dan) came along, they doubled down and piled all FOUR of us into the station wagon and headed for a visit to Mother’s hometown, Boston.
And, of course, there were the late summer trips from Wisconsin to Indiana – Mother would pack a picnic lunch, and we’d all spend the day picking blueberries. So many blueberries! We were lucky in that homemade blueberry pancakes and muffins and fruit pies of all types, as well as jams and preserves, all made regular appearances on the table over the years, along with the fresh vegetables from the gardens she loved so much.
When I was 13, my parents packed us kids up one last time, this time into a school bus-turned-moving van, and we re-settled here in New York, and Mother was able to expand her skill set, adding raspberry-picking, cow-milking, chicken-raising, and, of course, goose husbandry, to her repertoire.
After the devastating car accident that put her in a wheelchair for a year, Mother turned her sewing skills to quilting, and even after she was on her feet again, she continued to enjoy making beautiful quilts and perfecting her techniques. She eventually fulfilled her dream of opening a quilt shop in Hammondsport, which she kept for several years. She loved being with people and keeping busy and she stayed as active as she could, for as long as she could.
In the words of the poet Ariana Dancu, “she made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible. She walked with the world on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.”
Over the years, we had our differences, to be sure. I guess that’s to be expected with a mother and her strong-willed, stubborn daughter. All that gray hair she had? I’m probably responsible for at least half of that – she always did say she’d earned it, but she never really did say how.
Even though we were different in so many ways, she still just “got” me. She understood me, sometimes, better than I understood myself. She was always worried about bothering me, so she usually left it up to me to call her, and I used to call her while I was driving home from work (hands free, don’t worry, Mother!), and we’d just . . . .talk. Talk about everything and, perhaps more importantly, about nothing. I can’t even count the number of times I’d get home and just sit in the driveway, catching up and chatting about whatever came to mind. I will miss that. I always knew that I could just call her, and she’d be there to listen, without judgment. She had a way of making me feel heard, understood. Loved.
While preparing to speak today, I was struck by these words from the author Graycie Harmon: “My mother is a never ending song in my heart of comfort, happiness and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”
No tribute to my mother would be complete without recognizing that it was her faith, as much as anything, that sustained her. Over the years, in spite of the surgeries and illnesses, the rebellious teenagers (not naming any names!), the loss of loved ones, including her first grandson and her first great granddaughter, yet she remained faithful and continued to put her trust in the Lord, knowing she – and we – were part of His plan.
I would like to close by paraphrasing C.S. Lewis –
For her this was only the beginning of the real story. All her life in this world and all her adventures have only been the cover and the title page: now at last she is beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read; which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before.
I love you, Mummy, and I miss you every day, but I know you’re at peace.
Thank you.
KMBryant 
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