I had the great responsibility of speaking at both my father's, and now my mother's funeral. Attempting to capture the lives of these two incredible people could never be accomplished in just a few paragraphs. Here is the text for the life sketch of my mother, best friend and hero.
Thank you. The support we have received these past 20 months
from family, friends, coworkers, medical staff, neighbors and our ward family
has been significant and necessary. We cannot adequately express the gratitude
we have for each of you. The moments we have shared will not be forgotten. You
have been the answer to our prayers, a blessing to us and the light in our
lives. Our dear mother, and we, her children, wanted you to know this and I
know that our dad is grateful to you as well.
My mom came into this world premature, weighing in at just
under four pounds. Her parents knew then they were bringing home a fighter. She
was one tough cookie. She’s had that fiery attitude her whole life. We think
she is the first person to get a red card from a ref—as a spectator—she wasn’t
even playing the game. She was and will always be intelligent, hardworking and
beautiful. She was a prankster, a cheerleader, an athlete, a good student, a
devoted sister and a wonderful daughter. And, she made good choices growing up—she
didn't have time to waste.
She met our dad, Keith, on a blind date. His cousin set them
up. They kept telling her that this was the man she was going to marry. She
quickly agreed and bought her wedding dress the very next weekend. My dad says
he fell in love with her red short shorts first, which he teased her
incessantly about.
I say this lovingly, they were the most stubborn people—a
genetic trait we children all inherited. Despite both of their extremely
independent constitutions, they made it work. She and my father built a
successful family and business together.
Mom got to be a mom. In a world where stay-at-home-mothers
can be belittled, she reveled in her role. Her dreams were fulfilled through
the sacred calling of motherhood. She wanted to be a wife and a mother. She
accomplished that goal. She married my father for “Time and All Eternity” in
the Idaho Falls Temple on a beautiful Fall day in 1979. She knew that every
child born to her and her husband could be with her in the next life. We believe
in forever, not just “till death do us part.” No, my mom will always be my
mother, here and in the next life, hand-in-hand with dad. She told me once that
she did not just believe it, she knew it, and would never doubt that her family
would be united in the eternities. We know that families can be together
forever.
When my father died seven years ago, my mother became a
widow in an instant. She was 45-years-old and was immediately faced with the
decision to either crumble under the burden or to stand tall and push forward.
We all know she chose the latter. She bore that trial like a champ or as Brett
would say, “like a boss.”
Since dad passed, she has had all of her children enter the
temple, had another daughter get married, sent two boys off to school and the
same two boys off on LDS missions. She also became a grandma three and a half
times [Jennifer has a little boy due in the Fall].
I know that dad has been there rooting her on and helping
her every step of the way. I can only imagine how proud he is of her because of
how proud we all are of her.
In September 2010, mom was diagnosed with stage four brain
cancer. Jacob had just left on his mission, Jennifer and her girls were living
with mom while her husband Todd was on a year-long tour in Afghanistan, Brett
was off at school and Kelsey was her ever-constant companion at home here in
Spokane. France and I had just discovered we were expecting our first child.
What a wonderful snapshot of life. How quickly everything changed.
Within days, mom was in the hospital having brain surgery.
The doctors confirmed my worst fears just hours later. The tumor was
aggressive. It was cancer. When mom woke up a little while later, I sat alone
with her in the room and held her hand. We were in the ICU together, it was, somehow,
peaceful. I stroked her face and we smiled. I told her that it was what we
thought—it was cancer. She simply nodded her head. She asked, “What do we do
next?” “We fight mom.” I replied. She quietly repeated those words, "We
fight".
My mom fought. She often told me it was the hardest thing
she has ever had to do. The side effects of chemo are ugly: life prolonging,
but difficult. Despite it all, we had a beautiful year with her. We became fast
friends with the cancer care staff and they often told me how my mother was
such a light, such a joy, that she was a gift to them. We felt the same about
them. You would often hear her telling the staff "Thank you for coming to
work today to take care of me.” My goodness, her attitude was infectious.
Why would we ask her to fight? Because! There is always hope for a miracle. We had great hope for a reason. It got us up in the morning. It helped us sleep at night. We had many wonderful days and definitely some dark ones. In those moments, we would have to regroup and count our blessings and remember to have joy. We are on this earth to have joy and we had many blessings to count.
Throughout these last 20 months, her dearest friends went above and beyond to help our dear Sheri when I would go home for a few days to be with my husband. Her parents were by her side as often as possible. We had the help we needed. What a blessing.
I went home to my sweet husband, France, when I was nearly nine months pregnant. When our little Samuel was born, he brought with him such a light, much the same-way Jennifer's daughter, Evelyn, did after dad passed away which, by the way, Evie wanted me to mention that she really loves Gramma Sheri.
I am so thankful for a mom who instilled the confidence in me that I needed to help bring a little person into this world. Five weeks later, I was back on a plane to Spokane, back to mom with a baby in tow, my husband supporting us every step of the way.
Mom and I and her kids held onto hope and prayed for a miracle. We knew she could be healed, we just knew it. Our Heavenly Father knew it, too. He could have easily taken this burden from her. But we slowly realized, over time, through the quiet whisperings from heaven, that it was not in the plan. We were being prepared to accept what was to come. There was a point this last winter where we were just plugging along, keeping the faith and discovering all the miracles that we were already receiving.
The week that our little Sam learned to crawl, mom was rushed to the ER with many sudden complications. We thought we were going to lose her that night. It was such a turn of events for my family. All night we prayed, “Please spare this woman's life.” Our prayers were answered. She came home. It was then that we began to start acknowledging that mom would be made whole again and be free, just not in the way we most wanted. After talking with my siblings and sharing with them my feelings, we each agreed. The miracle we wanted was not the one we were going to get. We had done the one thing we thought we never could, we crossed over. The battle no longer was about winning, it was about enduring. As I mentioned earlier, we had been prepared. Our mindsets changed, mom's too.
We spent the next few months simply loving her and learning with her. We had her move in with us in Idaho so I could take 24-hour care of her. It was a great honor. Mom, and I, and France and Barbara, her caretaker and friend who lived next to me in Idaho, witnessed the most amazing example of endurance and faith every day. Mom never wavered in her faith, she knew that God would keep her close till he brought her home to Him.
We prayed together as a family daily, France, and I and mom taking turns. She prayed for each of her children to make the right choices and to find peace. She prayed for the medical staff, for her friends, for her parents for her siblings, for anyone she knew needed a little help from heaven.
What an example she will continue to be to all of us. Our little Sam got to spend a few precious months with his Gramma Sheri. Those two were buddies. He knew her voice. She was too weak to hold him and somehow he knew it so he would lean into her from my arms and hug her for just a moment. He had a specific Gramma Sheri smile that he gave only to her and she had one for him. As we watched Sam progress and grow in his first year of life, we watched mom slow down in her last. Heavenly Father has given our family a visible example of the circle of life. The day my mother stopped walking was the day that Sammy took his first steps. My gratitude to my Heavenly Father and my Savior for this tender mercy of understanding will never be forgotten.
A few short weeks ago, we brought her home to Spokane—this is her home. You all are home to her. Mom was doing much worse and her body grew weaker by the day. We decided to stop chemo, we had reached that point where her fight was coming to an end. It was time to let her go and we could not have done it without constant support from you and from our Heavenly Father.
She was not scared to die. She fought a good fight. She endured to the end. She knew her Father in Heaven had accepted her life's work. I can only hope that her example, for even just a moment, can touch each of our hearts. She understood life—all she ever wanted was to share that understanding with all of us. Through it, she found joy.
Our Family has been the recipient of continual service for over 20 months—well, seven years, really. A friend told me, your mom has served others for over 50 years, this was her turn to learn how to accept it. A lesson, as you know, she found most difficult.
Our Father in Heaven answered our prayers. We told her to go with dad when he came to get her. The first time I told her that, she nodded and quietly replied, “I just might.” She was gone in just over two weeks. My mother is a warrior. She is with dad. They are together. She did it—she endured to the end. She came into this life the same way she left it, premature. She has business elsewhere.
We her children are honored to carry on our parent’s legacy of faith, they expect nothing less. We miss them terribly, but don't worry, we'll be with them again.
To close, I am going to share with you one of my mother’s favorite quotes, I took the liberty of tweaking it just a bit.
“It is always surprising how small a part of life is taken up by meaningful moments. Most often they are over before they start although they cast a light on the future and make the person who originated them unforgettable. Mom has shined such a light on us all."
We will be fine, we have indeed been taught.
We miss you mom. We love you. We will be together again.
*I mentioned at the beginning of my talk, shortly after my
sister Jennifer played a beautiful piano piece, “Until the Last Moment,” how
even though Jennifer had to be far away in Georgia the majority of mom’s
illness, I couldn’t have done a single day without her. We burned up the phone
lines and video chat bandwidth. She was my sounding board and my constant
support. Jennifer had done the impossible she had supported mom and I in every
facet from thousands of miles away.
