I’m not going to give a timeline of Mom’s life. I’m just going to share a couple of stories that come to mind when I think of Mom. They were just daily kinds of things that still have an impact on me, all these years later. I’m surprised and honored that I was asked to write something for today, and the things that come to my mind are subtle moments and memories.

Mom read to me. She prayed with me, and those bedtimes taught me how to be calm and present for my kids. Once in a while, she would fall asleep in my room, her back against my bed. Those were good nights. My cat, Minnie on my bed… my brother in the bed next to mine, and my mom, just being present. That is more than a lot of kids get, and I realize that I was very fortunate to have her as my mother.

Jonathan’s dog Pokey had to spend the night at the vet, and that night, Mom prayed for each of us, as she always did. But I remember her praying for Pokey, that he wouldn’t be scared, spending the night in a strange place without us. That told me a lot about Mom’s thoughtfulness and compassion. I didn’t know you could pray for a dog, but I think Mom prayed about everything.

Every school day, Mom made our lunches and put them in brown paper bags. She would write our names on them, which was important, because I liked fluffernutters, and Mark did not. What I remember about this, is loving the look of my name, in her writing on my bag.

Earlier this month, I unpacked a box that I had brought home to Minnesota. It had an envelope of pictures from when my children were little. On the outside of the envelope, Mom had written “Tim (kids)”, and it reminded me of the lunch bags. I love the added word “kids” because my children are so important to me now.

I hope that when I am gone, my kids will feel the way I feel about Mom. I hope I make them feel important to me, the way Mom did.

I remember getting off the bus, coming into the house and hearing the sound of the vacuum coming from a distant room. When you come home to the sound of a vacuum cleaner, you know things are alright in your world.

Most people would probably give a big spiritual lesson, looking back on Mom’s life, and knowing what was important to her. This is what you get when you ask me to deliver a eulogy. That spirituality is not just in being head deaconess, teaching Sunday school classes or even serving as a missionary in Africa, which she did. It’s in inviting the lonely into your home, and comforting those who are going through a hard time.

Your spirituality is apparent in what seem to be the most insignificant details of life.

There are no insignificant details.

Every moment is important. Each of my brothers and I will recall different things when we remember Mom.

We each have 24 hours a day to fill with the things that are most important to us. What I’ve realized in a new way this week is that those days are limited.

This is an excerpt from something I wrote in 1988 when I learned that my mother had cancer:

Gentle Jesus, comfort us all.
Comfort Madeline who doesn’t want to go to sleep
and help us all accept
our inevitable time to sleep.
But wake us again in a happier place,
well rested and full of light and love.

As a child on vacation,
I had to endure many hours at a time on the road.
Mom always told me to lie down and go to sleep,
and when I woke up, maybe we’d be at Grammy’s house.
I wonder if that is what it’s like to die?
When we wake up, we’ll be at Grammy’s.
The journey passes with our father at the wheel.
Our only job is to rest while he takes care of us.

When I was a kid (and early teen), I would not say my own name. It sounded weird to me the way the M of Tim went into the Y of Young.

I also worried about being called Uncle Tim one day. I just could not make it sound right, or even roll off my tongue.

I remember some older guy asking my name, and I just became mute. I knew it was awkward, but somehow less awkward than saying it. I think Patty Faulker told him, but I could be mistaken.

Now I like my name. When I write it, I write Timothy. When I say it, I say Tim.

I think I now like my name for the reasons I disliked it before.

Tim is abrupt. It just ends in pursed lips after one syllable. It starts with a crisp T, and a vowel is just there to bridge to that muffled M.

Timothy, on the other hand, is lyrical, with the flourish of a Y at the end. It has a nice mix of letters that lilt, and you can hold it as long as you like. I give it extra flair with a pen in the looping second T and the Y at the end. So what if it is illegible. I’ve seen worse.

Like other things, I guess I just had to grow into it.

I’ve taken some liberties to make it my own. I used to have a collection of vintage Plymouths, and so I merged Timothy with Plymouth to get Timouth. Yes, there’s an added U, but Timouth is more my name than Tim, at two thirds. It looks better than Timoth, which just looks like a typo.

James is regal. After my uncle Jim. Problematic for others I have known with that name, but it is solid. Traditional. And hidden away, as middle names so often are.

I’m working on my next book.

I talk a lot about my kids, because they are the most important thing in my life.

Children don’t come into our lives easily, no matter how they arrive.

It’s that work… that struggle that cements them into our hearts. They become such a part of us that we can’t imagine our lives without them, and we hardly remember our lives before they arrived.

You will not hear me refer to my kids as my stepchildren, my adopted daughter or adopted son or my foster child. Biological parents don’t introduce their kids by describing how they were delivered.

Just as in school these days, the delivery method is not the important thing.

When I graduated from nursing school, some of us did it online. Others were in the classroom. On graduation day, we all received the same diploma and then the same license.

It was always my dream to have a large family. I tried many methods to bring this about. It only takes two cells to make a baby.

My children became so by the cells of my heart.

We have to be creative to succeed in realizing our dreams.

Don’t look at the obstacles and give up without trying. Many people tried to discourage me, and they did it because they had my best interest at heart.

My friends and I didn’t have the same dream.

I met every challenge by saying “put the next hoop in front of me, and I will jump through it.”

When you finally make it over the last hurdle, you sprint to the finish line.

I did this when I decided to return to college at age 50. I did it again when my first three kids were adults, and I did not want to be an empty nester.

What is your dream? What do you need to do to make it happen?

If it’s important enough to you, do it. Do whatever it takes.