Words for Mom's Funeral

by Kirsten Stade

There is so much I could say about Mom, but the most important thing, the thing that captures the essence of Mom, is something I can’t articulate, except in words that don’t make any sense. Words like

Oh for Heaven’s Sake,

You Complete Nitwit, 

Ch!,

You Idiot!

Mom for me embodies joy, and laughter, and unconditional support that is somehow vaguely threatening.

Mom was just full of love. 













She expressed her love in the incredible things she created, the angels, the trees covered with candy for the kids in the building, the ornaments, the mosaics. 

She expressed it in her gardening and composting and her nurturing of life. 









She expressed it in her love of animals and her indulgence of her kids’ love of animals.

She expressed it in the care packages she was always sending when one of us was away, and in the physical affection she lavished on all of us, human, canine, or of the budgie persuasion.

Mom loved to laugh. Whether at Monty Python or at a Fourth of July firework that made serial whistling explosions, she gave herself up entirely to her laughter and it was impossible not to be swept up in that joy right along with her.







Mom was always good for a hug. 

You could come up behind Mom, wrap your arms around her, and make car alarm noises over her shoulder while you made little explosive gestures with your hands, and while she might remark that you outta have your head examined, she would accept your affection and return it.

Something about Mom was explosive, in a good way. 





Or at least something about her occasioned explosive feelings of joy in me. 

Because of her lack of inhibition about expressing joy and love, I guess I grew up with a similar lack of inhibition

with the result that I often felt compelled to skip into her bedroom while clapping my hands and at the top of my lungs saying HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM. 






And I felt no compunctions about behaving in such a way with her, because I knew her response would be completely affirming and validating—that is, she would look at me witheringly, brows slightly knit, and call me a complete nitwit.

Mom seemed to have a sense for giving you exactly what you needed, whether that was unconditional acceptance and encouragement, or withering scorn delivered in such a way that you felt thoroughly loved.

It is hard to imagine life without her laughter, her humor, her NPR impersonations, her unique terms of endearment and scorn. My hope is that we will keep her with us by keeping alive her extraordinary current of unfettered silliness and joy. 

Comments of Dad at the Service

This is part comments of George Stade, husband for fifty-seven years:

When I was a sophomore at St. Lawrence University, in my psychology class there was a door past the lectern that led out onto a fire escape, where you could look out on the main entrance. And I would see this woman, and I liked how she walked and how she looked and how she dressed. So I asked a friend who knew her for her name, and I called her to ask her out to see a jazz concert in the auditorium.

 She went out with me but she said it was so nice out after a heavy snow the night before that why didn't we just go for a walk.  As we were walking she saw two birds on wires, one above the other, and the bird on the top wire shook so the snow fell down on the bird below, and that bird on the lower wire hunched its shoulders and looked up. And Dolly laughed and hunched her shoulders and looked up, and inspired the first poetic phrase of my whole life - young eyes. Over the years I'd see that look in her eyes when something gave her joy and it always gave me joy.

Dolly, Mom, Nifty Snarkso

by Kirsten Stade

My Mom passed away early the morning of Friday, July 19, 2013.

Although it was not unexpected, when the news came it hit hard. My dad, my brothers, my sister and Florian--none of us could really imagine life without my mom's irreverent sense of humor, her unconditional support, her overwhelmingly generous love and her uninhibited affection. 

So we told ourselves that she was doing well, and in some ways she was--right until the end.



Right up until the end, my mom embodied vibrant joy, intense love, and razor-sharp intelligence that made it easy to hold on to the hope that she would hold on. 


















My mom could bring out in me a feeling of wild, raucous joy blasting out in all directions. 

I don't think I know anyone who is so completely, thoroughly loving, who lived so completely for the sake of giving. Maybe that is why she brought out in me a sensation of being thoroughly, joyously alive and a compulsion to sing, skip, and clap my hands. 












I do believe that there is a current of joy running through the universe, and I think the love I felt with my Mom set me free to tap into it. 

I think her extraordinary love for animals, for her family, for plants and her garden and kids and babies and the world, just made it OK to be who I was, uninhibited. 

I think that maybe the natural state of things is for people to go around singing and skipping and clapping their hands and saying HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM, and my mom's acceptance and love and bemused, exasperated acceptance made it OK to lapse into that natural state of things.




I know that I owe some essential things to my Mom. 


My love of nature, and my feeling of kinship with trees and plants and green things that grow.















My love of animals, and my propensity to talk with them as if they understand every word. 































My belief that derision is the surest sign of affection.

 
And there are other things that I will never be able to do like my Mom did. 



Her culinary talent and her knack for entertaining














Her creativity and artistry with all the things she made, the mosaics, 

the Christmas angels and ornaments, the beautiful drawings that decorated every card she sent.

I am still not sure how to go on without all that. I guess you do it by being thankful for what we had, like that one week in the Adirondacks just two weeks before she died, when she got to be in the only place she wanted to be. I am so glad I spent time with her just sitting in her garden, sitting at the kitchen table, going for short walks, driving and talking.

And I guess you do it by keeping alive all the things she represented, the irreverence, the humor, the love of family and animals and nature, and the wild, unfettered, ridiculous blast of joy. 

My Mom was my blog's most devoted reader, and she loved it when I wrote a post that celebrated her and celebrated our family. She was moved when my blog friends said nice things in response to my posts about her and about my childhood. My Mom sometimes felt unappreciated, and those posts were a way to try to fix that. 

Mom, we will miss having you here with us but will think of you as a bright stream of laughter coursing through the universe, a blast of energy bringing your vitality to all living things and nourishing gardens of green growing life as you did when you were here.