Sister Mom
My mother in law died last month. Although she had been in poor health for the past decade, her death still surprised us. Shortly prior to her passing, she fell and cracked her femur. In spite of the medication her doctors prescribed, she remained in great pain. She lost her appetite and stopped eating. On June 21st, my father in law found her unresponsive when he tried to wake her and called an ambulance.
At the hospital, the doctor told Dad that Mom’s blood sugar was dangerously high, she had pneumonia, and her kidneys were shutting down. He feared Mom’s fall combined with the broken femur damaged her heart, although the doctor didn’t know to what extent. Dad called to tell us what was happening, and before two hours had gone by, he called again to tell us she passed.
We traveled back home for the funeral, and I prayed during the whole trip that we wouldn’t catch (or pass) the coronavirus. My husband’s family usually meets during Memorial Day or the Fourth of July, as he and his siblings live in different states, but this year, we skipped it because of the pandemic. However, the funeral brought us together, if only for a short time. It was good to see everyone, and I was also happy to see my side of the family, but I couldn’t help but think we were being incredibly irresponsible by gathering.
The funeral was nice as far as funerals go. I think Mom would have been pleased. My husband, his siblings, my father in law, my husband’s cousin, and I all spoke. I want to share my eulogy here, both to preserve it and to give everyone an idea of how special my mother in law was to me.
Before she was my mother-in-law, Sis. Armoto was my sister, Stephanie’s seventh- and eighth-grade teacher, and then my journalism teacher my senior year of high school. As everyone probably knew, I was head over heels for her younger son, JC, and because she was important to him and Stephanie, I really wanted her to like me. One of my journalism assignments for the school newspaper was to attend the school's talent show and write a report, so I determined to write the best article in the history of the newspaper.
My article was more than a little snarky in tone, in part because I called out some audience members who were loudly talking, instead of paying attention to the acts. Not by name, of course. Just a general, “I’m sure it was a nice song; however, I couldn’t hear it because of the women who talking behind me…”
After looking at my article, Mom pulled me aside and said, "You know if we publish this, it's going to upset some people. Are you sure you want to submit this?" Because I had a strong sense of journalistic integrity and a commitment to reporting the truth, I told her yes. She said, "Then I support you."
And that's who Mom was. I don’t know if anyone really cared about or even read my article. Time has erased that memory, but Mom stood by me. She always did. Talk with anyone who knew her, and you’ll hear stories about how kind, sweet, and loving she was. How dedicated she was to helping family, friends, and strangers.
After I joined the family – because yes, I won JC over (or wore him down depending on your perspective…) – I saw up close how Mom treated everyone with respect, regardless of their station in life. Whether hosting a traveling evangelist or a lonely Bible college student who needed a homemade meal, Mom made sure everyone was welcome at her table.
Of course, like all the "mother-in-law" clichés state, we did butt heads at times. I was young, a new mother, and Mom had tons of advice, which she gave in love, even though I couldn’t always see it as such. Her greatest contribution to my life, other than her son, is that Mom set a wonderful example of how a Godly wife loved her family.
I grew up in an unstable home and had no idea what a functioning, loving, Christ-centered marriage looked like until I saw her and Dad's example. Please know this isn’t a slight against my own mother. My mom and I repented and were baptized in Jesus’s Name on the same day, so we grew as Christians together. Mom Armoto – or “Sister Mom” as I sometimes called her to avoid confusion – served as an example of a mature Christian. Someone who knew a thing or two because she had seen a thing or two about Jesus.
Mom showed me how to be the wife I am today. I learned so much from observing her. She was a pastor's wife, a great worship leader who would play the piano and sing in church. She also loved to play piano at home, and some of my most treasured memories are of the holiday singalongs we’d have every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Mom had a huge personality, a wonderful sense of humor, and definite ideas about the Way Things Should Be. She was stubborn, silly, wicked smart, and a true example of a Godly woman. She raised the best man I know, and I'm quite fond of her other children.
Mom was a loving grandmother who spoiled her nine grandbabies, and even though it drove me batty each time my boys brought home new toys, I understood that was one of her love languages.
Unfortunately, Mom had a stroke a decade ago that caused great damage and left her wheelchair-bound. She struggled to speak and was paralyzed on her right side, but that did not stop her. She rarely lost her smile and sense of humor. She would laugh at our jokes, but only the funny ones. If she ever became frustrated because we couldn’t understand what she wanted, she’d shrug as if to say, “I can’t help it if you guys aren’t getting it,” and would transition to singing a song as if to improve her own spirit.
She would sing the old-time gospel songs, songs from her childhood, and popular songs. My favorite song is one she’d sing with Dad – “Hey, good lookin’. Whatcha got cookin’? How’s about cooking something up with me?” Sometimes when she sang, I only recognized the song because of the melody, rather than understanding the words, but funnily enough, her singing voice was clearer than her speaking voice.
I know that she is singing, fully and clearly, in the presence of God now, free from the confines of her wheelchair and dancing with joy. I am so grateful for it.
At the end of my eulogy, I commented that Mom loved poetry, but I hadn’t learned of it until our drive back home. Because I sometimes use poetry to process events in my life, I searched for a poem to share at the funeral. I selected this one by Mary Oliver:
In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.
I love you, Sister Mom. Rest in light.