My mom (given at her memorial service)

In my entire wannabe-of-a-writing career, my mother has been my biggest cheerleader. She has read, edited, and critiqued, and it was very hard not to pick up the phone after jotting down her memorial tribute so she could do just that--one of many things I will miss.

My mother worried people would only remember her as she'd been in the latter part of her life--after the ailments destroyed her body, rendering her wheelchair-bound and suffering agonizing pain that made just getting up in the morning a fight. But I promised her friends and family would want to remember Connie before that time, so that is the woman I will talk about today.

My mother was a listener. I talked to her daily, and as most of you know, I like to talk--and talk, and talk. She never complained. It wasn't just me. She listened to family members, to friends, to neighbors, to her doctors, to the checkout girls at the grocery, and to anyone who needed someone to hear what he/she had to say. She listened to every story, every tidbit of information people needed to get out of their systems, and she acted like everything everyone told her was the most exciting tale she 'd ever heard.

My mother was always right--and she made sure you knew it. Funny thing is--she was right ninety percent of the time, which is why people came to her for answers.

She was a problem solver. That went along with the listening--inevitably in the course of talking, an issue crept into the conversation.  My mother offered her opinion or her knowledge on the subject or on the problem, and if she didn't know the answer, she would find it. She had a library in our house with books on every subject, and she'd spend hours pouring over them to help someone. When my friend Kim called to tell us she had a brain tumor and needed surgery, my mother gathered everything she could on acoustic neuroma tumors, studied it, sat us down and educated us, and then made sure our family drove to Pennsylvania to be there for Kim and her family.

My mother was a sports lover. She played volleyball, tennis, bowling, and golf. When she wasn't playing, she was watching sports--all of them--but being a Hoosier, she loved basketball. Connie was an IU fan, and she never missed a game--especially the Indiana/Kentucky match-up. In our part of the world, everything shuts down for that game. It's more important than attending church! My brother was about nine and me twelve during one of those games. My mother was in the living room, watching it when the phone rang. She ignored it. We all did.

It kept ringing. "Who would call at this time?" my mother shouted, and we knew better than to answer it. You just didn't answer the phone during an Indiana game. But it kept ringing and ringing, and finally, she stomped into the kitchen and answered it. "This had better be an emergency because Indiana is playing Kentucky in basketball."

The sheriff's department called to say my brother had been picked up for shooting a squirrel with a BB gun in the neighbor's yard. He was down at the station. My parents waited until the end of the game to get him. 

My mother was generous. She gave her time, money, and heart to people. She was a cheerleader and her children's and grandchildren's biggest supporter, attending every school function, golf tournament, swim meet, play, and awards banquet.

My mother was a golfer--a champion, of not one but of many clubs. On the golf course, she found a spirituality she couldn't find elsewhere. She loved the competitiveness, the serenity, the companionship with her fellow golfers, and the money she won beating them.

My mother was a reader. She read everything and anything, quoting from the Bible, poetry, classics, and a newspaper article in the sixties. She installed my love for the written word, and she built us libraries, first in our bedrooms and then in our homes. 

My mother was an educator. She taught physical education and English in the school system, and then she designed and built a teaching pool, where she developed, created, and taught in her own swim school. She was a brownie leader, a camp counselor, a coach, and a cave guide. It was in her blood, and everywhere was a classroom. Whether it be a pool, the golf course, the kitchen table, or in the newspaper, my mother heard incorrect grammar and took that opportunity to correct it. If those in this room have not learned the difference between "lie" and "lay", shame on you. She taught you, and by golly, she expects you to use it correctly. 

My mother was a traveler. If she wasn't traipsing with her friend Jill in exotic places like Africa and Morocco, she drove our family through the  United States, educating us on its history and pulling us through its landmarks. If I had a dollar for the times she told us to put away our games and Barbie dolls and look out the window, I'd be rich.--as would my children.

My mother was strong--in so many ways, but no more than in the last four years. Terrible pain robbed her of her sanity, dignity, and the use of her legs, yet she fought, with a remarkable inner strength that would've felled most men. 

My mother was a lover-- of so many things. She loved the Tampa Bay Rays, poetry, golf, Larry Bird, Indiana tomatoes, persimmon pudding, and mushroom hunting. But most of all, my mother loved her children and her grandchildren. I will miss her hugs, her smile, her voice, her laugh, and her friendship. 

My mother was an incredible woman, and she will be missed.