A Eulogy for Mom

For those who know my Mom, you know how she would feel about today. She would have told us not to worry about her and to do something else with our time. She could get sentimental with the best of them, but more often, she just liked to get on with things — an impatience to keep moving forward and look ahead to what’s next. I’ll never forget our mother-son dance at my wedding. We had just gotten on the dancefloor, and about a minute had passed when she leaned into my ear and asked, “How long do we have to do this?” I laughed and said, “I think until the end of the song.” I don’t remember her reaction, but I’m sure a heavy sigh was involved.

My Mom was the ultimate jokester. And like any good jokester, she fully committed to the bit. For example, I believed up until my 20s that my Mom met my Dad because he was a beggar who knocked on their door one day. She felt sorry for him and let him sleep on their family couch. Soon after, they fell in love and got married. It wasn’t until I recounted this story to my wife, LeAnn, that she rightfully questioned its truthfulness, pointing out his college degree that hung on their wall. I can still hear my Mom’s infectious laugh; she pulled the ultimate prank on her son that lasted for over 20 years.

Besides causing mischief, much of who I am today is because of my Mom. She either introduced me to something I would be passionate about or entertained every tiny interest of mine. In 1988, when I was nine years old, she took me to an animation festival in Seattle, which I had seen advertised in the newspaper. It’s where a small company called Pixar would debut its first short film. To her, it was just taking her son to something he wanted to watch on a Saturday, but to me, it was the beginning of my love for art and movies, a passion that I continue to pursue today. She wasn’t interested in this weird little festival; she just loved watching her kids enjoying themselves and being happy. That was another thing about my Mom; she was always happy and loved making others happy, no matter the effort or expense. I remember when I was younger, the quickest way to make her angry when she was smiling or laughing was to ask her, “Why are you happy?” She would ask, “Why do you always ask me that?” in her trademark exasperated tone. And follow it with “Because I am.”

As much as who I am today is because of my Mom, there are plenty of other things she could do or could be that I couldn’t. She could strike up a conversation with any stranger. She could price-haggle with salespeople until they met her demands, or she would walk away. She could tell you the grossest medical case she dealt with as a nurse while cooking you dinner. She could recall a dirty joke at seemingly any moment. She could tell what mahjong tile she held just by running her thumb over it. She could work hard all day and still have energy and a positive attitude when doing the laundry. She could hum the sweetest tune while working on one of her Diamond Dotz kits. She could be strongly opinionated in the nicest way possible. Ultimately, she is the best Mom I could have ever asked for.

Wherever you are, Mom, I’ll be there someday, where we can dance together again. You’ll ask, “How long do we have to do this?” And this time, I’ll say, “For as long as possible.” I love you, Mom.