The following is the eulogy that I read at my mother’s funeral today:

My mom did not start out her life as glue, as someone who kept the people around her from falling apart, but she learned over a lifetime how to be that person. I suppose some of this super-power of hers came from the family trait of stubbornness. This trait could, as a daughter, be maddening at times – certainly not easy. But that stubbornness – that in some people leads to a hardening and a pulling away – led instead to a softening and an opening up that could amaze me.

I am her oldest child. I do remember that young mom with a quick temper who could yell when she needed to. Now that I have my own children, I know that no one sees your worst side like your children do. But I also watched her change – with the death of her own parents when she was in her 20s and early 30s, through taking in her niece who became her daughter, through the loss of a son, and through her battles with cancer.

With each sorrow she grew in wisdom and strength, she reached out in ways that I am still becoming aware of.  She spoke with other mothers who lost sons and daughters – because she knew that pain, she knew how awful the pain could be, and she knew how to comfort and hug and cry with those who had lost one of their own. Through that loss she gained a different perspective on being a mother. She learned that love speaks louder than anger – that some things just are not worth the fight. It’s a grandmother’s wisdom – and I hope and pray that I listened enough to take those lessons so hard learned to heart.

When mom and dad found out last year that she had a brain tumor, that the cancer that we had hoped and prayed and believed was defeated had come back – she told us that she was not afraid to die. She knew where she was going and that she was going to see Wilder, my brother, again. That she would fight as hard as she knew how to stay here with us, but that if she lost that fight it was okay.

No person is an island and my mom was no exception. Even glue has to get it’s cohesiveness from somewhere and she got it from two sources. One was her husband. No matter how strong she had to be for everyone else, with him she could let go and pour out her sorrows to someone who knew her as no one else did. Their love for each other gave her the strength to be who she needed and wanted to be. And it has been an honor and a privilege to be witness to their love for all of my life.

But I know that my dad would say that he was strong for her and she would say that she was not afraid to die for one reason—and this is because of the Rock that they both stand upon which is Jesus Christ. He was and is, even more so now, the source and summit of her Faith. She learned to draw from the strength of Christ more and more as each sorrow came. She praised Him always. And to you here who knew her, you know that she was not afraid to share that love with everyone around her.

My mother was not perfect, nor would she want you to think that she was, but she did bring those around her closer to the Lord by her presence and by the unmatchable smile that I know is lighting heaven now.

I read the following verse at my brother’s funeral, standing in this same spot, and the words are just as true today as they were then.  From Ephesians 3, verses 14-21;

“For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

I am in my new minivan right now, in the back seat enjoying being on the way home from Mandeville, Louisiana. My sister Leila, my brother Colby and I are going three miles off the interstate just to get Colby to a Taco Bell. We do what we have to.

We were in Mandeville for the wedding of my cousin Ennis. He’s the last of his siblings to get married and so this wedding represented the last of the big Bragg weddings to have an absolute BLAST at. I don’t know how it happened that not only have the two Bragg sisters had wonderful, fun blow out wedding receptions, but both Bragg brothers managed to marry girls who also wanted wonderful, fun blow out receptions. All four weddings have had open bars, great bands and lots of sweaty, exhausted, smiling family members at the end of the night.

There are so many great things about having a large family (70 people at our last Thanksgiving). Somehow we all like each other and can have fun together. That’s not to say that we all agree about everything – we have differing views on religion, guns, politics and life choices, but my dad and his siblings along with all of their spouses have ALWAYS been there for each other, and have made hard choices sometimes to keep those relationships and in the process have taught myself, my siblings and my cousins about the most important thing in this life other than making Jesus the Lord of our lives – and that is our relationships with each other.

Money comes and goes, politics change, health is an ever elusive prey, but our relationships with those people who have somehow been connected to us by blood are what make life worth living both now, as we age, and in the life to come. It’s crazy but true that those whom you are closest to tend to be the very ones that you treat the worst. But that means that they know you. They have seen you at your lowest, are there for births and deaths, graduations and marriages. Your triumphs are their triumphs. Your sorrows they share.

Children are a blessing. My grandmother Leila had six children; five of them lived to adulthood. All five of those children have marriages that have lasted for more than 35 years. Between them they had 20 children and 25 great-grandchildren, with more on the way. I cannot imagine my life without them and that was made even more evident this weekend as we made beautiful fools of ourselves on the dance floor, cried some, hugged and laughed, missed those who were gone, put babies to sleep and in general had an amazing time.

My Uncle Ennis said it best at the rehearsal dinner when he said that every toast that was given, from both sides (bride and groom), both the funny stories and the marriage advice, came down to relationship. I am amazed everyday at how lucky and blessed I am to have so many great ones. Can’t wait to see what the years ahead will bring. Someone needs to get engaged so we can have another reason to come together on the dance floor.

I love two seasons. Spring and Fall. I love being neither too cold, nor too hot. I love being able to sit on my porch in the mornings and drink coffee, sit in the yard in the afternoon and read a book, and sit on the porch in the evening and light the tiki torches while drinking a cold hard cider. I love having all my windows and doors open and letting the cool breeze blow away the winter smells. I love sending my children into the yard to play in the water hose (despite the sand and dirt that inevitably gets tracked through the house on the way to the bathroom). I love the dogwood blossoms and the azalea flowers, whispering that Easter is just around the corner.

Truly, Spring feels like a stolen time. Right now, my bedroom window is open and just a hint of a gentle breeze is wafting through the room. I’ll fall asleep this way and dream of green lawns and falling dogwood petals.

Home after a long day at the ER, twelve hours of running around and documenting, I am genuinely tired.  I’ve been up since six a.m. or so, the E.R. was quite busy all day long, and when I got home there were little boys to talk to, dinner to help with and the kitchen to clean after.  I am tired right now.

But there are other kinds of tired.  Somehow, even though I’ve been busy working and moving, my brain is not as in need of respite as it is at the end of a day with my children.  What is that?  Why is that?  Perhaps at work, I am interacting (for the most part) with adults, and we all sort of have the same goal in mind (everyone leaving the ER alive is a nice goal), but I don’t feel the intellectual exhaustion of attempting to do school work with two little boys at the same time, neither of which cares at all about getting his school work done and a toddler who is, let’s face it, very loud and vocal, and not very receptive to the term “inside voice.”

Plus, I suppose, there’s the idea that these children matter to me.  What happens to them in their lives is important–to me.  Will my inability to start any sort of science curriculum be detrimental to them because a)they need some of that and b) they are little boys and science experiments are FUN!  Will they hate me later in life because I did not teach them their multiplication tables until they were in high school (obviously this is hypothetical because they aren’t in high school yet, but you get my ability to worry and fret).  The children and adults that come through the ER are all God’s creatures, certainly, but I can give them the care that they need and never have to think about them again (that’s THEIR parents’ jobs).  That’s tired number two.

Tired number three is a totally different kind of tired.  This tired is post-labor tired.  This tired is “I just pushed a baby out of my body without drugs after being up for two nights in labor and now my newborn will not stop crying and why did I choose this again?” kind of tired.  Luckily, that tired only comes along every few years for me.  That exhaustion, that physical and emotional roller coaster of labor is a singular experience and the sleep that comes after it is heaven.

At the end of THIS exhausting day, I am thankful for whoever invented beds.  Because I am going to enjoy mine.  Right after I push this…