Eulogy for Mom by Arthur Avary
Which Mom to remember? The Mountain Woman? The Visionary Artist? The Lost Woman or the Found Woman? The woman constantly doodling as she studied math, astronomy… or whenever she spoke on the phone? The mother… Who cradled us and played with us?
Mom was a seeker. A seeker of the sublime and the beautiful, of Spirit in it’s myriad forms…. In daily life… In Faerie Tales… In her musings on life and relationships… In adorning herself and her space with precious whimsical objects; figurines, stones and jewelry, clothing and fabrics, patterns and color and texture. A lover of fantasy and of the imagination… Always the imagination. Where the mind and the heart and the spirit converge. Mom created a sense of the creative space… Artfully eclectic and disparate, but always composed in an effortless way. The world she continuously created felt like a kind of temple of the imagination that inspired free thinking, love, and togetherness.
I want to say something about her artwork in this light. For her art was a process and a journey. For the last two decades she sought to make a living from her paintings. by one measure you could say she was never successful. By another, more important measure, she succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. This was revealed in it’s absolute and undeniable truth every time a person looked at one of her paintings and felt a bit of their spirit awakened or touched. The scope of her work… inner space, outer space, fantasy, and finally the thing that always guided her… a celebration of the natural beauty around her, bespeaks the scope of her life. The young adventurous woman, the mother, the woman struggling to find herself, the woman touched by her experience of spirit who built a home in the mountains where she could live out her days surrounded by the very works of god that had given her direction, and yes, even salvation.
Mom had an unshakeable faith and belief in the people she loved. The number of times she inspired me and sought to lift me up when I was down are simply too numerous for me to recount. The gift of her patience and understanding as I struggled to find myself or lift myself up when I was depressed stay with me as I now move forward. For me she has now taken her place in the celestial sphere of the stars that she loved so much. For me she is an entire constellation that I may now regard and admire from my worldly position…. A constellation that I may now refer to as I do my best to navigate through the slings and arrows of this outrageous, blessed thing that we call life. And just as she has taken her place in the heavens she has found also a home in my heart, where I can invoke her or summon her as an aspect of myself.
I guess I am trying to say that she has touched me on every level of my being, that she is a part of me, and that within my heart she always has a place for her spirit to visit earth.
I have always been interested in art, and have in various ways even pursued an artistic process. My realization now is that this was a gift from her. Not an inborn talent by any means. I realize now that my affinity for art was my way of being close to mom. I love her so much that I fashioned myself into an artist just to have that in common with her… and also to experience some of the joy and insight that she was able to experience through her artistic process.
And now, as I consider what I might do in my life in terms of artistic exploration, I feel blessed by the gift of it. A gift that came from her. She shaped me into the man I am, and will continue to influence me as I move forward. Artistic process aside I am saying that mom taught me a great deal about how to live, and in the many years yet before me will continue to be a guide and a teacher.
MOM! I can’t believe I’m standing here speaking these words! And yet…. here we are. Thank you, Mom. For everything. For every nod and wink and playful gesture. For your words of wisdom, for your patience and understanding and your endless ability to listen. I’m grateful to have you as my mother.
I love you so much…
I would like to read a poem now to honor Beth. And even if it is called ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep’ please forgive me if I do…
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am in the softly falling snow.
I am in the gentle showers of rain,
I am in the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the gentle rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am in the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
We would like now to open things up a bit. All of our words to this point have been about inviting Beth’s spirit to join us for a moment, and to provide a space in which we can honor her, cherish her, and send her off on her next great adventure.
The spirit is here with us now, and we would like to give it the opportunity to speak through all of you. Please do not feel you have to say anything, and please do not feel any need to choose your words carefully.
Do not be afraid of silence. It is okay… Wonderful and beautiful in it’s own right. You will know if the spirit moves you to speak.
Tags: Arthur Avary, Beth Avary, Eulogy