Code Red has made it next to impossible to give others the opportunity to grieve with us and to celebrate her life collectively as friends and loved ones. There is much about the pandemic that has been difficult, and these limitations on being with each other have been some of the most trying.
Yesterday afternoon, we dressed in our best and I applied mascara in honour of the lady who rarely went without hers. Our immediate family gathered in the cemetery, around a beautiful casket built for our beautiful Momma. We shared - words, prayers, songs, hugs and tears. It was a beautifully intimate celebration of who she was to us, the tree beside her grave covered in frost and us tucked into the fog. And as we were leaving that sacred space, the sun broke through and covered us in its light.
I’m leaving the words I wrote to share yesterday below, in a very small effort to allow others to be a part of a larger service that we couldn’t have. They feel incomplete without being accompanied by the rest of what was spoken but perhaps these words will be able to act as a stand-in for someone.
‘You just do it’ - This is what she told me years ago when I was feeling overwhelmed by a toddler and a baby, when I had asked mom how she did everything - gardening and taking care of us kids and helping dad in the field.
It’s been the advice I remember the most - because she just did it all. Without complaining and usually, what seemed to be eagerly. I’m not sure if this was what she wanted me to hang on to most but it is, because I saw her live this out every day. I saw this when we were young, at home and in our church, and I saw this as her body began to fail. I don’t believe she said this to me, intending to keep her response so brief, because I think she was already having a hard time talking much. I think if she had been able to find the extra words she would have told me that she didn’t do it on her own, that it was strength you gained by leaning into God and your faith. That because of that, she wasn’t uniquely gifted to do ‘this’, and that I could do it too. And sometimes, the dishes just needed to be done and so you have to do them. (She always knew dishes were my least favorite chore)
Not only did she get things done because they had to be done, but she was also bold and seemingly unafraid to try new things. I remember her often learning something - learning folk art painting and taking piano lessons, willow furniture building classes or joining a women’s hockey team. While I’m sure she felt nervous or some trepidation during those times, I saw her unwilling to miss out on something fun, creative or new for that reason.
Her zeal for life was not reserved just for her either. She was just as enthusiastic, if not moreso, about the things we (her children) attempted. There are very few things I can think of that I have done, that she didn’t strongly encourage me to start or continue with. She truly was her family’s biggest cheerleader, no matter what it was. In fact, there are many things I have done because she pushed me to be brave and try, that I otherwise wouldn’t have.
I didn’t remember myself participating (or enjoying participating) in a lot of activities as a kid that naturally had people in the stands cheering one on, but I do remember traveling to Brandon for a couple track meets in high school. I was hardly the best on the track but Mom was there in the stands every time, cheering me on in the last 50 meters as if I was.
I think this is what I will miss the most - knowing that she is not here with us to be our biggest fan and supporter. Even in the last few years when communicating was difficult and limited at the best of times, she was who I went to when I needed that push to keep going, when I had (or have) no idea what I’m doing. She was always there for me, ready to listen and often her response seemed to be ‘You can do it. I believe in you.’
She leaves us here, sad and yet rejoicing. And I do think in the times when I question how I’m going to do this life without her expressive eyes, her laugh and her slow blinks for yes or no, her advice to me would be ‘you just do it’. Mom never promised me that a solution would be easy or that it would be too hard for me to manage and I don’t think she would change her answer for me, for us, now. She just always directed me back to prayer, to ask God for the strength, and then to do it, with the faith that He would provide what I needed and more.
I think she’s still cheering us on, but the race is different now. This life of ours here on earth without her is our 50 meter stretch, and I do think she’s yelling even louder now, still saying ‘Go, Karli GO!’ And I know when we are done, when we cross that finish line and arrive in heaven as she has done before us, we are getting the biggest hug and she will smile that huge smile of hers and tell us ‘I’m so proud of you. You did so good.’
Momma, I love you so much. I can’t wait to run with you again and to race once we reach those last hydro poles.
