Bomb’s Eulogy March 25, 2017 – Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church

Anyone who attended my Bomb’s funeral a few weeks ago knows that I, my brother, and my sister-in-had the difficult job of eulogizing my mother.  I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get through it, but somehow she gave me the strength I needed.  I did break up pretty bad at one point, but I got back on track.  I know there is a video, and if I ever get a copy, I’ll post.

For Bomb

6 months ago today, after 5 days of grueling climbing, I stood on the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania Africa. Uhuru Peak, which means “freedom” in Kiswahili, sits at 19,341 feet and is the highest point on the African continent. Because of the high altitude, the oxygen level is only about 50 percent of what I normally breathe at sea level.

As I sat and waited for the remainder of my climbing team to arrive, I struggled to breathe and thought, I want my mother! And I thought to myself, I have never felt so miserable in my life, and I’ll never feel as awful as I do right. now.

I was wrong.

When I learned of my mom’s unexpected passing, I felt like there was NO oxygen. I felt dizzy, nauseous, and out of breath. I was hysterical.

This woman, whom I affectionately called Bomb, was truly a saint on this earth. Everyone loved her. Everyone. I can’t think of a single person who disliked her. She was the perfect mother. Even when she disagreed with us, she still loved and supported us unconditionally

Besides my dad, I believe I’m the last person who spoke with Bomb. I talked to her a few hours before she passed on, and it was one of the most positive conversations I can remember having with her. We laughed and carried on, and she enjoyed my stories about living in Tanzania. We ended our call exchanging I love yous, and I hung up with a big smile on my face. I didn’t know I was about to lose her.

My Bomb was the consummate professional, and I can’t think of anyone who had more composure under crisis than her. She was unbelievable. When my brother had a gunshot wound at age 8, she cried a little after hearing the news, but she quickly pulled herself together and got us to the hospital. I have never had her composure, but today I seek strength from her to stand here and honor her beautiful soul.

You’re never “ready” for the death of a parent. Especially your mother. I lived inside her womb for 9 months, and I made her miserable with toxemia. Despite her very difficult pregnancy, she endured it twice more to bring Jeff and Amy onto the scene. And we all continued to make her miserable as her kids and as adults. But we have given her some really good times, too, and I know she was very proud of us. I’m sure most of you folks here have been regaled with stories about my mother’s children. Well, Bomb, I will always be proud to be your firstborn.

Bomb was so loving that I always called on her first when things were bad. When I was 20, I had my wisdom teeth surgically cut out. I had an adverse reaction to the anesthesia, which caused me to sob hysterically and uncontrollably. Nothing would do except for my mother. So my husband called her and asked her to come. In typical Bomb fashion, she dropped everything at work to pay me a visit , pat my head, and console me. Even now she has remained my pillar of strength. I can’t believe she’s gone. Yesterday as I arrived at SeaTac Airport after 40 hours of air travel from Africa, I instinctively reached for my phone to text her that I arrived safely. Then I remembered. I still send her messages on WhatsApp. I know she’s getting them, because I hear her voice throughout the day, comforting me from heaven.

But lest you be confused, please understand that my mom wasn’t perfect. We had some very profound differences of opinion on important issues, and sometimes it caused much strife between us. I feel compelled to address one of those differences now.   Bomb, seriously. When you load the toilet paper dispenser, the leading edge of the toilet paper goes on top!  Oh, the raging debates we had about this over the years. I would roll my eyes each time I saw the paper improperly loaded, and I would correct it to the proper position. Invariably, my mother would see it and flip it back, much to my disgust. She would never relent, even after I presented her with scientific research proving that it should go on top. Mom, if they have toilet paper in heaven, which I’m sure they don’t, please do the right thing for once!

In closing, Bomb, I love you more than life itself. You were taken from us too early.   I don’t know how I’m going to manage without you. You were my top confidante, my cheerleader, and my tireless advocate. I miss you terribly.

I want to do something epic to remember my Bomb. I’m tentatively planning to climb Mt. Meru, Kilimanjaro’s sister, in Tanzania, as a tribute climb to her. If anyone here today is interested, see me after the service. I welcome anyone who would like to join me in honoring my beautiful mother, who would have climbed any mountain, swam any ocean, or faced man-eating tigers to defend me and my family. Lala salama, mama yangu. Wewe ni malaika mrembo. Nakupenda sana na milele. (Sleep well, my mother.  You are a beautiful angel.  I love you very much and forever. — Kiswahili).