Funeral poem for my mom
October 8, 2021 8:52 AM Subscribe
My mom died earlier this week. She is gone and I am in sadness. Starting with very little she raised three kids in a country that was foreign to her. She shielded, comforted, corrected and nurtured us. She made the world's best roast turkey. She made a pair of pants for me that split at the butt when I wore them for the first time. She was my Dad's best friend. She was a volunteer teacher at our local Chinese language school. She sponsored and helped new immigrants.
I want to find a poem I can read at her graveside service. What do you suggest?
I found this one particularly poignant when my Mum passed
May He support us all the day long, till the shades lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done! Then in His mercy may He give us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last.
posted by Ftsqg at 9:04 AM on October 8, 2021 [6 favorites]
May He support us all the day long, till the shades lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done! Then in His mercy may He give us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last.
posted by Ftsqg at 9:04 AM on October 8, 2021 [6 favorites]
I'm sorry, storybored. You might find something in The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief & Healing (ed. Kevin Young).
posted by MonkeyToes at 9:10 AM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
posted by MonkeyToes at 9:10 AM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
I’m so sorry about your mom.
I think what you posted above IS a poem. Poems don’t need to rhyme. In my opinion, the best poems make every word count and evoke feelings and emotions and capture the essence of something. I think what you wrote above does exactly that.
posted by bookmammal at 9:13 AM on October 8, 2021 [21 favorites]
I think what you posted above IS a poem. Poems don’t need to rhyme. In my opinion, the best poems make every word count and evoke feelings and emotions and capture the essence of something. I think what you wrote above does exactly that.
posted by bookmammal at 9:13 AM on October 8, 2021 [21 favorites]
I’m so sorry, storybored. Agreed, what you wrote is beautiful and poetic and would be a lovely thing to read at the service.
posted by corey flood at 9:22 AM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
posted by corey flood at 9:22 AM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
Yes, what you have written is already a poem. I've rearranged the words a bit. I hope it helps. Your mom was an amazing human. Ghost hugs.
She is gone and I am in sadness
Starting with little raising
Three kids an a foreign country.
Shield and comfort, correct and nurtured
With the world’s best turkey…
And hand sewed pants that split upon first wearing.
Dad’s best friend. Chinese language school teacher.
Sponsor and helper of new immigrants.
She is gone and I am in sadness.
posted by theBigRedKittyPurrs at 9:23 AM on October 8, 2021 [9 favorites]
She is gone and I am in sadness
Starting with little raising
Three kids an a foreign country.
Shield and comfort, correct and nurtured
With the world’s best turkey…
And hand sewed pants that split upon first wearing.
Dad’s best friend. Chinese language school teacher.
Sponsor and helper of new immigrants.
She is gone and I am in sadness.
posted by theBigRedKittyPurrs at 9:23 AM on October 8, 2021 [9 favorites]
Yet another person who is saying "read what you just wrote". You are in my thoughts as well.
posted by EmpressCallipygos at 9:25 AM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
posted by EmpressCallipygos at 9:25 AM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
I am so sorry for your loss. As others have said, what you wrote is a poem and absolutely beautiful in its specificity. I never met your mom, but your love for her, and her love for you and her community, is palpable through your words.
If it feels too raw to read your own words (it would feel too raw to me, at least), perhaps reading from your mother's favorite author? Even if not a poem in the traditional sense.
I also have a particular leaning toward Edna St Vincent Millay: "Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell."
posted by basalganglia at 9:41 AM on October 8, 2021 [19 favorites]
If it feels too raw to read your own words (it would feel too raw to me, at least), perhaps reading from your mother's favorite author? Even if not a poem in the traditional sense.
I also have a particular leaning toward Edna St Vincent Millay: "Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell."
posted by basalganglia at 9:41 AM on October 8, 2021 [19 favorites]
I agree that your words are beautiful and would be moving if you read them at her graveside, perhaps even expanding them some. It reminds me of the lovely, very specific eulogy a family friend wrote when my own mother died. Your mother sounds like a wonderful person, and that comes through in what you wrote.
But since you asked for a poem, I think e.e. cummings' My Father Moved Through Dooms of Love is the most beautiful and touching poem about a parent that I know.
posted by FencingGal at 10:51 AM on October 8, 2021 [3 favorites]
But since you asked for a poem, I think e.e. cummings' My Father Moved Through Dooms of Love is the most beautiful and touching poem about a parent that I know.
posted by FencingGal at 10:51 AM on October 8, 2021 [3 favorites]
I think your words are beautiful too.
I read an e.e. cummings poem - [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] - at my mom's funeral and for me it really hit the sense I had of closeness to her, as well as a feeling of wanting to carry on her legacy of kindness towards other people in my life so that it lives on.
I'm so sorry for your loss and I hope you are able to find something to read that has as much meaning for you as this did for me.
posted by augustimagination at 12:25 PM on October 8, 2021 [5 favorites]
I read an e.e. cummings poem - [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] - at my mom's funeral and for me it really hit the sense I had of closeness to her, as well as a feeling of wanting to carry on her legacy of kindness towards other people in my life so that it lives on.
I'm so sorry for your loss and I hope you are able to find something to read that has as much meaning for you as this did for me.
posted by augustimagination at 12:25 PM on October 8, 2021 [5 favorites]
Henry Scott-Holland
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Source
posted by DrtyBlvd at 1:18 PM on October 8, 2021 [14 favorites]
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Source
posted by DrtyBlvd at 1:18 PM on October 8, 2021 [14 favorites]
Response by poster: Thank you so much everyone for your kind words. I couldn't help but cry reading these and I need to cry.
posted by storybored at 2:25 PM on October 8, 2021 [11 favorites]
posted by storybored at 2:25 PM on October 8, 2021 [11 favorites]
I'm so sorry for your loss. Count me as another vote for reading what you wrote. If you want something that may elicit some bittersweet chuckles, I like "The Lanyard" by Billy Collins:
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
posted by Ragged Richard at 2:40 PM on October 8, 2021 [12 favorites]
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
posted by Ragged Richard at 2:40 PM on October 8, 2021 [12 favorites]
Separation, by W.S. Merwin:
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And then read what you wrote here. Or use the needle-and-thread simile to segue into the splitting-pants story. Tell it in as much detail as you remember.
My heart goes out to you. No one wants to be in this particular club, but you are seen and you are not alone. Your mom sounds like a remarkable person.
posted by armeowda at 3:55 PM on October 8, 2021 [3 favorites]
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And then read what you wrote here. Or use the needle-and-thread simile to segue into the splitting-pants story. Tell it in as much detail as you remember.
My heart goes out to you. No one wants to be in this particular club, but you are seen and you are not alone. Your mom sounds like a remarkable person.
posted by armeowda at 3:55 PM on October 8, 2021 [3 favorites]
I just discovered the poetry of Gabrielle Calvocoressi a couple days ago. She has a series of grief poems, including:
Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love.
Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you.
in which she talks about missing a person, missing very specific things about that person. I think you could do something in that vein with what you’ve written above.
Your mother’s kindness will be missed in this world.
posted by SomethinsWrong at 4:14 PM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love.
Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you.
in which she talks about missing a person, missing very specific things about that person. I think you could do something in that vein with what you’ve written above.
Your mother’s kindness will be missed in this world.
posted by SomethinsWrong at 4:14 PM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
Sorry, I meant to use the pronoun “they” above for the poet. I goofed.
posted by SomethinsWrong at 4:29 PM on October 8, 2021
posted by SomethinsWrong at 4:29 PM on October 8, 2021
Deep condolences, storyboard.
When my aunt died, different people spoke at the service. I was especially moved by her daughter reading Peonies by Mary Oliver. It would not have done as the only statement at the service, but there was something very comforting about hearing a poem on nature. I don't know if that kind of poem expresses your mother's sensibility, but maybe something that does?
I think what you wrote, though, is just absolutely perfect.
posted by BibiRose at 4:34 PM on October 8, 2021
When my aunt died, different people spoke at the service. I was especially moved by her daughter reading Peonies by Mary Oliver. It would not have done as the only statement at the service, but there was something very comforting about hearing a poem on nature. I don't know if that kind of poem expresses your mother's sensibility, but maybe something that does?
I think what you wrote, though, is just absolutely perfect.
posted by BibiRose at 4:34 PM on October 8, 2021
We Remember Them by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them
posted by brookeb at 5:53 PM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them
posted by brookeb at 5:53 PM on October 8, 2021 [2 favorites]
I am really sorry storybored, that is so hard and your mom sounds great. When my mom died, one of the poems we read at her service was Wild Geese by Mary Oliver (oh hi BibiRose) and another one was Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry.
posted by jessamyn at 6:24 PM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
posted by jessamyn at 6:24 PM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
I like this one by Thomas Moore:
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features which joy used to wear. 20
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled—
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
posted by murrey at 7:57 PM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features which joy used to wear. 20
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled—
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
posted by murrey at 7:57 PM on October 8, 2021 [1 favorite]
I came in to recommend "The Lanyard" as well.
posted by peanut_mcgillicuty at 4:48 AM on October 9, 2021
posted by peanut_mcgillicuty at 4:48 AM on October 9, 2021
We had the Henry Scott Holland piece read at my mum's funeral and put a few lines from it on her headstone. She loved the words - we found multiple copies in her papers. As mentioned above by basalganglia, if there's a song or saying or poem that your mother particularly liked or referenced a lot, maybe incorporate that as something that obviously meant a lot to her.
I see your terrible loss and pain, and wish you peace.
posted by Martha My Dear Prudence at 5:16 AM on October 9, 2021 [1 favorite]
I see your terrible loss and pain, and wish you peace.
posted by Martha My Dear Prudence at 5:16 AM on October 9, 2021 [1 favorite]
With some tweaking, I've used this; here is the original:
Success
by
Bessie Anderson Stanley
He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,
the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
Here is one possible way to tweak it for a woman:
She has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the respect of intelligent people and
the love of little children;
who has filled her niche and accomplished her task;
who has left the world better than she found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best she had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
posted by gudrun at 8:23 AM on October 9, 2021
Success
by
Bessie Anderson Stanley
He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,
the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
Here is one possible way to tweak it for a woman:
She has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the respect of intelligent people and
the love of little children;
who has filled her niche and accomplished her task;
who has left the world better than she found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best she had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
posted by gudrun at 8:23 AM on October 9, 2021
I’m so sorry for your loss. What you wrote about your mom would be a wonderful reading. I found this poem when my mother was dying and had it read at her funeral (I couldn’t do it). The last lines still hit me hard.
Epitaph by Merrit Malloy
When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.
Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on in your eyes
And not your mind.
You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.
posted by melissa at 7:49 PM on October 10, 2021 [4 favorites]
Epitaph by Merrit Malloy
When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.
Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on in your eyes
And not your mind.
You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.
posted by melissa at 7:49 PM on October 10, 2021 [4 favorites]
Response by poster: I just wanted to follow up again and thank everyone for their help. It is really heartwarming to read these thoughts and messages.
I ended up taking the advice of reading what I had already wrote with a couple of additions. I read aloud The Lanyard by Billy Collins, and my sister read the Remembrance poem, both mentioned up-thread.
I also got "The Art of Losing", and am reading it now. I'll post some of the poems that struck me from there soon.
posted by storybored at 11:05 AM on November 7, 2021 [5 favorites]
I ended up taking the advice of reading what I had already wrote with a couple of additions. I read aloud The Lanyard by Billy Collins, and my sister read the Remembrance poem, both mentioned up-thread.
I also got "The Art of Losing", and am reading it now. I'll post some of the poems that struck me from there soon.
posted by storybored at 11:05 AM on November 7, 2021 [5 favorites]
Response by poster: Lament - Anne Sexton
Someone is dead.
Even the trees know it,
those poor old dancers who come on lewdly,
all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
I think…
I think I could have stopped it,
if I'd been as firm as a nurse
or noticed the neck of the driver
as he cheated the crosstown lights;
or later in the evening,
if I'd held my napkin over my mouth.
I think I could…
if I'd been different, or wise, or calm,
I think I could have charmed the table,
the stained dish or the hand of the dealer.
But it's done.
It's all used up.
There's no doubt about the trees
spreading their thin feet into the dry grass.
A Canada goose rides up,
spread out like a gray suede shirt,
honking his nose into the March wind.
In the entryway a cat breathes calmly
into her watery blue fur.
The supper dishes are over and the sun
unaccustomed to anything else
goes all the way down.
posted by storybored at 9:57 AM on November 13, 2021 [1 favorite]
Someone is dead.
Even the trees know it,
those poor old dancers who come on lewdly,
all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
I think…
I think I could have stopped it,
if I'd been as firm as a nurse
or noticed the neck of the driver
as he cheated the crosstown lights;
or later in the evening,
if I'd held my napkin over my mouth.
I think I could…
if I'd been different, or wise, or calm,
I think I could have charmed the table,
the stained dish or the hand of the dealer.
But it's done.
It's all used up.
There's no doubt about the trees
spreading their thin feet into the dry grass.
A Canada goose rides up,
spread out like a gray suede shirt,
honking his nose into the March wind.
In the entryway a cat breathes calmly
into her watery blue fur.
The supper dishes are over and the sun
unaccustomed to anything else
goes all the way down.
posted by storybored at 9:57 AM on November 13, 2021 [1 favorite]
This thread is closed to new comments.
This is not a snarky response; it's heartfelt. IANAPoet but I have tried at various times to be one, and rarely come up with anything better than your post.
posted by The Bellman at 8:55 AM on October 8, 2021 [55 favorites]