Eulogy

 The family would like to thank all of those who sent us condolences regarding our sister Pam and our mother, Betty Leigh. Your thoughts and sympathy meant a lot to us over the last few weeks.

For those who couldn't attend the funeral, here's the eulogy I spoke there (minus the occasional ad libbed line...) Hopefully, it will help you know Mom better.

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Before I start speaking about my mother, we should note that just a week before Mom’s death, we also lost Pam, the youngest of Mom’s three children, to breast cancer. Pam had her own celebratory wake last weekend in Florida, where she’s lived for the last twenty years or so. I think one of the strongest shared memories Sharon and I have of Pam is from one of our vacation trips to Florida when Pam was maybe six. We’d stopped to get gas somewhere in Georgia. Pam had gone to the bathroom, but the rest of us were already back in the car as Dad pulled away from the pumps to let someone else get gas. Pam came flying out of the bathroom, saw our car moving, and ran after us, waving her arms and shouting “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

Pam was cremated after her death, and her son Tyler has brought her ashes here to place them with Mom. So Pam, don’t worry—you’re not ever going to be left behind.

As for Mom...

I’d like to think that we’re not here to mourn Mom’s death, but celebrate her life. My Aunt Dee has said “There’s a special place in heaven for women who married Leigh men.” I can hazard a guess as to why that is. The five Leigh brothers were each exceptionally stubborn people and I’m certain that living with them required a certain amount of saintliness —which Mom had in abundance.

While Dad was an extrovert, Mom was actually fairly shy around people. They were also complimentary opposites in height -- Mom was a full foot shorter than Dad. She told us that when Dad first brought her to meet his parents, our Grandpa Leigh looked at her, scowled, and said “Who’s the damn pygmy?” It’s a testament to Mom’s saintliness that she ignored that opening and quickly won over our grandfather.

In a crowd, Mom tended to listen rather than talk, even though she had a good sense of humor. But then, between Dad, Uncle Dewey, and Aunt Dee -- Hi, Aunt Dee -- it was sometimes hard to get a word in anyway. And for someone who wasn’t particularly athletic, she spent a lot of time at baseball, basketball, and football games -- because those Leigh boys loved to play sports. (I got all my athletic ability from Mom.)

Mom was pretty decent with sewing clothes. I remember often hearing the sewing machine going in the other room, and looking in to see Mom working away on a dress for Sharon or Pam. Heck, when I decided at one point that I needed a cape as stage clothing back in the Bad Old Days of long hair, platform heels and bell bottoms, she whipped me up a red and black satin cape. I still have it. Around the same time, she also made me a leisure suit and a jump suit. I (thankfully) no longer have those.

Mom loved animals. She and Dad had a sequence of dogs as pets: poodles. In fact, Holly—a poodle that was a Christmas present for Mom in 2006—now lives with Denise and me. Mom was a lifetime supporter of the SPCA, and there were always dog calendars around the house. Mom also loved the zoo; Dad wasn’t a zoo fan—he was fond of saying “If you’ve seen one elephant, you’ve seen them all”—but Mom would drag him along to the Cincinnati Zoo, or to zoos in other cities.

Mom also had an affection for toys that made noise—and Pam, Sharon, and I would shake our heads every Christmas when there were the inevitable talking/singing/noisy toys given to the grandchildren. She always made sure they had plenty of batteries to give them, too… She had several such loud creatures herself. Look, here’s one!

Speaking of grandchildren, Mom had six of them as well as one great-grandchild, and none of them could do anything wrong—despite what their parents said. She loved all of them unreservedly and completely. Just ask them!

Mom had lots of other good qualities. For one, she was an excellent cook. No one could open a can of Chef Boyardee and warm it up on the stove like she could. Ravioli, Beefaroni, Spaghetti and Meatballs, Macaroni and Cheese: she could cook anything that came in a can or a box. Sharon vividly remembers Mom dropping a steaming chicken pot pie on her foot and burning it badly—and never wanting to fix or eat chicken pot pie again. It’s probably a testament to Mom’s incredible cooking skills that once Dad retired, she also retired… from cooking. They ate dinner out nearly every night.

She enjoyed traveling. While she resisted Dad retiring as early as he did, once she figured out that they had enough retirement income socked away in good investments and weren’t going to have a financial problem, they became world travelers, taking several overseas trips.

She also enjoyed driving—on trips, she and Dad would trade off the driving duties. Mom once remarked that she’d probably have enjoyed being a taxi driver. We won’t talk, however, about how Mom scared Sharon when, late in life after her second knee surgery, she insisted on trying to drive...

Mom also loved doing jigsaw puzzles, the harder the better. However, there were many times when Mom would have nearly finished one and realize that the puzzle was missing a piece. We kids knew why: Dad would routinely grab a random piece of the puzzle and put it in his pocket as a joke. Sometimes he’d remember to return it; often, though, he’d forget he had it and that piece would vanish forever. Mom, just in case, here’s a puzzle piece you can take with you...

Not that we kids didn’t give her problems too, over the years. I remember one day in particular. I was maybe eight or nine. I’d done something she hadn’t been happy about, and she was letting me know the error of my ways. I was backing away from her in the hallway, my spine firmly against the wall… except that I’d forgotten that the door to the basement stairs was open. Down I went, backwards—and at the same moment, Sharon slipped on the second floor steps and came tumbling down to the first floor landing. We were both howling, and Mom didn’t know who to go to first. But the basement stairs were wooden steps leading down to a concrete floor, while the stairs to the second floor and the landing were carpeted. I was rescued first… but she didn’t forget to continue my lecture, after she went and made sure Sharon was okay.

She loved working in the elementary school library, too -- she volunteered there for several years, helping other kids pick out books they’d find interesting and getting them hooked on the reading habit.

Mom may be largely responsible for me being a writer, since she loved reading and would read to us as kids all the time. There were always books around the house -- she had quite a collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books (I’ve always been curious, especially since Mom was fan of Campbell’s Condensed soups -- if you just add water to a condensed book, do you get the entire book?) She never stopped us from reading any book in the house—she figured, I suppose, that if a book were too ‘adult’ or hard for us, we’d just stop reading, and that if we didn’t understand something, we’d either ask her or look it up. That meant we sometimes looked things up I’m sure would have appalled her, but… She instilled the habit of reading in all of us.

So, to wrap up… One of our family traditions at the holiday is to gather around the piano as Sharon plays and sing Christmas carols. Now, while Dad had a fine voice, Mom… well, she sang as well as she cooked. She had no sense of pitch and no sense of timing either. Usually she sat there listening to us and smiling—except that we insisted that she had to sing on one song: “Little Drummer Boy.” We gave her the pum-pum-pum part, and she’d dutifully chime in: off-key and off-time, to the laughter of everyone (at which point she’d start laughing herself).

So… we’re nearing the holidays now, and Mom won’t be with us to ‘sing’ this year. So we want all of you to be Mom for us. Rick’s going to play “Little Drummer Boy” -- and we want you all to come in loudly and badly on the pum-pum-pums. Rick….?

(Mention Dave’s video -- go watch it -- it’s playing in the other room.)

The ending song for our annual celebration would always be the same song: perhaps Mom’s favorite tune. So let’s sing it now for her, one last time: “Let There Be Peace On Earth”...