Re: Would you? Could you? Write a nada obit like this?

[Guest guest]

Well said. " We are not the artiber s of Nada s fate. "

I think for me, and perhaps for all of us, writing that eulogy, whatever

it must say, is a cathartic act that is ultimately worth doing.

You might think about writing your Nada s eulogy, in all honesty, and at

her death, gather a group of trusted friends and loved ones around you,

apart from the funeral, and read it to them. It would give you a point

of focus, and support in that trying time.

Still, just as for all people, grief is a very personal experience which

we handle in our own way, so too is the loss of our Nadas.

Blessings

Doug

> >

> >

> >

> > Debated on sharing this. But, ok.

> >

> > First, in my case, I felt the obit should be straightforward, born,

died, related to, service times.

> >

> > I would not use such a public forum to air what this individual did,

partly because it is not the whole worlds business, and partly because

other people will be looking in the obits for news of their loved ones

deaths, and it might be a painful thing to them.

> >

> > I would, and did, use a eulogy at Nada s memorial service as a way

of expressing the complex feelings her death, and life had left.

> >

> > Here follows what I said , with some name and place information

redacted:

> >

> >

> > NADA was born in A place in 1937. And many of you are saying

already, WHERE? Yes, its that kind of place. Look for it on the map,

because it s doubtful you I ` ve ever seen it or been there unless you

were born there too. There s a lot of green around it, and such

picturesque names as Flattop Mountain, union, and Ronceverte.

> >

> > She was one generation away from the Hatfields. Yes, THE

Hatfields, of feuding fame. The stories and photographs that you may

have seen on movies or books were family gossip and yellowed black and

white photos of " Grandpa sitting in front of Uncle Ance for her. She

saw flat irons heated on stoves, butter churns, hogs heads made into

mince meat, stone crocks fermenting with home made sauerkraut.

> >

> > Her family moved to the big city, when she was a girl. She grew up

there, attending school at local schools, entertaining herself roller

skating at Place removed , or rowing the boats on the pond when she took

her Stepdad his lunch. She had fond memories of a Mulberry tree she

climbed, and of later marching and playing in the band with her

clarinet. These are stories and vignettes I heard and absorbed over the

course of her life, giving me a glimpse into the world as she saw it.

> >

> >

> > Nada was twice married , first to my Dad, Name removed . I was

one of the fruits of that marriage, along with 3 siblings who never made

it out of infancy. Those losses were a thing she never got past.

> >

> > She, and well, me too, also lived in the fishbowl of a pastor `s

family for a good many of those years. I often wondered how, after

swimming around that bowl anyone would choose to reenter it. I know we

have a few preachers here today. Speaking now as a former Preachers

Kid, go hug your kids first chance you get. But she did so, after her

second marriage changed her name to , becoming a United

Methodist Pastor. She was very proud of the summers she spent at Duke,

learning the job, and of her identity as a Pastor. Her methods may have

been unusual or indeed , unique. But her heart was tied to that role of

service.

> >

> > She also spent time as a tour guide with a travel company, and made

a number of bus trips to see parts of the country far removed from her

tiny town beginnings. She had wanted for years to see New England, and

finally did, in 1976. That trip was to meet her granddaughter, my

firstborn .

> >

> > I d have to say one of my fondest memories of her was fudge making.

Scraping and eating everything left in the pan after she cooked a batch

was one of the rewards for being alive. She loved to write, and would

send cards for occasions that others would miss, like Wednesdays, or the

first anniversary of paying off a car. If you are sitting here, there s

a good chance you got one or more of those cards and letters over the

years.

> >

> >

> > If you knew my mom, you will also know that she fought for a good

portion of her life with deep depression and emotional problems. You've

likely been touched by it or brushed up against it. For those of us who

knew her, cared for her, let our lives be a part of hers, that was a

real and challenging part of who she was. I do not mention this to

judge or condemn that part of her, but rather to acknowledge that part

of the story of who she was.

> >

> > In some of her better moments, she would start to say something to

me and preface it with, " Now don t think I m crazy, but…

> > .. and I d roll my eyes and do a Jack Benny ( if you re too young to

know what a Jack Benny is, ask someone with white hair, we all remember)

and she would call me a smart alek, which is true, and say I was not too

big to whip, which was not.

> >

> > It made for difficult relationships, for her and for those she cared

for and who cared for her. Her emotional disorder was debilitating, and

no one close to her failed to be hurt by it. Sometimes I find myself

asking, did I really do all I could do, love all I could love, give all

I could give? Hard as it was at times, could I have made it better?

But I take a solace in these words, penned by Reinhold Neibuhr, an

Evangelical pastor and theologian first half of the 20th century.

> >

> > God grant me the serenity

> > To accept the things I cannot change;

> > Courage to change the things I can;

> > And wisdom to know the difference.

> > Living one day at a time;

> > Enjoying one moment at a time;

> > Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

> > Taking, as He did, this sinful world

> > As it is, not as I would have it;

> > Trusting that He will make all things right

> > If I surrender to His Will;

> > So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

> > And supremely happy with Him

> > Forever and ever in the next.

> >

> >

> > Those are good words to live by. I wish she had been happier in this

life. I believe she is supremely happy now with Christ, and for that I m

grateful. Still, I m sorry she s gone. I ll miss you Mom.

> >

> >

> > The above was my choice. I did not make some syrupy all was

wonderful now that she s gone comments, but was as clear as I could be

about the complexities of her life, and her loss.

> >

> >

> > Doug

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Well said. " We are not the artiber s of Nada s fate. "

I think for me, and perhaps for all of us, writing that eulogy, whatever

it must say, is a cathartic act that is ultimately worth doing.

You might think about writing your Nada s eulogy, in all honesty, and at

her death, gather a group of trusted friends and loved ones around you,

apart from the funeral, and read it to them. It would give you a point

of focus, and support in that trying time.

Still, just as for all people, grief is a very personal experience which

we handle in our own way, so too is the loss of our Nadas.

Blessings

Doug

> >

> >

> >

> > Debated on sharing this. But, ok.

> >

> > First, in my case, I felt the obit should be straightforward, born,

died, related to, service times.

> >

> > I would not use such a public forum to air what this individual did,

partly because it is not the whole worlds business, and partly because

other people will be looking in the obits for news of their loved ones

deaths, and it might be a painful thing to them.

> >

> > I would, and did, use a eulogy at Nada s memorial service as a way

of expressing the complex feelings her death, and life had left.

> >

> > Here follows what I said , with some name and place information

redacted:

> >

> >

> > NADA was born in A place in 1937. And many of you are saying

already, WHERE? Yes, its that kind of place. Look for it on the map,

because it s doubtful you I ` ve ever seen it or been there unless you

were born there too. There s a lot of green around it, and such

picturesque names as Flattop Mountain, union, and Ronceverte.

> >

> > She was one generation away from the Hatfields. Yes, THE

Hatfields, of feuding fame. The stories and photographs that you may

have seen on movies or books were family gossip and yellowed black and

white photos of " Grandpa sitting in front of Uncle Ance for her. She

saw flat irons heated on stoves, butter churns, hogs heads made into

mince meat, stone crocks fermenting with home made sauerkraut.

> >

> > Her family moved to the big city, when she was a girl. She grew up

there, attending school at local schools, entertaining herself roller

skating at Place removed , or rowing the boats on the pond when she took

her Stepdad his lunch. She had fond memories of a Mulberry tree she

climbed, and of later marching and playing in the band with her

clarinet. These are stories and vignettes I heard and absorbed over the

course of her life, giving me a glimpse into the world as she saw it.

> >

> >

> > Nada was twice married , first to my Dad, Name removed . I was

one of the fruits of that marriage, along with 3 siblings who never made

it out of infancy. Those losses were a thing she never got past.

> >

> > She, and well, me too, also lived in the fishbowl of a pastor `s

family for a good many of those years. I often wondered how, after

swimming around that bowl anyone would choose to reenter it. I know we

have a few preachers here today. Speaking now as a former Preachers

Kid, go hug your kids first chance you get. But she did so, after her

second marriage changed her name to , becoming a United

Methodist Pastor. She was very proud of the summers she spent at Duke,

learning the job, and of her identity as a Pastor. Her methods may have

been unusual or indeed , unique. But her heart was tied to that role of

service.

> >

> > She also spent time as a tour guide with a travel company, and made

a number of bus trips to see parts of the country far removed from her

tiny town beginnings. She had wanted for years to see New England, and

finally did, in 1976. That trip was to meet her granddaughter, my

firstborn .

> >

> > I d have to say one of my fondest memories of her was fudge making.

Scraping and eating everything left in the pan after she cooked a batch

was one of the rewards for being alive. She loved to write, and would

send cards for occasions that others would miss, like Wednesdays, or the

first anniversary of paying off a car. If you are sitting here, there s

a good chance you got one or more of those cards and letters over the

years.

> >

> >

> > If you knew my mom, you will also know that she fought for a good

portion of her life with deep depression and emotional problems. You've

likely been touched by it or brushed up against it. For those of us who

knew her, cared for her, let our lives be a part of hers, that was a

real and challenging part of who she was. I do not mention this to

judge or condemn that part of her, but rather to acknowledge that part

of the story of who she was.

> >

> > In some of her better moments, she would start to say something to

me and preface it with, " Now don t think I m crazy, but…

> > .. and I d roll my eyes and do a Jack Benny ( if you re too young to

know what a Jack Benny is, ask someone with white hair, we all remember)

and she would call me a smart alek, which is true, and say I was not too

big to whip, which was not.

> >

> > It made for difficult relationships, for her and for those she cared

for and who cared for her. Her emotional disorder was debilitating, and

no one close to her failed to be hurt by it. Sometimes I find myself

asking, did I really do all I could do, love all I could love, give all

I could give? Hard as it was at times, could I have made it better?

But I take a solace in these words, penned by Reinhold Neibuhr, an

Evangelical pastor and theologian first half of the 20th century.

> >

> > God grant me the serenity

> > To accept the things I cannot change;

> > Courage to change the things I can;

> > And wisdom to know the difference.

> > Living one day at a time;

> > Enjoying one moment at a time;

> > Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

> > Taking, as He did, this sinful world

> > As it is, not as I would have it;

> > Trusting that He will make all things right

> > If I surrender to His Will;

> > So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

> > And supremely happy with Him

> > Forever and ever in the next.

> >

> >

> > Those are good words to live by. I wish she had been happier in this

life. I believe she is supremely happy now with Christ, and for that I m

grateful. Still, I m sorry she s gone. I ll miss you Mom.

> >

> >

> > The above was my choice. I did not make some syrupy all was

wonderful now that she s gone comments, but was as clear as I could be

about the complexities of her life, and her loss.

> >

> >

> > Doug

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Doug,thanks for the idea of writing some kind of eulogy that I could share with

sane people apart from the funeral.I hadn't thought of that,it's amazing how

thoroughly I assume that I am isolated in my experience of nada but come to

think of it I do have the right to have a ceremony on my terms,from my

perspective,somewhere it will be heard and respected.I assume in so many

unconscious ways that I am not " deserving " of support and/or that my truth is so

unacceptable that I must bear it alone.Hhmmm....when.that.doesn't.

necessarily.have.to.be.so...

> > >

> > >

> > >

> > > Debated on sharing this. But, ok.

> > >

> > > First, in my case, I felt the obit should be straightforward, born,

> died, related to, service times.

> > >

> > > I would not use such a public forum to air what this individual did,

> partly because it is not the whole worlds business, and partly because

> other people will be looking in the obits for news of their loved ones

> deaths, and it might be a painful thing to them.

> > >

> > > I would, and did, use a eulogy at Nada s memorial service as a way

> of expressing the complex feelings her death, and life had left.

> > >

> > > Here follows what I said , with some name and place information

> redacted:

> > >

> > >

> > > NADA was born in A place in 1937. And many of you are saying

> already, WHERE? Yes, its that kind of place. Look for it on the map,

> because it s doubtful you I ` ve ever seen it or been there unless you

> were born there too. There s a lot of green around it, and such

> picturesque names as Flattop Mountain, union, and Ronceverte.

> > >

> > > She was one generation away from the Hatfields. Yes, THE

> Hatfields, of feuding fame. The stories and photographs that you may

> have seen on movies or books were family gossip and yellowed black and

> white photos of " Grandpa sitting in front of Uncle Ance for her. She

> saw flat irons heated on stoves, butter churns, hogs heads made into

> mince meat, stone crocks fermenting with home made sauerkraut.

> > >

> > > Her family moved to the big city, when she was a girl. She grew up

> there, attending school at local schools, entertaining herself roller

> skating at Place removed , or rowing the boats on the pond when she took

> her Stepdad his lunch. She had fond memories of a Mulberry tree she

> climbed, and of later marching and playing in the band with her

> clarinet. These are stories and vignettes I heard and absorbed over the

> course of her life, giving me a glimpse into the world as she saw it.

> > >

> > >

> > > Nada was twice married , first to my Dad, Name removed . I was

> one of the fruits of that marriage, along with 3 siblings who never made

> it out of infancy. Those losses were a thing she never got past.

> > >

> > > She, and well, me too, also lived in the fishbowl of a pastor `s

> family for a good many of those years. I often wondered how, after

> swimming around that bowl anyone would choose to reenter it. I know we

> have a few preachers here today. Speaking now as a former Preachers

> Kid, go hug your kids first chance you get. But she did so, after her

> second marriage changed her name to , becoming a United

> Methodist Pastor. She was very proud of the summers she spent at Duke,

> learning the job, and of her identity as a Pastor. Her methods may have

> been unusual or indeed , unique. But her heart was tied to that role of

> service.

> > >

> > > She also spent time as a tour guide with a travel company, and made

> a number of bus trips to see parts of the country far removed from her

> tiny town beginnings. She had wanted for years to see New England, and

> finally did, in 1976. That trip was to meet her granddaughter, my

> firstborn .

> > >

> > > I d have to say one of my fondest memories of her was fudge making.

> Scraping and eating everything left in the pan after she cooked a batch

> was one of the rewards for being alive. She loved to write, and would

> send cards for occasions that others would miss, like Wednesdays, or the

> first anniversary of paying off a car. If you are sitting here, there s

> a good chance you got one or more of those cards and letters over the

> years.

> > >

> > >

> > > If you knew my mom, you will also know that she fought for a good

> portion of her life with deep depression and emotional problems. You've

> likely been touched by it or brushed up against it. For those of us who

> knew her, cared for her, let our lives be a part of hers, that was a

> real and challenging part of who she was. I do not mention this to

> judge or condemn that part of her, but rather to acknowledge that part

> of the story of who she was.

> > >

> > > In some of her better moments, she would start to say something to

> me and preface it with, " Now don t think I m crazy, but…

> > > .. and I d roll my eyes and do a Jack Benny ( if you re too young to

> know what a Jack Benny is, ask someone with white hair, we all remember)

> and she would call me a smart alek, which is true, and say I was not too

> big to whip, which was not.

> > >

> > > It made for difficult relationships, for her and for those she cared

> for and who cared for her. Her emotional disorder was debilitating, and

> no one close to her failed to be hurt by it. Sometimes I find myself

> asking, did I really do all I could do, love all I could love, give all

> I could give? Hard as it was at times, could I have made it better?

> But I take a solace in these words, penned by Reinhold Neibuhr, an

> Evangelical pastor and theologian first half of the 20th century.

> > >

> > > God grant me the serenity

> > > To accept the things I cannot change;

> > > Courage to change the things I can;

> > > And wisdom to know the difference.

> > > Living one day at a time;

> > > Enjoying one moment at a time;

> > > Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

> > > Taking, as He did, this sinful world

> > > As it is, not as I would have it;

> > > Trusting that He will make all things right

> > > If I surrender to His Will;

> > > So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

> > > And supremely happy with Him

> > > Forever and ever in the next.

> > >

> > >

> > > Those are good words to live by. I wish she had been happier in this

> life. I believe she is supremely happy now with Christ, and for that I m

> grateful. Still, I m sorry she s gone. I ll miss you Mom.

> > >

> > >

> > > The above was my choice. I did not make some syrupy all was

> wonderful now that she s gone comments, but was as clear as I could be

> about the complexities of her life, and her loss.

> > >

> > >

> > > Doug

> > >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Doug,thanks for the idea of writing some kind of eulogy that I could share with

sane people apart from the funeral.I hadn't thought of that,it's amazing how

thoroughly I assume that I am isolated in my experience of nada but come to

think of it I do have the right to have a ceremony on my terms,from my

perspective,somewhere it will be heard and respected.I assume in so many

unconscious ways that I am not " deserving " of support and/or that my truth is so

unacceptable that I must bear it alone.Hhmmm....when.that.doesn't.

necessarily.have.to.be.so...

> > >

> > >

> > >

> > > Debated on sharing this. But, ok.

> > >

> > > First, in my case, I felt the obit should be straightforward, born,

> died, related to, service times.

> > >

> > > I would not use such a public forum to air what this individual did,

> partly because it is not the whole worlds business, and partly because

> other people will be looking in the obits for news of their loved ones

> deaths, and it might be a painful thing to them.

> > >

> > > I would, and did, use a eulogy at Nada s memorial service as a way

> of expressing the complex feelings her death, and life had left.

> > >

> > > Here follows what I said , with some name and place information

> redacted:

> > >

> > >

> > > NADA was born in A place in 1937. And many of you are saying

> already, WHERE? Yes, its that kind of place. Look for it on the map,

> because it s doubtful you I ` ve ever seen it or been there unless you

> were born there too. There s a lot of green around it, and such

> picturesque names as Flattop Mountain, union, and Ronceverte.

> > >

> > > She was one generation away from the Hatfields. Yes, THE

> Hatfields, of feuding fame. The stories and photographs that you may

> have seen on movies or books were family gossip and yellowed black and

> white photos of " Grandpa sitting in front of Uncle Ance for her. She

> saw flat irons heated on stoves, butter churns, hogs heads made into

> mince meat, stone crocks fermenting with home made sauerkraut.

> > >

> > > Her family moved to the big city, when she was a girl. She grew up

> there, attending school at local schools, entertaining herself roller

> skating at Place removed , or rowing the boats on the pond when she took

> her Stepdad his lunch. She had fond memories of a Mulberry tree she

> climbed, and of later marching and playing in the band with her

> clarinet. These are stories and vignettes I heard and absorbed over the

> course of her life, giving me a glimpse into the world as she saw it.

> > >

> > >

> > > Nada was twice married , first to my Dad, Name removed . I was

> one of the fruits of that marriage, along with 3 siblings who never made

> it out of infancy. Those losses were a thing she never got past.

> > >

> > > She, and well, me too, also lived in the fishbowl of a pastor `s

> family for a good many of those years. I often wondered how, after

> swimming around that bowl anyone would choose to reenter it. I know we

> have a few preachers here today. Speaking now as a former Preachers

> Kid, go hug your kids first chance you get. But she did so, after her

> second marriage changed her name to , becoming a United

> Methodist Pastor. She was very proud of the summers she spent at Duke,

> learning the job, and of her identity as a Pastor. Her methods may have

> been unusual or indeed , unique. But her heart was tied to that role of

> service.

> > >

> > > She also spent time as a tour guide with a travel company, and made

> a number of bus trips to see parts of the country far removed from her

> tiny town beginnings. She had wanted for years to see New England, and

> finally did, in 1976. That trip was to meet her granddaughter, my

> firstborn .

> > >

> > > I d have to say one of my fondest memories of her was fudge making.

> Scraping and eating everything left in the pan after she cooked a batch

> was one of the rewards for being alive. She loved to write, and would

> send cards for occasions that others would miss, like Wednesdays, or the

> first anniversary of paying off a car. If you are sitting here, there s

> a good chance you got one or more of those cards and letters over the

> years.

> > >

> > >

> > > If you knew my mom, you will also know that she fought for a good

> portion of her life with deep depression and emotional problems. You've

> likely been touched by it or brushed up against it. For those of us who

> knew her, cared for her, let our lives be a part of hers, that was a

> real and challenging part of who she was. I do not mention this to

> judge or condemn that part of her, but rather to acknowledge that part

> of the story of who she was.

> > >

> > > In some of her better moments, she would start to say something to

> me and preface it with, " Now don t think I m crazy, but…

> > > .. and I d roll my eyes and do a Jack Benny ( if you re too young to

> know what a Jack Benny is, ask someone with white hair, we all remember)

> and she would call me a smart alek, which is true, and say I was not too

> big to whip, which was not.

> > >

> > > It made for difficult relationships, for her and for those she cared

> for and who cared for her. Her emotional disorder was debilitating, and

> no one close to her failed to be hurt by it. Sometimes I find myself

> asking, did I really do all I could do, love all I could love, give all

> I could give? Hard as it was at times, could I have made it better?

> But I take a solace in these words, penned by Reinhold Neibuhr, an

> Evangelical pastor and theologian first half of the 20th century.

> > >

> > > God grant me the serenity

> > > To accept the things I cannot change;

> > > Courage to change the things I can;

> > > And wisdom to know the difference.

> > > Living one day at a time;

> > > Enjoying one moment at a time;

> > > Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

> > > Taking, as He did, this sinful world

> > > As it is, not as I would have it;

> > > Trusting that He will make all things right

> > > If I surrender to His Will;

> > > So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

> > > And supremely happy with Him

> > > Forever and ever in the next.

> > >

> > >

> > > Those are good words to live by. I wish she had been happier in this

> life. I believe she is supremely happy now with Christ, and for that I m

> grateful. Still, I m sorry she s gone. I ll miss you Mom.

> > >

> > >

> > > The above was my choice. I did not make some syrupy all was

> wonderful now that she s gone comments, but was as clear as I could be

> about the complexities of her life, and her loss.

> > >

> > >

> > > Doug

> > >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

YOU

GO

GIRL!

>

> Doug,thanks for the idea of writing some kind of eulogy that I could

share with sane people apart from the funeral.I hadn't thought of

that,it's amazing how thoroughly I assume that I am isolated in my

experience of nada but come to think of it I do have the right to have a

ceremony on my terms,from my perspective,somewhere it will be heard and

respected.I assume in so many unconscious ways that I am not " deserving "

of support and/or that my truth is so unacceptable that I must bear it

alone.Hhmmm....when.that.doesn't.

> necessarily.have.to.be.so...