This was written years ago, right after my mother died. I was pregnant with Singer and still doing social work. I have gone through a great metamorphosis since I typed these words, but I always want to keep them close to my heart.
I told myself I would write this before I went back to work. Then I realized I was putting off both goals, that I wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting at home sad. Especially myself, and I help people for a living. As in assist in changing their lives and reaching positive goals, for which I am thankful to do and thanked for. What better therapy could there be out there than that? So tomorrow it is, I go back to work. My mom would like that, she’d tell me to stop pitying myself.
Which leads me to how hard she was on me, and how that carries over to thoughts that run through my own head. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, I think it’s why I’ve done remarkably well for a gal whose high school teachers said might not graduate, due to inability to focus and hyper socialization.
Mom was tough on me, but it was because she loved me and I was her great focus other than sports, organizing, and being right. My dad once told me when I left for college that she was so cold because I had school, he had work, and all she had was me for 18 years. I was 75 miles away focusing on my own life.
He’s a smart man, a brave gentleman. I owe him a lot, everything left over after what she gave me, and she gave me him. He came in to our lives when I was 2, he was the perfect fit. I was blessed to be given Moe Brooks as a daddy. Today I am focusing on his love and understanding of my mother. Someone so complex, yet incredibly simple in theory. I’d like to share his eulogy for my mom with you. Some might find it harsh, but I find comfort in truth at time of death. It was very consoling for her close family and friends, because she was hard to get along with at times. She loved us all very much. She just didn’t know how to show it.
Susan Hubbard Brooks was born on October 5, 1956 and died on October 18, 2010 at the age of 54. That is way too early, but it is part of God’s plan.She is the love of my life and will remain so forever. We were married for a wonderful 27 years. And while that is over a quarter of a century, it went by in the blink of the eye.
We have one daughter Michelle, who is pregnant. The saddest part about Susan’s death is that she so wanted to see and hold her grandchild. It was something she talked about for years.
She loves you Michelle- don’t ever forget it. And when you deliver the baby and you feel a touch on your shoulder, know that it is Momma next to you, trying to keep you safe. And know that Momma is so thankful for David having come in to your life. He’ll take good care of you and your baby. She would have taken credit for that too, if she could.
And there has never been any doubt that she loved her mother, GranEv, and wanted to be the one to take care of her. And she will always be with you, and love you GranEv.
There’s her oldest sister Madelyn, who was always full of hope, praise, and inspiration for Susan. It’s really amazing how well Susan listened, because usually she didn’t.
And now comes Ann. From Susan’s birth it was the classic “sister vs. sister” battle. Spitting, clawing, name calling, bloody, ugly battles. But in the end Ann, she heard you talking to her on her death bed. She knows you love her, and she loves you .
So, who was Susan Brooks? This complicated, yet so simple woman?
She was many things and she was not without her weaknesses.
She was tumultuous, volcanic, controversial- she did things that often created her own unhappiness. She was stubborn, I’ve seen her dig her heels in, plow up pavement, and still not give in. She was opinionated, she’d tell you what she thought: good or bad.
But on the other hand, she was very loving. Our chemistry blended and bonded and we told each other every day “I love you”. And we knew we meant it. She was a hard worker for our marriage. She tried every day to make it special, and she did.
She was a determined soul. When we would go to the mountains with Jack and Debi, she always thought that she could walk Debi’s 3 mile Bataan Death March around the mountains. Sometimes she could.
She was dependable. I never feared most of her decisions. She was competitive. When we would play tennis with Morgan, Becky, and Reba; Morgan would bait her to try to make the hardest shot in tennis-straight down the line. She wasn’t scared to try, sometimes she’d make it.
Lastly, she was a fun person and a jokester. She greatly enjoyed Ann Dillion’s “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” standing invitation. She loved John’s Friday Night Supper, and our group of close friends. Her “napkin” and “feathers” jokes became famous, you knew she was going to tell it, it was just a matter of when.
When we leave here today, we will have some good memories, and a few bad of Susan. I ask that you let the bad ones go, and concentrate on the good ones, there were many.
She was my love, my confidant, my soul mate. She struck me as no one ever could, which is what love is all about. For all that she was, and still is today, I will love her for an eternity.
I smiled the entire time and only shed a few tears, which I think is the way my mom would want it. It wasn’t very specific if you didn’t really know my mother, but if you do, you know Daddy hit the nail on the head.
For those who didn’t have the pleasure, my mother was an athlete that fought cancer for almost 10 years. Everything had to be her way, or it wasn’t right, and she’d let you know. She somehow got away with it. Now you know I get it honest.
She was incredibly organized, though her attention to detail somewhat faded over the years while she fought that awful disease. She could clean, lift, or fix anything and continued to try. She played golf from the white tees in her prime, and lost the invitation to play with the guys when they realized she would beat them every time.
She won ALTA matches, bragged about it, played #1 spot while fighting cancer, and was team captain. She was so strong, which is why it’s so hard to believe that she’s gone. Other than the day that our child is born the hardest part will be each day when I get off of work, I called her daily just to talk about nothing in particular, but usually her.
I’d like to share two more things with you. My mother died a hard and beautiful death. She went from a 90 day death sentence given to her on Monday, October 11th, to fighting for every breath on the morning of Monday, October 18th. The day before her friends and family rallied around her, there were dozens that came to hold her hand, kiss her, and let her know that they loved her. She couldn’t speak or open her eyes, but she could hear us and knew we were there. On her last day of battle we pleaded that she lose, just once, and she finally gave in. She was in my fathers arms, surrounded by her family, all letting her know that we love and will miss her. I never knew that death could be so hard and beautiful, as I have never lost anyone under the age of 70 until last Monday. But, it was the most beautiful, loving thing I have seen in my 30 years.
On the day that we scattered her ashes, she was with us. My Auntie Ann saw a leaf twirl gracefully in the air, down in to the hole that her ashes would soon be placed. As the priest opened the bag of her ashes, I gasped in agony, then a stream of light came down through the trees and hit me, and only me.
