All Things Nu

My Mom — Maryellen Gerke — passed away on December 5th, 2007, after a long and fruitful life. I had the opportunity to say a few words at her funeral, which I’d like to share with you.

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It’s impossible in just a few minutes to relay the relevance and impact of a person’s entire life. In fact, even if we had all day, it would still be impossible. How can you boil down an entire lifetime into a short narrative?

But perhaps we don’t need to. I think our purpose here today is not to recount all the merits and deeds of her entire life, as if a life is defined by merits and deeds. Instead, I believe that our purpose is to memorialize the character of Maryellen Gerke, to explain who she was as a person.

I must start by saying that I had a unique relationship with my Mom. By that, I don’t mean that it was any stronger or better than other relationships; it was simply … unique. I saw her through one set of eyes: the eyes of a son; the eyes of the sixth of seven kids. I’m just one person she touched in her life.

There are other sets of eyes that have their own perspective of Mom. They are just as valid as my own. In fact, they have seen things I’ll never see. But I can speak best and most accurately to what these eyes saw.

I saw a woman who maintained a consistent, dependable presence in my life. I saw more moments of quiet sacrifice than I can recall. I saw a woman who was far from perfect. But then again, she never claimed to be perfect. She had flaws of which I’m sure she wasn’t very proud. I saw a woman who “showed up” when called upon.

There’s really too much for me to try to describe all that I saw, so I thought I’d summarize it in a story.

I was attending this very school at the time (Our Lady of Good Counsel in Little Rock). Being here today makes all the memories come flooding back; it’s as if it happened yesterday! Anyway, I was riding the bus home, and somehow I was accused of throwing something off the bus. I don’t remember any of the details: what it was, or who got hit. I just remember the bus driver was convinced that it was me.

I found myself in trouble with the Principal. Mom looked me square in the eye and asked me if I did it, to which I replied, “No.” I guess it was the mother in her — you know that way, that intuitive sense that mom’s have of knowing whether you’re telling the truth — that told her that I was innocent.

Well, making a long story short, she took off work, walked in the Principal’s office and promptly straightened her out. She said, “He said he didn’t do it, and that means he didn’t do it. So whatever you have to do to make things right, just get to it. But he will not be punished for something he didn’t do!” Then she turned around and walked out the door. I don’t remember what happened after that, I just remember the sight of mom walking down the hallway and the Principal standing there with nothing much more to say. I wasn’t in trouble anymore.

Now, if you knew Maryellen, you’d know that this was not like her. She was an unassuming personality. She didn’t speak out publicly very much. But when she got something in her head, she stuck to her guns. And when she put her foot down, you’d better make sure that yours wasn’t in the way, because it was going to get stepped on!

I can’t tell you the effect that this encounter had upon me. I saw in this one simple act the nature of relationship. The assurance it brings to your soul to know that someone believes in you, especially at a time when no one else will. The experience of unconditional love, and the power that is available to us when we practice it.

These are profound lessons for a young man to learn. For a boy like me, who’s trying to figure out what life is all about, it’s the stuff of legacy. It’s a model that I have worked my entire life to emulate. I can only hope that when I die, my life will have displayed just a portion of the love and devotion that she invested in me.

Maryellen’s greatest character was revealed (I think) in the last season of her life. In dealing with her throat cancer, she displayed a quiet resolve in conditions that would humble the strongest of us. She never asked for anything. She never complained. She diligently went through this season of her life with class and grace.

And trust.

These eyes saw a woman who had put her trust in God. They saw in her the nature of trust, the evidence of confident belief. Belief in a God that exists beyond what we can see, feel and touch, but is real nonetheless. In watching her faith, we see the power for living that a trust like that can bring. We see the ability to endure through life’s difficulties.

It’s a profound lesson for us to learn. For people like you and me, who are trying to figure out what life is all about, it’s the stuff of legacy. It’s a model that we would all do well to emulate.

Her granddaughter, Leslie, was with her in her last moments. In talking with her last night, Leslie said that Mom had a different look in her eyes. Leslie asked Mom if she wanted her to stay, which she did. But what she saw in Mom’s eyes was not fear, as if Mom was afraid of being alone. It was more like compassion. It was almost as if Mom knew it was time to go, and was saying to Leslie, “It’s going to be OK. Don’t worry.”

Even in her final moments on this earth, she was teaching. She was instructing. She was caring for those she loved, in the best way she could and in the only way she knew how.

I ask you: Isn’t that just like a Mom?