I wrote this to share with everyone at my mother's funeral. It's a true representation of my discovery over the time it took to drive from Ohio to Minnesota. That length of a drive gives one plenty of time to think and avoid. I decided to call this the #DeathDrive.
In my lifetime, death is different every time. I’m not referring to the circumstances around death, but the combination of the reminiscence of the emotional connections and what we learn from others. What I’ve written for today is part story about my mom about my personal journey. Frankly, my mom earned this.
I wrote two versions of this story, Version A was to say what I want. Version B was church friendly. My sister Stefani suggested I use Version B, Pastor Chris chimed in and said, “You have my permission to say anything.”. Version A it is! My mother’s death has taken several days to absorb. It still feels a little surreal and even though she’s in that casket, not yet final. I chose to drive from Columbus, Ohio allowing me to stay however long I was needed.
A 14-hour drive is a challenge when it’s traveling to bury someone. I gave the term the #DeathDrive. My daughter Marianna and two miniature Australian Shepherds, Xoey and Layla, joined to accompany me on the #DeathDrive.
We strategically scheduled stops and two overnight stays to simultaneously avoid thinking about Mom’s death and just remembering the intricacies of having Phyllis as my mother. I could visualize a conversation with my mom, telling her the stories of our trek and seeing her enjoy it vicariously.
This idea of managing the DeathDrive worked until we arrived in Minneapolis, where my sister Jill once lived, then Alexandria where my sister Stefani once lived and when I stopped at Uncle Steve and Mary’s farm, I completely lost it. The closer I traveled to Moorhead, the more I felt the power of these concentric ripples of my mom. From these ripples, It became clearer to me that everything is connected to my mom. Almost like the 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon, but fewer steps to connect. Some may already feel this about your mom, I just never saw it this way.
Now at her house, we worked on planning, sharing memories, and thinking about what we’d like to share. No one sits in her chair. There are moments in which our collective thinking is she’s either out buying groceries, in her room playing solitaire on her pc or taking one of her frequent power naps.
It might seem like that was plenty of time to remember, however, based on the experience of my grandparents’ deaths and those after, the memories and stories of my mother will continue until my death.
I wanted to create this nicely formatted detail with ending in a summary paragraph. Instead, I’m just going tell you now. My mother took on the exhausting job guiding her son to gain enough independence to live and thrive without her. She taught me life’s lessons, let me make mistakes and certainly instituted consequences sometimes in the form of a wooden spoon.
At age 6, we lived in California on a street with a cul-de-sac with a fat man across the street. My prized possession was a pedal vehicle just my size. At the end of the street lived two annoying crewcut shaven kids. When they stopped by to play, my mother declared, without my permission, no toy was off limits to our visitors. One of the annoying crew cuts drove my pedal car around in a circle for what seemed to be hours, in kid time. I was furious while my sister Jill just thought they were as stupid as their haircuts.
The lesson here was Be kind and generous to your guests, even if they’re super annoying.
By the way, the no toy off limits rule continued even after I left for college.
Each week my Dad and Mom would let me pick out one hot wheels car. The annoying crew cuts would try to trade and later I’d find out it was a swindle. One weekend when I returned from a bad trade, mom stormed over to their house yelled at them and they returned my hot wheels cars but never returned the cars they traded to me. I was up 100% that week.
The lesson here was Be kind and generous until they try to swindle you.
Jill and I were out of the patio having a snack. Jill tried to feed our Cock-a-poo Buttons not just a bite or a small slice but the entire banana. When Mom walked out onto the patio she sees a banana with no peel on the cement patio, her immediate reaction was to punish me. Minutes later Jill confessed, however, she received no punishment. 46 years that’s bothered me.
The lesson here was Telling the truth matters.
I walked into my parents’ bedroom one morning to see what was up and noticed the sheets were pulled up tight against both their necks. My 6-year old deductive thinking, I say to them I’m going to tell my friends. Mom said, “Oh no you are not!”
Not long after Jill and I found out we were going to have a new sister Stefani, although, I never did connect this to the bedroom discovery until a few days ago.
The lesson here was Know when to shut up.
My mom used different methods of trickery to expand my mind. One example is eating different foods, like finely chopped mushrooms tucked in macaroni and cheese, which I immediately detected and spent 20 minutes carefully removing before I ate it. She would say, “Why are you doing that?” I’d say, “I don’t like mushrooms.” She’d say, “You can’t even taste it.” An hour later I’d be thinking to myself, if you can’t taste it, why did you put it in there?
One weekend there was a campout at Blue Eagle Lake and mom suggested I spend the night as it’s a co-ed event. Carefully stating boys AND girls will be there. I agreed since I thought it would be fun to simply sleep in a tent. When I arrived, there was one other boy. Just one, but I stuck it out and returned home the next morning. Weeks later I received a letter from the Girl Scouts of America. I opened the letter and there was a Girls Scouts of America membership card with the name Michael Smilonich. Pure and simple trickery!
The lesson here was Your past might become a conversation starter.
I know Mom didn’t always think I was listening to her, I even tried to make her think I wasn’t listening, but I heard every word she said. She continued staying on her course.
Mom let me try different things. If I messed up trying something, it wasn’t a big deal, just try again countless times. I honestly think this is how I learned to cook.
When us kids were at the age where we started eating a lot more, we would constantly tell Mom we were hungry. Like clockwork, she had the pre-canned answer, “Well, there’s eggs, cereal, toast…” and would occasionally throw in another suggestion like, “a tuna sandwich”.
We eventually would try to invoke her pre-canned responses. Whenever we would suggest we get a monkey as a pet, the response was always, “No, they throw their poop”. We would laugh hysterically.
One time we traveled to California from Minnesota and stopped in Salt Lake City to see the Mormon tabernacle. Mom let us out while she parked the car. Upon her return, she gave us a serious look and said, “Don’t take any pamphlets.”
My mom had a completely advanced understanding of time, knowing it’s just a man-made construct.
For example, one evening we were driving toward Bemidji on an empty state road. Mom wasn’t watching her speed and a police car lit up the sky. She made some exclamation, like “Oh no” and she looked terrified. As I looked at her with concern, she said, “I think there’s a warrant out for my arrest.” The police officer took her license back to his vehicle while mom continued this visible terror. When he returned, he gave her a warning which she was thankful for. We were told afterward she failed to pay a speeding ticket and received that notice in the mail.
Once Mom was driving home very late. She was so tired she knew she couldn’t make it all the way home. She didn’t reserve a hotel and decided the next best thing was to sleep in her car. She decided the optimal place to park would be in a cemetery. My mom slept in her car in a cemetery, because she thought no one would be there. I’ll say that again, my mom slept in her car in a cemetery.
During the viewing a day before my mom's funeral, I discovered sleeping in a cemetery is a family activity, not just some quirky thing my mom did! We are always learning.
Some of these micro stories might seem somewhat random, but they all fit somewhere on those concentric ripples. Everything in my life is connected to mom. I’m very lucky to have her for a mother and lucky to have aunts and uncles who are like second parents and cousins who are like brothers and sisters.
M is for the moan, and the miserable groan From the pain that She felt when I was born
O is for the oven with its burnin' heat Where She stood makin' sure I had something to eat
T is for the time that She stayed up at night And took my temperature when I wasn't feelin' right
H is for the hard earned money She spent To keep clothes on my back and try to pay da' rent
E is every wrinkle I put on Her face And every worry that I caused when I stayed out late
The last letter R is that She taught me Respect And for the room up in Heaven that I know She'll get.
Mother
There is no other
Like Mother
So treat Her right, treat Her right
Most of the audience didn't get the humor of using a Mr. T quote at a funeral, but those who did enjoyed it!