A year ago this week, we lost my mother. I say we because Allie was as big a part of many of your lives as she was mine. In her honor, and to remind us of what we lost, I am posting a draft of the eulogy I delivered at her Celebration of Life Service. I hope that we can all continue to be inspired by the hopes that she instilled in each of us... and in all of us: On December 20, 1979, in a small, unadorned room at the Coral Gables Municipal Courthouse, my father, in front of three witnesses including me, turned to my mother and promised to love her, promised to honor her and promised to cherish her. He promised to do these things for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer and in sickness and in health, and he promised to do these things for the rest of her life. I am here to tell you that Howard Friedman, my father, is a man of his word. In fact, death itself has not severed the bond of his word. He continues to love my mother, continues to honor her and continues to cherish her. Young men in the audience, if you are looking for a role model, a man whose example is worthy of being followed, you could do a lot worse than Howard Friedman. We are here to honor Allie, my mother, but understand this, Howard is a big reason that Allie was, well, Allie. For the last few years, the full measure of his devotion has been nothing short of heroic, worthy of our respect, our admiration and our emulation. He was her constant companion, her coach, her guide, her source of strength, her reason for holding on, her reason for fighting so hard against the disease that ravaged her body and took such a toll on her mind. Those of us love my mother – and there are too many to even count – owe him our thanks, our affection and our love. What he endured in order to keep the promise he made in 1979 is beyond comprehension. I am awe of his commitment and shall be in his debt until the very day that I leave this world for the next. It has been fifteen days since my mother shuffled off the mortal coil. So, you see, the day pass inevitably and relentlessly into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years. Time passes, memories fade, connections are lost. The responsibilities of our daily lives – some real, some imagined – constrain us. They weigh us down. They keep us – or at least appear to keep us – from our memories and the people who helped make them, and from our connections – the ties that bond us to those whom we love. My most profound wish is that, despite the passage of time, you all continue to remember my father, that you keep him always in your prayers – he needs them and in your thoughts – he appreciates them. Stay in touch with him – remind him of your respect and your love. Remind him too that you are grateful for all he did for my mother. Remind him and thank him. As most of you know, I, like my mother before me, am a teacher. When I teach the aspiring lawyers who enroll in my course, one the more difficult concepts for them to grasp is the difference between a contradiction and a paradox. You see, a contradiction refers to features that are opposed to each other – ideas or situations that are mutually exclusive. If one thing exists, the contrary thing, by very definition, cannot. A paradox is far more complex, and therefore far more interesting. A paradox refers to two things that appear to be impossible to reconcile, that appear to be mutually exclusive, but, upon closer and more careful examination are entirely, if not inevitably compatible. The key though is close and careful examination. My mother was, at first glance a glorious but inelegant bundle of contradictions: she was an avid and perceptive collector or beautiful objects … who cared not a whit for material things; she had an incredible sense of humor … yet she never laughed at jokes; she was shy and introverted .. but always managed to be the center of attention; she had a temper that would make Satan himself recoil in terror … yet she was universally and eternally forgiving; she spent much of her life battling illness … but was unbelievably physically strong; she loved words … but she hated and would not tolerate pompous verbosity; she never pursued a graduate or professional degree … but had a formidable mind and encyclopedic knowledge of poetry and music. But you see, these are not mutually exclusive attributes. Instead they are evidence that perception is not reality and that when we choose to define others by cursory or perfunctory impressions, we miss so much. So my mother was not a glorious yet inelegant bundle of contradictions. Instead, she was a galaxy of paradoxes – glorious still, but elegant too. Elegant in the way that paradoxes orbited around a singular locus: virtue. Of all of my mother’s paradoxical traits, the one I was to share with you is perhaps the one that you will find the most surprising. Look around the room. You will see talented physicians, attorneys who are leaders in their field, brilliant engineers, accomplished professionals and entrepreneurs, top students and gifted scholars. Allison, my mother, was happy for and proud of each of you – of all you have accomplished and all that remains for you to achieve. My mother was a simple housewife, a housewife who cared for and taught young children. Yet, I assert that my mother was far and away the most successful person in this room – perhaps one of the most successful people any of us will ever meet. My mother lived on her own terms. She was deliberate in the choices she made, and was fully prepared to accept the consequences of those choices. So, when I was seventeen, my mother chose to become successful – successful in terms that she chose, that she accepted and she worked diligently to pursue. My mother actively and constantly surrounded herself with people who made her happy, who brought her joy, who made her laugh. She never endured tedious meetings, never had to write meaningless reports or cater to the whims of the insufferable petty tyrants who dominate most people’s work days. Instead, she worked with children – caring for them, guiding them, nurturing, teaching them. In the course of her work she met with some amazing parents – men and women of moral and intellectual substance. People with whom she chose to work, with whom she chose to engage, with whom she chose to welcome into her life. These parents – almost all of whom are in this room – came to understand that my mother was NOT a woman to be underestimated. My mother taught children how to swim, how to read, how to write. She taught them the value of effort and discipline. She taught them to love and appreciate nature. Moreover, she taught them that character and virtue matter – that they really matter. You have to understand that my mother’s definition of success – the path she pursued – was something she discovered in her readings, specifically Emerson, who, as you may recall admonished us all that: To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. So again, I assert, more confidently than ever, that by this standard – the standard by which my mother chose to live, the standard by which far more of us should live, my mother’s success is beyond contestation. The path she chose was not an easy one. It lacks the trappings of power suits and corner offices that vanity compels us to pursue. It lacks the tempting yet ultimately ephemeral satisfaction of notoriety and acclaim. It requires discipline, commitment and sacrifice – things that are far harder to put into practice than we suppose. For those of you who remain skeptical, I can assure you that Allie’s success is real and, more importantly, that it will endure. My mother left a legacy. Her mark on the world is not made of steel or stone, glass or wood. It is not carved in marble or etched in bronze. Her mark in the world is mate of flesh and blood, bone and sinew. It is etched into the minds and the souls of the children she guided. Allie does not leave behind a building or a bridge. Instead she leaves behind an entire generation of young men and women who learned to love learning, learned to love reading, learned to temper their ambition with humility, learned to pursue victory but never at the expense of virtue, learned that friendship is a treasure that can and should endure for a lifetime, learned that one’s moral worth is far more important than financial worth. Finally, they learned Allie’s most important lesson – a lesson which I am grateful she also taught me – that one should never suffer the opinions or the gossip of the mal-intentioned and misinformed but should instead remain true to what one knows to be right and just. It to this generation – to those who were fortunate enough to have been taught these lessons – that I now speak. One of the greatest gifts Allie gave me a was a love of language – poetry in particular. Because of my mother, my life is never devoid of the wit of Byron, the majesty of Pope, the passion of Kipling, the sublimity of Shakespeare or the simple virtue of Robert Frost. One poet who we both read extensively was Walt Whitman. He was uniquely and unabashedly American in both his syntax and in his themes. I want to share with you, Allie’s kids a portion of one of his mater works – Crossing Brooklyn Ferry. It avails not, time nor place – distance avails not, I am with you, men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence, Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt, Just as any one of you is of a living crows, I was one of the crowd, Just as you are refreshed by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refreshed Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood yet was hurried … I too many and many a time crossed the river of old, Watched the Twelfth-month sea gulls, saw them high in the air floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies … Looked on the haze of the summer sky in the water … Looked on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward Looked In the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet … What is then between us? What is the count of the scores or hundreds of year between us? Whatever it is, it avails not – distance avails not, and place avails not. My mother, your Allie, is separated from you by distance and place, but that distance avails not. She has crossed the river time and again – as will you. She has seen the world and observed its beauty – as will you. She felt the pressures and constraints of time and obligations – as will you. She shared with you the benefit of her wisdom and her experience so that when you come to the river, you have the courage to cross it, when you see beauty you have the passion to appreciate it and when obligations call, you have the both the virtue to honor those obligations but also the wisdom to not be overwhelmed by them. She showed you a path – have courage to hew it from time to time. Make her legacy a lasting one – one that will resonate throughout time. And now I speak to the rest of you. Allie was something to each of you – a wife, a cousin, a teacher, a friend, a neighbor, a future mother in law, a god mother, a mentor and a loved one. To me, she was simply mommy. We too are now separated by time, by distance and by place. But I know that I will see her again – and so I remind myself each day what I reminded all of you or – that whatever it is, it avails not. A mother’s love for her son makes certain that distance avails not and place avails not.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Nov 2014 16:42:21 +0000
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