In Loving Memory Martha Wild (nee Dooley) July 9, 1919 to June 19, 1997 June 24th -- 98 degrees and a sunny day. So many friends at the wake and beyond. I don't want to bury my mommy today a little girl's voice cries out from within. She looks like she is sleeping. I don't want this to be real. I don't want to say goodbye, Lord. I'll keep visiting her at the funeral home like I did at the hospital -- anything to keep her with me. No, I tell myself. That is impossible. I cannot keep her with me. She is already rotting away. My anger and pain grows as we all know the doctors killed her; even a hospital employee called the coroner to tell him so. The last week has been a whirl of mistakes, lies, and loss. The little girl cries out; she wants to know where her sweet mommy has gone to; the little girl forgets that she is 43 years old. Mom’s Eulogy - June 24, 1997 I would like to share a very special story with you. It is about my mother and me. It may also be about your mother and you. The Widow and Her Daughter Taken from a story by Kahlil Gibran Night descended swiftly upon the northern town, overtaking a day wherein much snow had fallen on the surrounding villages. It made of the fields and the hills a white page upon which the winds had inscribed lines and then erased them. The tempest played with them, making the angry sky at one with wrathful nature. People took refuge in their houses and beasts in their stalls, and no living thing moved. No thing remained without, save the bitter cold, and the black terrifying night, and death, strong and fearsome. In a lonely cottage in one of those villages a woman sat before the fire weaving a garment of wool. By her side sat her only child, looking now into the fire, now up at the serene face of her mother. In that hour the storm grew in force, and the winds increased in violence until the walls of the house trembled and shook. The girl became frightened and drew near to her mother, seeking in her tenderness a protection against the enraged elements. She held her to her breast and kissed her and seated her on her lap, saying, “Be not afraid, my daughter, for it is naught save Nature warning man of her might against his littleness, and her strength by the side of his weakness. Fear not, my child, for beyond the falling snows and thick clouds and the howling tempest is a Holy Spirit who is knowing of the needs of the fields. Beyond all things is a Power that looks upon the wretchedness of mankind with mercy and compassion. Be not frightened, my precious one, for Nature, who smiles with the spring and laughs on a summer’s day and sighs with autumn’s coming, now wants to weep. With her cold tears is watered sleeping life under the layers of the earth. “Sleep, then, my child, for your father looks down upon us from eternal pastures. Storm and snow bring near to us the remembrance of those immortal spirits. “Sleep, my darling, for out of the warring elements will come forth beautiful flowers for you to gather in the mouth of the river. So it is, my daughter, that men reap not love save after painful absence and the cold without.” The girl looked up at her mother with eyes darkened by sleepiness and said: “My eyes are sleepy, Mother, and I am afraid to go to sleep before saying my prayers.” The mother embraced her tenderly and, looking through her tears to her child’s face, said:“Say with me, my child: Have mercy, O Lord, upon the poor and guard them against the bitter cold and clothe their naked bodies with Thy hands. Look Thou to the orphans aslumber in huts, whose bodies are hurt by the snow’s cold breath. “Hearken, O Lord, to the cry of the widow standing in the street between death and cold. Stretch forth Thy hand to the rich man’s heart and open Thou his eyes that he may see the wretchedness of the weak and the oppressed. “Show pity, O Lord, to those ahunger outside doors on this dark, night, and guide the stranger to a refuge of warmth, and have mercy on his strangeness. “Look, O Lord, upon the fledgling and preserve with Thy right hand the tree fearful of the harsh wind. Be this so, O Lord.” And when sleep had gathered up the girl, her mother laid her upon the bed and kissed her brow with trembling lips. Then she returned to the fireside, and there sat making for her a coat of wool. Thanks, Mom, for protecting me from so many storms, both real and imagined; for teaching me my prayers and for listening to my dreams; for loving me and Heather and all of your friends and family; for wrapping Christmas presents for The Ministries children and for me; for each morning’s cup of tea and each day’s evening meal; for giving me life, for teaching me laughter, and especially for the special times we shared during the last seven years we lived together. Most of all, thanks, Mom, for being you. And finally, I would like to end with an Old Gaelic Prayer: Deep Peace of the running waves to you Deep peace of the flowing air to you Deep peace of the smiling stars to you Deep peace of the quiet earth to you Deep peace of the watching shepherds to you Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you. I love you. Always and Forever. All That Glitters Is Not Gold June 19th -- My beloved mother, Martha died today. There are no words to describe the pain she suffered or the pain we are overwhelmed by now. Please pray for us. 6/17/97 - Twenty years since Heather was born. It's hard to believe it's been that long! Mom's open heart surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. Please keep her in your prayers! It's been a long haul! 6/12/97 - We are waiting for Mom to be transferred to the heart center for valve replacement surgery and possibly bypass surgery as well. She is in good spirits, but understandably nervous about the upcoming surgery as well as the recuperation. I have advocated on her behalf (translation: Annie has been fighting with the doctors) to have her transmitted to a rehabilitation center post surgery in order to speed up her recuperation and to enable a smooth transition for all of us. At this point, that's the plan. Please keep Mom and all of us in your prayers. 6/8/97 - As of June 8th, Mom has been admitted to the local hospital's Intensive Care Unit. She is suffering from congestive heart failure. We some discomfort due to breathing difficulties. Please keep her in your prayers! I will post any news on her condition here and apologize in advance for any unanswered emails. Between trips to the ICU, work, family, and trying to maintain a sense of myself, time and energy may be extremely limited, but I will check my email daily. Talking about my mom on Annie's Original Home Page First there's Martha, better known as Grandma, who is well past her 77th birthday. Don't let her age fool you though. She's sharp as a tack, quick with the quilting needle, and she can pull a slot machine handle faster than anyone I have ever seen. Grandma likes music, re-runs of "The Rockford Files" and ice cream. Her favorite quote is "There's nothing wrong with me that a little ice cream can't fix." In her next life, Grandma plans to own a string of Baskin-Robbins stores. Oh, and Grandma will never forgive me if I don't mention her precious cat, Manda, here. Manda, formerly known as Panda at Long Island's North Shore Animal League, is at least 100 years old. She refers to herself as the Queen of Yaphank. Background Courtesy
In Loving Memory
Martha Wild (nee Dooley)
July 9, 1919 to June 19, 1997
June 24th -- 98 degrees and a sunny day. So many friends at the wake and beyond. I don't want to bury my mommy today a little girl's voice cries out from within. She looks like she is sleeping. I don't want this to be real. I don't want to say goodbye, Lord. I'll keep visiting her at the funeral home like I did at the hospital -- anything to keep her with me. No, I tell myself. That is impossible. I cannot keep her with me. She is already rotting away. My anger and pain grows as we all know the doctors killed her; even a hospital employee called the coroner to tell him so. The last week has been a whirl of mistakes, lies, and loss. The little girl cries out; she wants to know where her sweet mommy has gone to; the little girl forgets that she is 43 years old.
Mom’s Eulogy - June 24, 1997
I would like to share a very special story with you. It is about my mother and me. It may also be about your mother and you.
The Widow and Her Daughter
Taken from a story by Kahlil Gibran
Night descended swiftly upon the northern town, overtaking a day wherein much snow had fallen on the surrounding villages. It made of the fields and the hills a white page upon which the winds had inscribed lines and then erased them. The tempest played with them, making the angry sky at one with wrathful nature.
People took refuge in their houses and beasts in their stalls, and no living thing moved. No thing remained without, save the bitter cold, and the black terrifying night, and death, strong and fearsome.
In a lonely cottage in one of those villages a woman sat before the fire weaving a garment of wool. By her side sat her only child, looking now into the fire, now up at the serene face of her mother.
In that hour the storm grew in force, and the winds increased in violence until the walls of the house trembled and shook. The girl became frightened and drew near to her mother, seeking in her tenderness a protection against the enraged elements. She held her to her breast and kissed her and seated her on her lap, saying, “Be not afraid, my daughter, for it is naught save Nature warning man of her might against his littleness, and her strength by the side of his weakness. Fear not, my child, for beyond the falling snows and thick clouds and the howling tempest is a Holy Spirit who is knowing of the needs of the fields. Beyond all things is a Power that looks upon the wretchedness of mankind with mercy and compassion. Be not frightened, my precious one, for Nature, who smiles with the spring and laughs on a summer’s day and sighs with autumn’s coming, now wants to weep. With her cold tears is watered sleeping life under the layers of the earth.
“Sleep, then, my child, for your father looks down upon us from eternal pastures. Storm and snow bring near to us the remembrance of those immortal spirits.
“Sleep, my darling, for out of the warring elements will come forth beautiful flowers for you to gather in the mouth of the river. So it is, my daughter, that men reap not love save after painful absence and the cold without.”
The girl looked up at her mother with eyes darkened by sleepiness and said: “My eyes are sleepy, Mother, and I am afraid to go to sleep before saying my prayers.”
The mother embraced her tenderly and, looking through her tears to her child’s face, said:“Say with me, my child: Have mercy, O Lord, upon the poor and guard them against the bitter cold and clothe their naked bodies with Thy hands. Look Thou to the orphans aslumber in huts, whose bodies are hurt by the snow’s cold breath.
“Hearken, O Lord, to the cry of the widow standing in the street between death and cold. Stretch forth Thy hand to the rich man’s heart and open Thou his eyes that he may see the wretchedness of the weak and the oppressed.
“Show pity, O Lord, to those ahunger outside doors on this dark, night, and guide the stranger to a refuge of warmth, and have mercy on his strangeness.
“Look, O Lord, upon the fledgling and preserve with Thy right hand the tree fearful of the harsh wind. Be this so, O Lord.”
And when sleep had gathered up the girl, her mother laid her upon the bed and kissed her brow with trembling lips. Then she returned to the fireside, and there sat making for her a coat of wool.
Thanks, Mom, for protecting me from so many storms, both real and imagined; for teaching me my prayers and for listening to my dreams; for loving me and Heather and all of your friends and family; for wrapping Christmas presents for The Ministries children and for me; for each morning’s cup of tea and each day’s evening meal; for giving me life, for teaching me laughter, and especially for the special times we shared during the last seven years we lived together.
Most of all, thanks, Mom, for being you.
And finally, I would like to end with an Old Gaelic Prayer:
Deep Peace of the running waves to you
Deep peace of the flowing air to you
Deep peace of the smiling stars to you
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you
Deep peace of the watching shepherds to you
Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.
I love you. Always and Forever.
All That Glitters Is Not Gold
June 19th -- My beloved mother, Martha died today. There are no words to describe the pain she suffered or the pain we are overwhelmed by now. Please pray for us.
6/17/97 - Twenty years since Heather was born. It's hard to believe it's been that long! Mom's open heart surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. Please keep her in your prayers! It's been a long haul!
6/12/97 - We are waiting for Mom to be transferred to the heart center for valve replacement surgery and possibly bypass surgery as well. She is in good spirits, but understandably nervous about the upcoming surgery as well as the recuperation. I have advocated on her behalf (translation: Annie has been fighting with the doctors) to have her transmitted to a rehabilitation center post surgery in order to speed up her recuperation and to enable a smooth transition for all of us. At this point, that's the plan. Please keep Mom and all of us in your prayers.
6/8/97 - As of June 8th, Mom has been admitted to the local hospital's Intensive Care Unit. She is suffering from congestive heart failure. We some discomfort due to breathing difficulties. Please keep her in your prayers! I will post any news on her condition here and apologize in advance for any unanswered emails. Between trips to the ICU, work, family, and trying to maintain a sense of myself, time and energy may be extremely limited, but I will check my email daily.
Talking about my mom on Annie's Original Home Page
First there's Martha, better known as Grandma, who is well past her 77th birthday. Don't let her age fool you though. She's sharp as a tack, quick with the quilting needle, and she can pull a slot machine handle faster than anyone I have ever seen. Grandma likes music, re-runs of "The Rockford Files" and ice cream. Her favorite quote is "There's nothing wrong with me that a little ice cream can't fix." In her next life, Grandma plans to own a string of Baskin-Robbins stores. Oh, and Grandma will never forgive me if I don't mention her precious cat, Manda, here. Manda, formerly known as Panda at Long Island's North Shore Animal League, is at least 100 years old. She refers to herself as the Queen of Yaphank.
Background Courtesy
