I'm still here

I’ve been missing in action here for quite some time. Started because I had a whole lot of deadlines and things, and because I’m committing myself more and more to the making of things instead of the writing about things.

But then in June, my mom died and I’ve been reeling since then. I’ve mentioned my dad here before so you know that I’m now parent-free, which is my smart-ass way of saying orphaned.

A lot of people were touched by the eulogy I did for my dad and it helped me a lot, so in the interest of connecting, I thought I’d post my mom’s eulogy. Very different relationships, but the grief is just as painful.

Not sure when or how often I’ll be updating here. I want to give myself the time I need to be quiet and adjust. I’m sure you understand.

xo,
Moxie

Kerin Lieberman
1944 – 2009
Eulogy written by her daughter Moxie (Melysa Lieberman)
Read at Kol Shalom Cemetery, San Rafael, California on June 12, 2009

Almost three years ago, we gathered here to honor and bury our dad, Gene Lieberman. You may remember that I wrote a eulogy for him at the request of my family… I’m not gonna lie to you… nailed it. No seriously… I did, I totally killed.

Less than a year later, we learned that our mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer but I was convinced then, like most of us, that this day wouldn’t come for many, many years.

I think part of the reason we are all so surprised to be here now is because of my mother’s strength and determination. Her cancer was stunted by the treatments from the very start, but I like to think she frightened it away with one of her stern looks.

Kerin Erica Lieberman was a self-made, smart, classy, funny, beautiful, woman. It doesn’t matter if you laughed with her, fought with her, worked with her, lived with her, waited on her, loved her, flirted with her or just plain feared her… no one who met her was likely to forget her.

Our mom was a hard-worker, a devoted friend and she lived with a fierce sense of right and wrong. Her life was built on structure, order, and a logic all her own… if she were here, she would probably call it common sense. If she thought you were off track, she was certainly generous with her feedback.

It may surprise you to know that she was also terrified. Terrified you might not like her. Terrified of suffering. Terrified of losing the ones she loved. Terrified of not being in control. Terrified that she wasn’t perfect but, more so, terrified that you might discover that she wasn’t perfect. I wish that she had been with us long enough to realize that we already knew, and we loved her anyway.

As different as we were, me having rejected the very concept of perfection while still in the womb, we did share a sense of humor and enjoyed exchanging one-liners and wry observations, delighting in each other’s ability to think fast and funny. My sister and I enjoyed making her laugh and value the quick-wittedness we no doubt inherited from her.

I also loved the moments when she was able to laugh at herself. I remember as a kid, watching one of the Muppet Movies on tv with her. Miss Piggy is assisting back stage at a fashion show when one of the runway models falls and hurts an ankle. Quickly they rush to Miss Piggy and urge her to take the stage in the model’s place. This is followed by an impressive large scale, Busby Berkley water spectacle, with Miss Piggy center stage. We watched this in silence for a while when my mom, lost in thought, says mostly to herself “Pffft… yeah… like they’d really have a bathing suit in her size…”

I turned slowly to her and said “Mom… you know that’s a PUPPET, right?”

She looked at me for a minute and then we both dissolved into laughter.

But I can’t walk away from this place, where our mother will soon be buried next to our dad, without expressing my appreciation and awe at her ability to create community. Her cohorts, Fern, Lois, Sandy, Anne, Jackie, Tobi, Lynn, and Mo, whom Rachel and I often refer to as “the ladies” are the finest women I know. Her connection with them serves as an example of what true friendship looks like. The nurturing connection she built with her god-children Shira and Talia, women that Rachel and I consider our sisters, serves as an example of what compassion and genuine affection looks like. All of you, standing here in honor of Kerin Lieberman, our mom, serve as an example of what a true community looks like.

In the end, the connection she built with all of you is the most amazing legacy she could leave for her children. We’ll walk away from this place, mourning deeply this epic woman, into dozens of loving arms that would not be here if not for her.