Today, we are gathered to pay a small tribute to a person whose life was and is beyond our poor ability to catalog or define.
Most of you have reason to know that I am rarely at a loss for words, but the idea of attempting to somehow or a some way memorialize my mother is a task that is completely beyond me.
What I do know and can never forget is that for me, and for most of the rest of us here today, what we are, who we are, what we do and how we do it are but a pale imitations, reflections if you will, of the original article. I can not think of a facet of my present life that was not in a very real way shaped and nurtured by her. Nor am I alone in this regard. Some schools have an honor roll, ours had the roll of those honored. And we have all heard her recite it: Conrad, Christopher, Kenneth, Kevin, Katherine, Claire and Cedric. As if we were the seven dwarves and the Grump was her Prince Charming.
Of course, this was only the 'first team' - others, many others; in-laws, outlaws and cousins, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, serve to make her family - real and virtual - one that touches every age, sex, color and creed. United here we gather from all parts of the globe and in all hues of the spectrum; Heathens and Buddhists, Muslims and nominal Jews, perhaps an occasional Christian or two, separated by geography and philosophy, but drawn here together by the common experience of our having learned from her, our having been loved by her, and now in this final gathering, reaching out to touch each other in the singular sorrow of our shared grief.
Although she was not outwardly a spiritual person, in her final days, in fact, in her final hours, Mom asked me a number of serious questions regarding the Buddhist view of life and death. To fully appreciate her character, I believe that it is important for you to know a portion of what we discussed, so, even though this is a non-religious service, I hope that you indulge me for a brief moment.
In both the Christian tradition and the Buddhist tradition, there are parables regarding untimely deaths. In the Christian version, one day when Jesus was out walking, he passed by the funeral procession of the only son of a widow. The woman was beside herself with grief, and Jesus, taking pity on the woman, reached over and touched the coffin, telling the boy to return to life. The boy rose from the dead and all those present rejoiced. Truly a miracle.
The Buddhist version may not be as familiar to you: At one time, when the Enlightened One, who is also called 'The Great Physician,' was teaching his disciples, he was accosted by a grief stricken mother whose only son had just died. She begged the Buddha to restore her son to her and the Buddha agreed, with the following condition: The woman must go to a house in the city where there have been no death and from the family there, get a pinch of mustard seed. Quickly the woman consented and departed and began to search from house-to-house. Mustard being both common and inexpensive, everyone she met was willing to give her a few seeds, but in each case, when the woman asked about death, she was told that the house she was visiting had already been touched by death. House after house was visited, but death had always been one or to steps ahead of her. It was only a matter of time before the woman realized what the Buddha was attempting to teach her; that death was impossible to avoid. When the truth of the condition was clear to her, that life and death were inseparable, the woman abandoned her quest for a miracle and returned to her own home to try to put her own life together. I have no miracles for you today. Nor would my mother want one, even if such a feat were within my power.
She had made her peace with karma, as each of us, in his or her own time must do. As a Buddhist and a son, it is both easier and harder for me to accept this state of affairs than for some of you: The Buddhist teacher in me tells me that what the 'official paperwork' refers to as the death of Barbara Ann King is not an ending, or even a beginning, but merely a transition from one state of being to another, a transition that has happened before, and one which will happen again. Mom also believed this to be true. And because the 49th day has not yet passed, perhaps she is even now listening and nodding her head in agreement.
I am also certain that because of the ties of karma that bind different living beings together, our paths will once again cross, perhaps soon, perhaps later, but that they will cross, is beyond dispute. Again, neither she or I have any doubts about it.
This makes the parting here today sad but bearable. Yet it is also this very knowledge that makes it hard to say 'good-bye' right now; hard, because when I next see her, I might not be able to recognize her and therefore be unable to thank her again for the many gifts she gave me, not the least of which was life itself.
Let me speak then of the gifts I received from her body, speech and mind.
I must start by saying that if life itself were her only gift to me, she would still be worthy of my praise and respect. But life was only the beginning, and, as some of you here have cause to know first-hand, being one of her physical offspring was not a necessary qualification for receiving other and often more valuable gifts from her.
I see in the media that we have a new cliché, people today seem to be concerned for the 'quality of life'. I can say without fear of contradiction that even those who dislike me can not help but admit that I am a person who has had extraordinary luck and one that seems to display more than a few talents. I can honestly say that none of it is my doing.
The simple fact is that I can not think a thought, hear a song, read a word, or care about the lives of myself or others without thinking of her. The first song I ever heard was from her lips, the first word I ever saw or read were at her urging. When I discovered music, she gave me symphonies and Pete Seeger and Josh White. When poetry was discovered, she already knew the verse, from Christopher Robin to Kipling, and when it came time to learn that the world was not always a pretty or kind place, it was she who healed the hurts and she who pointed out that "this too, shall pass."
When I first discovered racism, she taught me that molecules have no race; when I encountered bigotry, she taught me chivalry, when I was lazy she showed me the dignity of work, when I was confused she helped me to find the skills to seek my way, when I was lost and hurt, she helped me find my direction and gave me refuge and hope. She taught me that 'true love is doing what is best for the person you love, often in spite of what they want you to do for them.' She taught me that character was not a commodity to be bought or sold and that all living beings had an intrinsic dignity that would be shameful to overlook or devalue.
She taught me more about being a Christian than all the priests and ministers I ever met and more about being a Buddhist than I can ever find words or thoughts to express. If today, I am worth anything of note as Buddhist teacher or even as a human being, the credit fits squarely on her shoulders, and if I fall short of this mark from time to time, it is not because she was not there to give me potent examples by her thoughts, words and deeds, it is because I loved and depended on the teacher so much that I forgot to pay suitable attention to the lessons.
By themselves, these acts would be noteworthy, but they were not isolated nor singular. In fact, it was her hallmark as a person, that she had both strength and love, to share and share again with each and every person she touched. No person was too small to be noticed and made to feel special by her presence, no person's ego was too large for her to gently puncture with her wisdom and wit. One and all she adopted us, nurtured us and sent us off into the world, one and all it is our eternal privilege to thank her for the gifts.
In my house, we have a joke about something being a 'Wilfred Brimley' - you know, the guy who did the Quaker oatmeal commercials, something that is 'The Right Thing To Do.' None of us that were touched by her can ever plead ignorance on this account: she taught us about the 'Right Thing' and showed us how to do it. She also showed us how to pay the price for doing it with dignity and silent grace.
When I think of our mother, her life and her passing, I can not help but be reminded of Wendy and the Lost Boys. And although it is difficult to cast the Grump in the role of Peter Pan, I am even more aghast to discover myself in the role of Tinkerbell.
For as many years as I can remember, she nurtured, protected and cherished those of use that she bore or adopted. Teaching us to fight off the Capt. Hook's of the world with humor, compassion and an occasional alarm clock, she was our champion and our best friend.
All of us will go on from this brief moment. Some of you I will see again, others, perhaps not, but whether I see you or not, I know that all of us will heal from the pain of these days, from the hurt that has and is, in this moment, swallowing up our emotions and our lives. We will heal and go on because she taught us the how and the why of it, and if we falter or fail for a moment or two, the memory that "she taught us better than that" will once again prod us to reflect for a moment and then begin again the task of living in a way that elevates the human spirit while attempting to improve on the human condition: after all... it's the 'Right Thing To Do" .
She was an amazing lady. Right up to the end, she was concerned for the people around her as much as she was concerned for herself. She never lost track of who she was or how she had decided to live. The night before she died, a young lady who is the daughter of one of the people who was helping to care for her came by to see "Mrs. King." Because of the terrible condition of Mom's body the young girl was sad and afraid, but Mom gathered together enough strength to say a few words of comfort to the girl and made her feel special.
The next day, as she lay in her bed during those final moments of this round, having held on through unimaginable pain until the Grump and I could be there together with her, she smiled, spoke to us and then lapsed into unconsciousness. I was sure that she had left us, but she had one more surprise left. After some moments of silence, broken only by her ragged breathing, she raised her hand, lifted her index finger and like one of the Great Masters of the Dharma, she said in a voice that was as clear as if she were healthy and full of life, "I want to help just one more person!" - then she said 'Bye!,' to us and she was gone.
Her ashes, like those of my brother Kenny will be taken to northern Wisconsin and kept at site there upon which I hope to build a Buddhist Monastery, a place to share with others the legacy that she left me. I told Mom that I thought I would have it done in about twenty years; she told me that I ought to have it ready in ten.... She was always optimistic about our abilities.
If in the coming years you remember nothing else about her; if you want to teach your children and your children's children about her; tell them that she was a person who believed that the best way to get even with a person who had done her harm was to do them a good turn in secret so that they never even knew about it. Tell them that she was brave and true to her credo to her last breath. And tell them that all she even wanted, and all we can ever hope to carry on as her legacy was wrapped up in that last wish .... "to help just one more person" and if we are as true to that ideal as she was, then our success will be her best memorial.
My world is diminished by her passing and brightened by her memory. For the past several years, it has been my custom to call her on the phone on my birthday to say "thanks for the ticket, I'm enjoying the show." If I have regrets, it is that I will now be unable to thank her again as she deserves, except for this one time when I say for myself and those who could not be here today, bye Mom and thanks, we love you...