Throughout this entire ordeal, many people have said that my
mom raised an amazing friend-daughter-mom-sister in me. Thank you, by the way, for everything you all
did for me and our family. I don’t
always feel amazing or strong. Before I
go on, though, I think it is important to set the record straight - I can’t
give all the credit to my mom. That man sitting over there has had a HUGE
impact on who I am today – it’s just that we aren’t here to talk about how
incredible he is today. He’ll get his
turn…. but, HOPEFULLY, not for another decade or more!!
There are a million stories I could share about my mom – but
then we’d all be here for days. I can
vividly remember her telling me when I was about 25, that for years and years
she worried that she wasn’t a good enough mom.
Or that she didn’t do enough to make sure Erv and I knew how much she
loved us. That’s just silly. And I
remember telling her that she was ridiculous for thinking that. (Now that I say that out loud, I realize that
I have recently questioned my own abilities as a mom a million times and have
been reminded by many of you that I was ridiculous for thinking that same thing
about myself.)
My mom was the greatest at “leading by example” in nearly
all aspects of her life. She suffered (and triumphed) through countless
hardships growing up and in her early adulthood. Those were her experiences to share, so I
won’t go into them in detail today. But
the important takeaway is that she never gave up. She fought through the darkest of days. She relied upon her faith and something deep
inside her to pull her through to brighter days. When I was a teenager and young adult, I
learned of those experiences. Shocking, painful, and horrifying experiences. I
learned about her diagnosed Multiple Personalities. She taught me that that diagnosis wasn’t
something that should be hidden or to be ashamed of. My mother wore that diagnosis as a badge of
honor – to remind herself and others that she overcame and never gave up. I learned about how she truly did become the
matriarch of her family because her own mother passed away at a young age –
leaving a houseful of younger siblings who needed her. She stepped in and stepped up. She did what needed to be done. She wasn’t going to let life’s crappy
circumstances stop her. It was while she was sharing those parts of her life
with me, that so many of my early childhood experiences with her became more
clear. It was more importantly, in those
years that my respect and admiration for her multiplied exponentially.
My mom showed Erv and I what it meant to love ourselves and
to love one another, without end and without question. She taught us what it meant to be a
family. She showed us resilience. She gave grace (frequently) and never ever
gave up on us (specifically me – wow, did I make a ton of missteps along the
way). She taught us about unconditional love and support. All that she taught us bled out into the work
she was called to do: in the churches she served, through the lives she touched
at Crossroads, within the hospitals she worked, and in the many communities she
served. If someone needed her
compassionate listening ear, my mother volunteered and listened for as long as
they needed her. If someone needed
prayer, my mother prayed fervently. If
someone needed to understand the love of Christ, my mother taught them. If someone needed grace, my mother gave
grace. My mom stood tall, decades
ago. First, as a woman Minister in a sea
of men; and then as an openly lesbian Minister.
She didn’t allow people’s fears, hatred, ignorance, prejudice, or
phobias deter her from being who she was.
She taught, loved, baptized, married, and celebrated the lives of
countless people…. Literally, more
people than I could ever count. She made
people want to BE better humans, make better choices, and do more with their
lives. She showed people, that one’s
life circumstances need not define who they might become or what they might
accomplish.
My mother talked to me about “becoming a woman.” She lectured me about birth control and
responsible self-care. Get your annual exams and mammograms, ladies! She took her turn being in the passenger seat
while I learned to drive a manual transmission (God blessed her extra for that
job. Phew!). My mom urged me to follow my calling to
serve, care for, and advocate for others – even if that meant I’d have to marry
rich in order to live the “champagne lifestyle” I daydreamed about. (By the by,
that last part still hasn’t happened yet, y’all.) My mom cheered me on at all
three of my graduation ceremonies. She was
there when I got married. And she held
me up through my painful separation and divorce. She was there for the birth of all of my all
three of my babies. My mom taught me to
love fiercely and love first. And she encouraged me to try my best to always hate
last. She taught me to give grace and
forgive often. She believed the act of
forgiveness was about freeing oneself, over freeing the other person from the
pain of wrongdoings. She echoed one of
my dad’s mantras: “You’ve gotta take care of #1 first.” She reminded me
regularly that one day, I’d be a grandma and I’d look back and laugh at all the
little stuff I spend too much time worrying about. (But let’s not make me a
grandma any time soon, mmkay??) She taught me that laughter truly is good
medicine, and that life is too short not
to eat dessert first. She was second mom
to all of my best friends, grandma to anyone under the age of 30 she met, and
friend to the masses. She was the voice
for those who either had none, or for those who hadn’t found theirs yet. She spoke her mind with a sophistication,
eloquence, and grace that I have spent the better part of 3 decades learning to
master, myself.
My mom loved her grandbabies and spent years perfecting her
grandma super powers. She made every effort to attend each and every special
event, performance, and award ceremony they were involved in. She would often tell me how much she wished
she lived closer to her Amanda, so she could be there in person to cheer her on
as well. She looked forward to every
sleepover, every Saturday morning breakfast, and most recently, every delivery
order she and Carole made from Pizza King (just so she could get a couple extra
moments with her Theo). I cannot tell
you the number of times I called my mom in tears, because I was having a hard
day and just needed her. I just need her
– right now, I need her. I’m not sure
how I’ll do life without her. Without
her wise words. Without her gentle and
reassuring touch when I’m at the end of my rope and sobbing on her
shoulder. Or without her calming
presence when one my kids is having a hard day or are on my last nerve. I just don’t know how to do this without
her. In my opinion, she’s gone too
soon. Her grandbabies didn’t have enough
time with her. Erv and I didn’t have
enough time with her. This WORLD didn’t
have enough time with her. It all feels
so unfair.
Over the course of the last 2 weeks of her life, there were
lots of times it was just her and I together.
We would talk. Sometimes it would
make sense and would be about things happening in my life right now. And sometimes, she was a bit mixed up – and that
led to lighter, more humorous moments together.
We spoke of how certain she was that God had a beautiful place waiting
for her. She told me that she knew I
didn’t want her to leave us – but that it would soon be time. She also told me one evening that she “hated
to go” because she loved us so. She told
me she would always love me and would always be near. She made me promise to take care of her “sweet
boy,” Erv – making sure he would be okay, and fighting any doctor who stood in
the way of him getting a new lease on the rest of his life. She made me promise to remind my dad that she
never stopped loving him, and to thank him for giving her the two best things
she ever created. She made me promise to
always love Carole as my “nuther mother,” and to make sure she remembers to
drink lots of water. She made me promise
to thank Susan for taking care of her so kindly and gently. She made me promise to always cheer on my
kids, to push them to follow their hearts, and to lead by example so that they,
too, grow into amazing humans. She made
me promise to visit her Amanda as often as I could, telling Amanda all about
how much she loved her. And she made me
promise to always love myself, to never give up, and to forever believe in real
and lasting love – because she knew my forever love was probably right there in
front of me. She said that God had a plan for me, bigger than I could ever
understand. She reminded me that
brighter days were right around the corner and that I would be okay. That we would all be okay.
It's no secret that my mother sometimes was a little short
on patience, but always heavy on the
strength and stubbornness. (That’s a
Feltes thing, people. Trust me.) That certainly didn’t change over the course
of 4 months of illness. After we made
the decision to transition to comfort care, she would repeatedly ask me why God
hadn’t taken her home yet. She would
wake up from a nap and say “well, I’m not dead yet.” I would respond, “No, mom, you’re not.” One time she demanded that I “get on with
things and move this party along, that she was tired of waiting her turn.” Another time, she demanded that I “contact
the Japanese powers that be, because it was them who determined when people got
to die.” Yes, that happened. Often times, I wondered how much negotiating
she was doing with God. Lots of times, I
noticed that she was muttering things which were mostly nonsense. But one time I heard her say “After
everything I’ve done for everyone else, can’t you just take me home
already?” My heart ached for her in
those moments and I struggled to understand why it had to take so long when she
was so ready.
For 4 weeks, I sat with her every day. Two of those weeks, I practically lived at
Lutheran. I talked to doctors, worked
with nurses, provided reassurance, answered questions, sent a million texts,
held mom’s hand, napped at her bedside, watched hours of court TV and home
renovation programs (to pass the time), and hoped for the best. And for those 2 weeks while she was at VNS
HH, I sat and watched her breathe. I
cried with friends and family, I prayed (a lot), and I waited. I firmly, but
gently, argued with her on why she couldn’t get out of bed and why I wasn’t
going to give in to her demands. One
time while we were discussing why she couldn’t get out bed, I told her that she
was too weak to get up, even to the side of the bed. My mother responded: “No. I am NOT weak; I am just not strong.” There was even some
colorful language a time or two. My
mother told me I was a nag, and she mentioned she was mad at me a couple of
times. It was all a part of the
process. A process that was, by far, the
hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
But I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. I wanted to be with my mom when God finally
called her home. And I was. She was beautiful. She was peaceful. She was comfortable. One of my greatest treasures passed away
January 26th , 2019.
In a moment, someone very dear to our family is going to
sing a song that meant a great deal to me and my mother. It was the first song I can remember singing
on a stage, outside of a church, to a live audience. I dedicated it to my mom in that moment. She sat center-center of the auditorium at
South Side High School, and when I was done – my mom was the only one giving me
a standing ovation, with tears streaming down her face. Mom, did you ever know that you’re my
hero. You’re everything I wish I could
be. I could fly higher than an eagle,
Mama, but you are the wind beneath my wings.
After 27,686 days on this earth – my mother, the greatest woman I have
ever known, the Rev. Dr. Clare Marie Walter, was called Home to her resting
place for all of eternity. I love you
to Heaven and back, Mama. Go rest high
and be free. We’ve got it from here.
