Below is the remembrance I wrote for grams that I tearfully delivered at her church service.

Martin Luther King I was not but I can only hope my little choked-up homily gave her the justice and limelight she deserves. I think of her frequently now as I fly across the globe and give a big smile whenever it crosses my mind that she and I are together again if only briefly in the skies above: she in heaven and me in my noisy US Airways jet in the clouds. Love you grams!

As I was contemplating what I would say here today about my very best friend, I was presented with quite a challenge: how to tell the story of the ultimate storyteller. How to convey the life and light that was the ball of energy, tour-de-force Mary Alice Gerber. To do this fully, we’d need a feature length film of her life but since we don’t have three hours, I’ll do my best to do her justice in 5 minutes.

As many of you may know, my Grandma had a life-threatening heart attack when I was five years old. I have thought often throughout my life how lucky I am, how lucky we all are, that she survived and we had so many years with her. Grandma became such a strong and persistent influence in my life. Second mom, loving friend, grams, she had an indelible impact in forming who I have become and through the toughest times in my life, her love and belief in me kept me afloat and heading forward in a positive direction. She was the rare person who was never too busy to listen to someone, celebrate their triumphs and with them, laugh away their sorrows. She was a rock, always there for me and for so many other people. Many summer nights upon arrival at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, I would leap out of the car, lie down on the driveway and scream “I’m home!” I meant it. Both Prospect Street and Grandma were emotional homes for me. I will live every day remembering her unconditional love and protection.

I always wanted to spend my spare moments with Grandma whenever time allowed. I remember how she would respond in shock when I said every year in college that I wanted to spend spring break with her and Grandpa in Florida and that oh by the way, I was bringing my friends along too. The truth was there was no one I’d rather be with because she was full of fun, wit and positivity with an unending capacity to love. She listened to my crazy 80’s dance music and kept up on the many characters that came in and out of my life throughout the years. She was so present and engaged and always knew what I needed and gave it to me, even if I didn’t say a word. I felt and I’m sure you felt, special being in a relationship with her. Many people as they age, drift away from their family members but with grandma, we were closer with each passing year and I know as a grandchild of hers, my situation was not unique. I talked to her twice a week for an hour even in her sickest days, recounting hilarious life stories and getting her wise advice. We all know that she wasn’t shy about her opinion (a trait many of us have inherited) She didn’t always tell you what you wanted to hear, but instead what you needed to hear. And I for one, appreciated her bluntness and honesty.

Some of my fondest moments with grandma, were as a little girl when I would lay in bed with her and she would scratch my back while we’d watch TV and talk about life. I missed those times as I grew older. I got a special gift last Christmas when in an energetic burst, we talked for hours and stayed up until 1:30 in the morning in her bedroom, laying together, reliving memories and going through some of her life’s most treasured possessions, complete with narratives from her. As we rifled through grandpa’s old war pictures, the love letters he sent her, the treasured kimono and shoes brought back from Japan and her many book and bibles, it suddenly hit me what an incredibly rich life Grandma had experienced while almost never leaving home. Everything she needed and loved was always right here: family, faith, the man that she loved so deeply, the town she adored and the house that was so perfect for her, she insisted upon dwelling in it until her dying breath. She recognized the simple things that were important in life.

One of my favorite and more poignant stories that Grandma used tell was the special method Grandpa had for wiping her worry away. I think it’s a help for all us here today who are grappling with how to fill the huge void left by her passing and somehow know that it will be OK. As she told the story, many times when Grandma was overcome by grief or stressful thoughts, Grandpa would lovingly lead her out to the backyard and show her the night-time sky. He took her hands and said, “Mary Alice, do you see all these stars in the sky? God made all of them and if he can create all of those and take care of them, he will take care of you and your worries too.”

That’s what we all have to believe right now. That a great and amazing God will watch over us and take care of our worries too. For those who want a simpler and more light-hearted solution to deal with the sadness of her passing, you know what Grandma would say to you…one of her favorite phrases….”Just suck it up and move on!”

The only solace I have in losing Grandma is that Grandpa has gained her once again and I picture them in heaven, walking together hand-in-hand on a beautiful beach, searching for seashells and planning for the swing dance later. I know they are so happy to be reunited and to be sleeping on cushy clouds above instead of those stiff “I Love Lucy” pushed-together twin beds they had for their whole marriage. I am also comforted by knowing now that someday when I get to heaven, Grandma will be there welcoming me lovingly with a hug, the little yolky eggs she always made for me and her beloved “homemade” cinnamon rolls bought from the IGA .

I had the unexpected privilege of speaking to grandma on the phone one final time a few weeks ago. As she closed our very last conversation, she exclaimed, “I love you Tishy. Always have, always will.” Me too Grandma. I love you. Always have, always will.

I’d like to end with the words to a song I would sing to Grandma that always reminded me of her whenever I heard it. As the lyrics go, “Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I would like to be. I could fly higher than an eagle. Because you are the wind beneath my wings.” Thank you grandma for everything that you were and everything that you did. Rest in peace.

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Historians say that Gaius Julius Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon into Rome, his “casting of the die” as he so famously called it, not only changed the course of the Republic, it transformed the face of civilization as we know it. How can we have that kind of courage and employ it? Why are we so afraid to cast the die? A recent trip to the Eternal City got me to thinking about these issues and the wisdom of the ancients. When you see an 1800 year-old column before you, your perspective on your existence is immediately and forever transformed. I am still making sense of the resulting changes in me and determining what it is “I know for sure.” There are three things of which I am most positive…the beauty of a Senatorial robe cast in stone, the lick-your-lips goodness of gelato and the romance that can be had in the night-time shadows of the Trajanian ruins. The rest is TBD:pigtails:

Long Live the Republic (Or is it the Empire?),
TLRG

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After I peeked at Pre’s life story depicted on screen, his equline-like muscles dancing in motion, there was only one thing to do: Strap on a pair of Nikes myself and start fartleking. Building up a marathon endurance has not been easy, especially given my nerdish, sedintary former existence. I’ve endured more than my share of giggles from friends and loved ones along the way. “My daughter, an althlete?” (Cue the uncontrollable laughter) You want running shoes more than a new purse? Are you su-re? Wait, let me get this straight, you just fell jogging on a cement sidewalk and poked a crater in your knee and you’re going to keep at it? Uh, Yep, as soon as the 10 layers of skin heal over and my ankle air cast comes off.

During my journey to the eight minute mile, I’ve discovered a community of obsessed fellow enthusiasts (who knew there were so many other people willing to rise at 5:30 AM to run 45 minutes in 90 degree heat) and learned the secret rules of running authenticity, like: 1) water bottle belts are only for neophytes, sissies and those in a marathon training program who can’t even run two miles; 2) one NEVER wears the shirt of the race you are running in but instead shows off by donning shirts from the cool races you’ve run in the past. Althelete as showhorse..hee..hee..and 3) Runners are loyal and unwavering about the brand of shoes they will don. Nike is Nike and Saucony is Saucony and nere the two shall meet. Although I confess to recently making the surprising transition from New Balance to ASICS, an unlikely swap which is only the result of losing my NB’s in an airport luggage mix-up. I won’t tell if you won’t. I mean who wants to lose my corporate sponsorship?

I’m convinced runners are the ham radio geeks of the sports world: so excited to find a fellow journeyman and perfectly happy discussing mutual interests of the best shoes, socks, wicking material and early morning running routes for hours on end. It unites people from all walks of life. Running has transformed me, physically and emotionally. Not only did I grow breasts, but my entire anatomical shape changed and I sprouted mini-muscles on my arms and legs. Mentally, I am stronger having broken a barrier I never thought I could, scuplting my body into an athletic machine and graduating from atrophied geekdom to be one of “them”, the swift in speed and spirit who gladly get up at 6AM on Saturday to run the charity race.

Pre once said that to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift. Thanks Steve for inspiring me to realize I had a gift to give to myself. :cheer:

Signed,
TLRRG (That Little Redheaded Running Girl)

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Today though, I feel the forces of darkness and melancholy descending upon bite-size portions of my countenance. From whence does this come? I’ve been wrestling with a tough as nails question in the past few days that begs but does not receive an easy answer. The query is this…why is it that many people view me as a product and personality with an expiration date? That I’m thought of as a means and not an end…a stopover in this crazy whirlwind we call life, but not a destination? Permanence thy name is not TLRG.

People befriend me, love me, take my marrow of life and leave. They move away, find new cliques, marry the clinically boring and leave me in the lurch. Like an ancient mystic or Grecian oracle, individuals come to me, seek truth, beauty and growth from my spirit and then go live their enlightened lives elsewhere. Perhaps this is my gift to the world. My generosity, my humanity, my wisened point of view..Sometimes I must confess though that my world is a very quiet place to be.

My perplexity only grows as I see world class witches and warlocks filled with vitriol who attract followers and friends to them like fervent flies while I am loyal, true, and giving to a fault and end up talking to my walls. Dr. Phil would say I’m creating this reality by my actions, but I patently do not believe it. I have analyzed my situation from the couches of Freud, Jung and others and I see no fatal flaw in my practical, reasoned approach to life. I remain open and giving, if a bit more naggahide tough, hoping that people will see fit to abide in me and focusing on my sources of shining light. You know who you are and how ever so grateful I am to have your loving flames to keep me warm. Nevertheless, this vexes me so. I am not a needy person. I am strong and require very little from others in this life. I don’t want co-dependents just people willing to accompany me as fellow travelers on the journey ahead. If only Mr. Darby could come to my rescue..hee..hee..

Signed,
TLRG

P.S. Never fear, I’ll likely be back talking of rainbows and flying, pretty purple unicorns tomorrow.:cheer:

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