It's been 4 years since I saw my mom for the last time, so I thought I'd post what I read at her funeral a few years ago.

So I’ve been thinking about what I would say at this time for years; you would think I’d have it by now.

I just can’t seem to find a way to get across to this entire congregation that my mom was perfect. She wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the word but she was everything to my brother, to her husband-my dad, and to me.

Then again, if you’re sitting here, you probably know that already because my mom talked about her family incessantly. I would always tell her, “Stop Mom, people are going to hate us.” She would reply, “I don’t care. I know it’s terrible to be that smug about your family but I got the best.”

Well, we thought the same of her too. She was the best so she got the best. The best of almost everything, but not best refrigerator.

A few years ago my parents bought a new refrigerator. It’s stainless steel with a freezer on the bottom. There are all these compartments and drawers and whatnot. It’s beautiful, but I think that if she had it to do over again my mom wouldn’t want the same one. You see, although it was beautiful, it wasn’t magnetic. For my whole life the front of our fridge has been full. There are sayings all over the place.

One of my favorites is a Dear Abby article. It’s all tattered and worn now. It’s been spilled on, taped up, and smudged, but I think it’s how my mom saw life.

Dear Abby: I just read the letter from the 28-year-old grandmother of four who tacked a poster on her door with “rules” to keep visitors away. Well, I’m a 38 year-old mother of six, and I’m amazed that anyone would want that much privacy. We’re newcomers who live in the country, and I’m stuck out her with six kids, two dogs and three cats. I’m so hungry for company, I’m ready to go out on the road and flag down some strangers.

Please print my “poster” in the paper for all to read:

You may smoke inside, outside, on the roof or anywhere you wish; just don’t burn the house down.

If you’re hungry, help yourself to anything you can find. And if you can’t find anything, ask one of the kids. They’ll fix you a peanut butter and brown sugar sandwich.

If you’re here around mealtime, grab a chair and join us.

If you want to stay over-night, bring a sleeping bag and we’ll move some clutter from the corner to make room for you.

Bring your kids; we have so many a few more won’t make a difference.

Tell us your troubles and we’ll tell you ours. One of our kids can play the violin for background music, and we can all cry together.

If you can stand us, we can stand you, so drop in anytime and stay as long as you like. We’re people who like people.

That’s my mom; she loved people. So much that where there weren’t sayings and inspiring articles, there were people.

The front of our fridge was covered in pictures. That was her world. Her students who she still kept in contact with, years after she wasn’t their teacher anymore. Her friends who have done more for her and her family that we ever thought possible. Her aunts and uncles, who she always held in the highest regard, Her in-laws. For some, in-laws are almost a bad word, not for her though—she loved each and every one of them as if they were her blood. Her nieces and nephews and my brother’s and my friends—she treated them like they were her own children-high expectations and a whole lot of love. Her parents and Tom and Sandy, who were everything to her, And, of course, her husband and her kids.

That was it. There wasn’t any jewelry on her fridge. There weren’t material things. In fact, I think she’s wearing the same shirt in 7 of the pictures of the family on the fridge. That was just her way. She would rather buy her students a new pair of shoes, or donate her money to Andre House or buy a plane ticket for a family member to come and visit than spend money on “stuff.”

She loved people. Her relationships were an inch wide and a mile deep because once you were in, you were in. She might yell at you, give you advice, call you on your crap or, even, write you a letter, but it was always, always, always out of love. She expected a lot from the people she loved. She put them on her fridge and in her heart forever, as we will her.

All right Mom, my first and best teacher, you usually edit my papers, but I did this one on my own. I hope you liked it.