Where’s Mum?

On 8^th February 2017 a mob of us gathered at St Alban’s Anglican Church in Hamlyn Heights to celebrate the life of my Mum. My Mum was named Wenche (pronounced “Vanka”) Smith, née Abrahmsen and she was born on 19^th October 1922 and “promoted to glory” on 3^rd February 2017.

During the weekend before the funeral, my sister Karen posted on Facebook a couple of photos of the raised garden beds which several of us built for Mum’s 90^th Birthday at the back of the house in Bell Park.  As a caption to the photos, she typed only two words: “Where’s Mum?”

Hence the title of this blog.

I shall insert pages of the booklet used at the funeral service throughout this post.

 

In the service the first hymn we sang was “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” which was always one of Mum’s favourite hymns, was one of my Dad’s favourite hymns many years ago and remains one of my favourite hymns to this day.

After opening prayer there followed several eulogies from family members:

Phil Smith: Wenche’s eldest son:

Eulogy for Wenche Smith by Phil Smith 2017-02-08.

For about ten years I have been coming to this church several Sundays each year and invariably, Mum has sat at that seat near the pillar where Ben is sitting today. – Hey, Ben, what are you doing sitting in my Mum’s favourite seat?

If I come back to this church in the future, it is going to seem strange to me that Mum is not sitting in that seat. And it will seem strange that after the 10 am service she is not sitting just there at the back, enjoying her cuppa – invariably served using a cup and saucer while everyone else in the church drinks theirs from mugs.

Things will be different.

I will miss her.

All of you who are here today will miss her in the myriad of different ways in which she impacted our lives.

She’s been my Mum for more than seventy years.

If I were to go through all the wonderful memories, we would still be here next Wednesday, but I will select just a few:

Mum always told the story of “Phillip’s First Christmas” – how the family went to a great deal of trouble setting up the Christmas tree, the lights, the decorations, and the shiny colourfully-wrapped presents, and little Phillip was brought out to see what his reaction would be.

Well, little Phillip immediately turned his back on all the brightness and lights, picked up his old Cocoa tin, which had two buttons inside it to make it a rattle, and became thoroughly engrossed in making as much noise as possible with it. I do not recall the incident, but I clearly remember the Cocoa tin since, having outgrown its usefulness as a rattle, I used it to store various childhood treasures for years and years and years.

Anyone here remember Cocoa tins? (a few hands were raised in response)

Mum was a great teacher, and I reckon I was greatly privileged to be “Number One Son”, as I got the best teaching of all.  I had to share the attention when my siblings arrived.  By the time she had nine of us, Mum got kind of busy!

I can clearly remember being taught how to put the shilling into the gas meter and to turn the little gadget so the shilling would clunk down inside and the cooking of the Sunday roast could continue.

I can remember being held in Mum’s arms as we sat in a sidecar with the back wheel of the motorbike spinning around up there right beside us.  I remember the wind blowing in my face as we travelled along. To this day, I still thoroughly enjoy feeling that wind in my face as I ride my own motorbike and sidecar around Queensland. Thanks Mum for introducing me to a lifetime of enjoyment!

When Mum’s brother, my uncle Ottar, would be fixing his Calthorpe motorbike, Mum would sit me out there on the scoria in the back yard at 9 Bloomsbury Street in Chillwell so Ottar could teach me how motorbikes worked:  Wow! Ottar had incredible patience to teach a little kid like me! But Mum had him teach me stuff which I have remembered all my life.  Lots of very useful stuff.

Aside from many similar practical lessons, Mum also taught me to read and write before I ever went near school. The trouble was, she taught me the letter names “A”, “B”, “C”, etc. whereas, the teachers wanted me to always use the phonic sounds of the letters “a”, “b”, “c”, etc.  I got into trouble for that.

But ever-resourceful Mum adapted her teaching methods so that the rest of my siblings didn’t have to go through the trauma of re-learning the alphabet!

I clearly remember Mum congratulating me the first time I ever wrote a complete sentence. I still clearly remember the sentence word for word. It was: “On the third day God raised Jesus from the dead.” That sentence was later to profoundly change my life.  I wrote that sentence using chalk on a slate, entirely from memory – I had not yet started school but there on the back verandah of that little cottage in Terang, I wrote it out in full. “On the third day God raised Jesus from the dead.” How amazing that my wonderful Mum had the presence of mind to teach me to memorise one of the most important facts that ever occurred in the entire history of mankind. (several in the congregation shouted out “Amen!” at this point).

As we all grew up, the most important rule was, “you must come straight home when the street lights come on.” We could go anywhere and play with anyone, provided Mum knew where we were.

She was already grey-haired and into her fifties when I came home one day with a brand new shiny Italian motorbike.  As I arrived home Mum came out the back door, took one look at the new bike, yelled out “Woohoo!” and ran back inside. A moment later she ran out again strapping a helmet onto her head, jumped up behind me on the pillion seat and yelled out “Let’s Go!” That day, as we rode up the Omeo Highway, Mum leaned forward and yelled, “Faster!” Trouble was, I was already above the speed limit! (many in the congregation laughed at this).

Enough memories! I need to leave something for my siblings to say!

A couple of days ago, Karen posted on Facebook a couple of photos of the raised garden beds we made for Mum in the back yard with the caption that read simply “Where’s Mum?” (see the photos at the top of this post).

Talk about leaky eyes!

That house in Bell Park will never seem quite the same without Mum there.

Where’s Mum?

Only her physical remains are inside that white box just there.

Mum is now with Jesus for all eternity with perfect health, a perfect body, and absolutely no pain!

Hallelujah! (many in the congregation echoed shouts of “Hallelujah!” at this point).

Trudi Smith, Wenches youngest Daughter:

Mum was the eldest daughter of Norwegian and Swedish immigrants who were hoping to be wheat farmers As a young child she roamed the Mallee.

Mum’s earliest memory, when she was about 3 was of praying with her father.

When she was around 9 she asked her father to pray about something.

He told her she was able to talk with God herself …

and so she did …

and never stopped …

When Mum and Dad were married, They had both found a ‘keeper’.

Theirs was a great love that produced a loving family.

As the family grew and spread far and wide with grandchildren and great grandchildren Mum never missed a birthday no matter how far the message had to travel. So they all knew they were special to her.

After Dad had died I looked forward to those school holidays when I’d pack Joy and Jon into the car in Echuca and head off to Mum’s, in Gippsland, often arriving around 2am.

Mum would be waiting up for us without fail.

After a day of recovery Mum and I would load the kids back into the car and head off on a ‘relly run’ fitting in as many visits to  ‘rellies’ and friends as we could.

So many good laughs and memories!

When the kids and I were staying with Karen and Mum, after they had moved near Echuca, my bedroom was a bungalow and one night I went out to find an 8 inch spider on the wall right above my bed.

Of course I called for Mum!!   Mum!! When she spotted the spider she said to me  My!! YOU do have a problem.

Thanks Mum!!!

Mum was not perfect (she came pretty close) but definitely pure of heart and all she did and said came from a place of love.

She had a capacity for love and acceptance second to none.

Rodney Smith, Wenche’s fifth son:

Mum always believed that disagreement was like oxygen, it cannot be avoided, but being disagreeable is a choice, and a choice that she made very sparingly indeed.

I do not believe there is a single person here today who was not accepted precisely as they are, by my Mum, warts and all.

This did not mean she did not have opinions!! Those of us who knew her well knew that Mum was no pushover. She knew exactly what she believed and exactly why she believed it. She felt no need to be heard unless it was of vital importance. She felt no need to “win” an argument.

In short, she rarely felt the need to be “disagreeable”.

When we see her children here, spanning the spectrum from Christian to Pagan and various levels of agnostic in between, there is not one of us who feels any less loved or accepted by our mother.

If there is a single message to take home from my Mother’s life, it would be this : “the things about which we can agree are many, being disagreeable is a choice”.

Ann Blizzard, Wenche’s middle daughter:

Ann’s Eulogy

Mum and Dad had more house moves than years married. Always into rentals and often out of town, we roamed in paddocks and lanes, collected tadpoles, climbed trees and made cubbies in haystacks. We played in streets and ate in neighbour’s houses with no fear. Clothes were handed from family to family and giving and receiving was unmeasured and as natural as the ebb and flow of tides.

We were blessed.

With each house shift out came the sturdy, battered tea chests and collected newspapers. Possessions were wrapped and stored or shed and spread as needed. We learned not to be too attached to stuff, and that home is wherever the family is.

In each new place Mum dug a veggie patch and, if there wasn’t already one, Dad installed a septic tank. We dreaded the end of summer because Mum made homemade tomato sauce and refused to buy any ‘real’ sauce until it was finished. We sullenly watched Mum work her way through the lot.

For me Mum’s crowning quality was her masterful capacity to find ways to keep loving us all despite the myriad of ways we managed to fall short of her high moral values to which she was faithful.

Mum was good for the hard yards. Since she had nine children but had never been present at a birth I asked her to come to my first child’s birth. My ulterior motive was that while my relationship with the Almighty was estranged, Mum’s was solid and as a serial-prayer I thought we might be in with a chance. After our miracle I asked Mum what it was like to be at the other end of the table. During her thoughtful pause I imagined words like … beautiful, moving … spiritual even.  Mum replied ‘… it was messy”.

Fast forward to the last 3 days of Mum’s life. While we all imagined Mum dying peacefully in her sleep … there were aspects that were messy. How privileged we were to be able to stand with her in her troubles as she had stood with us through so many of ours

Ann’s Acknowledgement

Together with my brothers I want to acknowledge the outstanding effort of two people without whom Mum may not have lived so long or so comfortably enabling her to continue to contribute to us all right up to her passing.

Thank you Karen for sharing a home with Mum, doing all the harder work and looking out for her in the many, many ways that you have.

And to Trudi for enabling mum to stay actively involved in all her interests such as church and friend groups and for all the running around, taking Mum shopping, to appointments and for your continuous endeavour to keep all the relatives connected. Outstanding job both of you and very much appreciated by us all.

I would also like to thank our cousin for contributing to the enablement of some members of our family to be present at this special farewell.

After the Eulogies, Psalm 23 was read by Joy Travis, Wenche’s Granddaughter.

The Gospel according to John 14:1-6 was then read by Trevor Smith, Wenche’s fourth son.

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.” Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.

An inspiring address was given by the Reverend Jon Taylor.

A prayer of thankfulness for Wenche’s life – was read by Karen Smith, Wenche’s eldest daughter:

We give thanks for Wenche, and the life she has lived.

We thank you for the commitment she had to her husband John, and their nine children, providing nurture, care and instruction (instruction not necessarily heeded)  through their various stages of life.

We thank you for the years she and John gave, once their own children had matured, in making a home for the homeless, becoming houseparents to many young people who had no hope, who were then nurtured, cared for and taught how to live, some of whom are here with us today.

We thank you for the love with which she has she has welcomed her children’s life partners, and her grandchildren into her family, and received them into her home for holidays or other celebrations.

We thank you the gift she has used very specifically in making a crocheted rug for each of her great grandchildren as they have come along, so that they would have ‘something’ from their great grandmother. Along with that came a commitment to remember each and every great grandchild’s birthday (with the help of her calendar and list on the fridge). This commitment was still with her on her last day in hospital.

We thank you for the time she gave in caring for her husband, over the last years of his life, as his health deteriorated and she had to take on full responsibility as carer and provider.

We thank you Lord for her contribution to church life over so many years, always there, always faithful, and always with words of wisdom for those who sought her advice.

We thank you for her faithfulness and commitment to you, Lord, over the years, regardless of whether life was comfortable, or demanding beyond any reasonable expectations.

We thanks you for her life, and that we have been privileged to be part of it.

Amen

Rev John Taylor then said a prayer for Wenche’s family and friends

This was followed by the congregation joining in the Lord’s Prayer – Matthew 6:9-13

Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors.
And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.

Following the prayers, an excellent PowerPoint presentation made up of photos of Wenche and her family and spanning the whole of her life was screened while her youngest son, David Smith sang ‘Amazing Grace’

1. Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
   That saved a wretch like me!
   I once was lost, but now am found;
   Was blind, but now I see.
2. ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
   And grace my fears relieved;
   How precious did that grace appear
   The hour I first believed.
3. Through many dangers, toils and snares,
   I have already come;
   ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
   And grace will lead me home.
4. The Lord has promised good to me,
   His Word my hope secures;
   He will my Shield and Portion be,
   As long as life endures.
5. Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
   And mortal life shall cease,
   I shall possess, within the veil,
   A life of joy and peace.
6. The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
   The sun forbear to shine;
   But God, who called me here below,
   Will be forever mine.
7. When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
   Bright shining as the sun,
   We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
   Than when we’d first begun.

[Words by John Newton, 1779; verse 7, author unknown, 1829]