From Saturday

Several people have requested copies of the the remarks Dad and I gave at Mom's funeral mass. Dad says his words were "written in his head." My mind is far less reliable, so the following is what I had in front of me. I post with one disclaimer: this is not written like anything I would submit to an English teacher. I wrote it Thursday night, printed it, didn't look at it again until Saturday morning, and haven't looked at it since. (Yes, I am effectively washing my hands of all grammatical errors, misspelled words and misused punctuation marks...)

I’m not sure if many people know this, but after Mom was diagnosed in December, she suffered a complication. The day after Christmas, she was admitted to the hospital in St. Louis, and was very limited in what she could communicate for several days. Sometime early in that stage, I was sitting with her in her room in the ICU, my back to the television, and with her eyes barely open she said something I couldn’t understand. Asked her to repeat it, and I made out the words “porch light.” So I said, don’t worry, the porch light is off … she raised her right hand just barely in what appeared to be a gesture toward the door, said again, “porch light.” I turned around, just as Pat and Vanna started clapping – Mom had solved the puzzle.

Most of the month of December exists only as a blur in my mind, but I will never forget that moment … because in that moment, I knew she was going to come back. And I had infinite hope in that moment that we would get our miracle. I remember very clearly -- that was the first night in two weeks I went to sleep without one tear.

That hope did not disappoint. The weeks that followed, she continued to improve. She was able to walk more steps, talk on the phone – even cook a meatloaf and some toffee. But every morning, we would wheel over to her radiation appointments, and every morning, we would see people struggling, hear people talking about the cures for which they were hoping. And a growing unease began to settle inside me – how many prayers were going up for how many people, drowning out and encroaching on our miracle?

So I started to do the math that I’m sure anyone who has been through this kind of experience starts to do – adding up the many reasons why she deserved that miracle more.

I think many of my teachers in high school thought I was terribly unhealthy in grades 9-12. I missed a number of days of school… perhaps exactly 10 each semester … because that’s how many sick days we were allowed, and mom looked at sick days like vacation days – she’d wake me up some random morning and ask how many I had left … provided the answer was at least one, she’d say “good – we’re going shopping.”

A well-worn path developed between our house and the Plaza – the mileage we racked up only outdone by the triptic from here to St. Louis, a drive she’d make to and from, twice a week for eight years solid. She’d hit the road to collect Luke, Mark and Adam from Chaminade every Friday and return them every Sunday… hours in the car she guarded like a bear, and on which she would rarely allow anyone to infringe. Because in the car, she said, she would get her best information. She’d start driving, they’d start talking – so while they were three hours away at school, Mom was still able to guarantee that she was as up on her kids as any other mother.

After she got sick, her taste in food changed enormously. This woman who prided herself on preparing exceptional meals turned to a diet dominated by twizzlers and frosted mini wheats --the snacks she packed on those road trips every week to St. Louis.

More often than not, parents talk about the teenage years in terms of survival, but I seem to remember our parents actually enjoying them … for the most part. I asked Mom about that just a couple of weeks ago, and her response, “I loved it when you were teenagers. Treat your kids the way you expect them to behave, and you’ll be fine.” I resisted the urge to ask if that means they treated Mark like a felon.

In all honesty, I would say our parents treated us like gold, but that’s not even an adequate comparison. If we really do judge ourselves by how our parents react when we walk into the room, then you should be looking at the four most arrogant human beings on the planet.

After Mom got sick, and Adam started the blog, we tried to tell Dad how to login, and he told us he was living it, he didn’t need to read about it. Well, Dad, you’re stuck, and you don’t have to read anything … I’ll read it to you.

From December 28:
When we were sitting with Mom in her room in the Neuro ICU at Barnes today, I looked at Dad and I wondered if he thinks back to meeting her in a St. Louis hospital all those years ago. Could they have ever even considered that they’d be back in this capacity? I don’t think anyone ever does. They’re adjusting. We’re all adjusting. But they have an added responsibility as parents – one from which they’ve never shied. They continue to teach by example. Ask any one of us. We understand vows now. Over the last two weeks our parents have truly taught us what marriage means.

At some point over the last seven months, Dad has told each of us how much he has appreciated the “sacrifices” we have made through this. When I saw you take Mom’s wedding rings off her hand the other day, all I could think is how lucky we were. I can’t figure out what sacrifice any one of us has made. Rather, we were handed a unique opportunity to give you even just a glimpse into the gratitude each of us feels for having been raised your children. You have set a standard toward which we will each strive … one against which we will judge ourselves in our work, in our homes, and especially with our own children.

I wish with everything in me that Mom were here and healthy today. But the fact that she isn’t doesn’t mean our prayers weren’t answered. We got our miracle – we just lived within it for the last three decades. In counting up the reasons why Mom deserved a cure, I realized just days before she died that I was counting up individual miracles … When a good friend was dying of cancer a couple of years ago, she said to me, you have to remember, everyone here is losing one person – the person dying is losing everyone. She was right about pretty much everything … she’d be the first to tell you… but I really think she was wrong on that count. Because when I think of her now, I see her in a place where the Cardinals and Notre Dame football are enjoying perpetual winning seasons, she’s snagging bread out of the oven and getting toffee off the stove while planning her next trip– and where she’s managed to solve the one puzzle she was never quite able to figure out here on Earth … the ultimate multi-tasker has found a way to be five places at once … and still light up every corner of Heaven with a dazzling smile.

Rochelle (Shelley) Reuter Wuellner, 57, died Wednesday, July 6.

She was born to the late Philip and Roberta (Buffy) Reuter on May 2, 1954, in Williston, North Dakota. She graduated from Medicine Lake High School in 1972, and received her Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing in 1976 from the College of St. Catherine in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She married David Wuellner on July 2, 1977, in Medicine Lake, Montana, and they lived in St. Louis and Nashville before making Sedalia home in 1983.

Shelley worked as a registered nurse and as a part-time nursing instructor at State Fair Community College before becoming a full-time homemaker, a role she approached with unmatched joy, energy and dedication.

She was an active member of Sacred Heart Church and accepted leadership roles with Sacred Heart School Foundation, Sacred Heart Parish Council, P.E.O., Pettis County Health Center Board, Bothwell Regional Health Center Foundation Board, and Sorosis.

She is survived by her husband, Dr. David Wuellner, Sedalia, and four children: Luke Wuellner, San Diego; Mark (Maggie) Wuellner, Cincinnati; Abigail Wuellner, St. Louis; and Adam Wuellner, Chicago. She is preceded in death by her parents and one brother.

Mass of Christian Burial will be 10 a.m. Saturday, July 9, 2011 at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, with the Rev. Father Mike Volkmer officiating.

In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to Sacred Heart School Foundation.

View Mom's obituary in the Sedalia Democrat. We also submitted a copy to the Plentywood Herald.

Wednesday Morning

I post the following with a combined sense of sadness and relief.

Mom slipped into a coma over the weekend, and died peacefully at 2:05 this morning. We have all been home since late last week, and at least one of us has been with her around the clock. Luke and Mark were by her side when she passed.

Her funeral mass will take place at Sacred Heart Church in Sedalia on Saturday, July 9 at 10:00 a.m. Her obituary will run in tomorrow's paper, and we'll post it here, as well. In lieu of flowers, we would suggest contributions to Sacred Heart School Foundation, an organization that honors Mom's dedication to Catholic education and supports a school she loved -- the one that educated all four of her children.

Thank you all for your continued kindness, prayers, love and support. Few things I will claim to know with absolute certainty, but I know we were blessed enough to have an incredible mom whose spirit we will feel but whose physical presence we will miss every day for the rest of our lives. I also know that in the life we experience after this one -- whatever that may be -- there is no cancer. For those things, and many, many more, we are indescribably grateful.