Thank You, Mom

Dr. Sandie Hoover-Kinsinger, my mom, passed away from complications of myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS), a blood-related cancer informally known as preleukemia, on August 22, 2019. She was 57 years old.

I wrote this and spoke it at mom’s funeral on August 28. I have no doubt that I will thank her for a million more things as I go about the rest of my life.

If you had the joy and privilege of knowing her, I hope this brings back fond memories. If you didn’t, I hope it helps you begin to imagine what an amazing person she was.

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I’ve thought a lot about what I might want to say to all of you about my mom today. Something that might capture her essence or resonate nicely. But that feels like both an impossible task and, frankly, something I’m not sure I could do justice.

In the end, I decided that since I’d rather be talking to mom right now, that’s how I’d prefer to approach this moment.

With that in mind…

Mom, I know it’ll sound a little cliche to start this way, but thank you for giving me the gift of life. Though I don’t remember that day, I do know I was born lucky, because I was yours.

Thank you for meeting me where I was as a child with an undiagnosed hearing loss. Your patience with a seemingly disobedient boy far exceeded the average call of motherhood. You helped me learn to read lips and sound out words before I could even properly hear, and my ability to speak is a daily reminder that you were there for me.

Thank you for loving motherhood so much that you took it on twice more and gave me two best friends that didn’t get to choose otherwise.

Thank you for teaching us an absurd game called Pigs and Princesses. We laughed so hard about the juxtaposition of eating our popcorn rambunctiously-with-our-faces-in-bowls or daintily-with-napkins-and-upraised-pinkies based on command. Little moments like that taught us that even though life has serious moments, it should never not be fun and we should always find ways to laugh at ourselves.

Thank you for encouraging me to think critically that one election year before I could even vote. I was proud to announce that, if I could, I’d vote the same way as you, but you asked me why. I was flabbergasted, because I obviously didn’t know, but I’d just said I was on your team. Thinking about the why behind my actions or decisions would give us both confidence about who I was becoming, because it would not be without purpose.

Which, speaking of, thank you for your careful guidance as I chose to be a long-haired hippie skater. I know we were both glad when I grew out of it, but the freedom to explore my identity let me grow, all while knowing my mom loved me and was proud of me — for me.

Thank you for taking an intellectual and academic approach to abstract ideas like resiliency, faith, and hope. Little did you know that weaving yourself into their fabric would bring me wonderful reminders of you every time I’m experiencing them.

Thank you for genuinely loving everyone from all walks and corners of life. Anyone, no matter their worldly status, could walk up and let me know how much you endeared yourself to them and it would make perfect sense. Your demonstration that all people are valuable and deserve love is a tremendous guiding light as I try to follow in your footsteps.

And, bad transition here, I suppose, thank you for always loving dad. It disheartened me at an early age when I, after careful thinking, declared that I’d like to marry you when I grew up. You softly said you couldn’t because you’d already married dad and he, in fact, was your best friend. Your love for each other has always been an inspiration that Rachel and I aspire to emulate in our own marriage.

Thank you for your presence even after Rach and I moved too far away from home. Entering the next stage of my life hasn’t always been easy, but your pride and praise just a phone call away meant more than you could ever know. Nothing I become or achieve would mean much without your support.

And mom, I know it’ll sound a little cliche to end this way, but thank you for giving me the hardest goodbye I’ve ever had to say. Because in the end, I know that the depth of my sorrow and grief is just a reflection of the depth of our love for each other.

And even though every time I thanked you, you’d quickly give me the credit — as if I’d done anything at all — by saying it was me who gave you the gift of being a mom. You deserve all the credit, and it will always be one of the greatest joys of my life to have been given the irreplaceable privilege and gift of being your son.