Eulogy for Nancy Hughes

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Eulogy for Nancy Hughes

· Eulogy,Family

I have long resonated with the idea of God as a mother figure. One who loves and comforts her children, corrects them when necessary, and gives them the strength and passion to carry on throughout life’s varying circumstances. The prophet Isaiah also understands God in this way, and assures us that as a mother comforts her children, God will also comfort us during our time of sorrow. This is a God that we can understand—a god that loves us, cares for us and mothers us. This is the version of god that was reflected in the life of my grandmother, Nancy Hughes.

In the gospels of Matthew and Luke, Jesus also compares god to a mother. He says that God is like a mother hen who wants to stretch out her wings over her chicks and protect them. This image, the image of a mother hen with her arms outstretched, this is the image of God that sticks with me most, and in this moment of reflection and remembrance, it’s a vision of Nancy that resonates as well. Nancy was most definitely a mother hen—she would either fiercely protect and nurture you, or henpeck you to death until you did exactly as she wanted.

The role of mother hen is one Nancy knew from a very young age. As one of the oldest of the Hoskins brood she helped raise her brothers and sisters, and I’m sure they would tell you that there was no shortage of henpecking even in her younger days. Even as she and her siblings grew older, she still held on to her maternal role—taking as much care of them as she could even as her own heath began to decline. Her favorite thing to do was to sit proudly amongst her “chicks” at family functions and check in on every branch of her family making sure everyone was doing exactly what they should be doing. Family reunions and family trips were some of her most cherished experiences, and she was so proud of her great grandchildren Nic, Allie, Brandon, Delaney and Parker and loved to travel with them.

Family meant so much to Nancy- whether it was the annual reunion or the Christmas eve tradition of progressing house to house for celebrations, family was the core of her very being. She loved to be in the midst of all of her grandchildren and great grandchildren and would sit back proudly as we fought over the last scoop of her dumplins. Let me assure you, there is nothing in the world quite as delicious as my grandmother’s dumplins—and woe be to the person who ate the last helping each year at Thanksgiving. Somehow, food and Nancy were always intertwined—whether it be dumplins, fried shrimp Saturday nights, the horrible smell that cabbage made when she was cooking it or the sweet taste of her homemade pies, love was a major ingredient in her cooking—well that and paprika.

Nancy LOVED Pictures—she would sit and look at them for hours upon hours. If you have ever visited her home you know that there are pictures of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren everywhere—from the Senior portrait gallery on the piano, the family pictures on the mantle, the pictures hanging on every open space all the way to the ever present photo albums, she surrounded herself with pictures of her loved ones and would look at them over and over and over and over and over again. And if you had pictures out and were looking at them without sharing with her? She would pester you until you shared—and if you didn’t watch out, those pictures would magically disappear into her purse and go home with her.
Speaking of her purse, Nancy would not and could not leave her purse behind for any reason. If we were eating out at a restaurant, the purse would go to the buffet with her—even if 10 people remained at the table. If she did leave it—even for a moment it was with an admonishment to “watch my purse”. We were convinced that there was some great treasure she was hiding in there!

One of the things Nancy would henpeck anyone to near death about was cleaning—this was apparently a lifelong obsession of hers, as even her relatives would say that she was “nasty clean.” If a crumb even THOUGHT about falling on the floor Nancy could spot it from across the room and before you could stop her she’d be there bent over picking the tiniest crumb out of the carpet. She kept an immaculate home, and quite frankly believed that everyone should do the same. Even her car was spotless. I’m still not sure how a 1985 Chrysler LeBaron can be falling apart on the outside, but still look and smell brand new on the inside, but I do know that if you even THOUGHT about bringing dirt into that car you’d get a look that would make you think twice about it from then on out. And if you DARED to leave your bedroom without making your bed? You’d hear about it for the next 10-15 years, at least.

And oh how she loved this church. If these doors were open and she could get here? She’d be here. She considered so many of you her own family and included you in the ranks of those she’d shelter under her mothering wings. From her spot right back there, she watched as so many of you grew up got married and brought your own children to church here. She loved this church so much and was so proud of her long membership here. I remember sitting curled beside her on Sunday mornings listening to Paul Livasey preach as my mother played the organ, my dad sang in the choir and my grandfather served at the table. This church was a source of such love and joy for her.

Yes, Nancy was most definitely a great mother hen—loving and sheltering and guiding and henpecking and prodding. She was loving and tender as long as you listened to her, and if you failed to listen, she’d preach at you until you came around. We often had to remind her that we had already heard one sermon during the week and really didn’t need another, but she often felt obliged to preach at us anyway. She was the great matriarch of our tribe- to the extent that my father even called her “chief”. And now we are a tribe without a matriarch, and we long to be comforted—her outstretched wings are no longer here to embrace us, and we feel a deep sense of loss and longing.

And so we cling to these words from Isaiah—like a mother comforts her children, so I will comfort you. God has promised that we do not have to do this alone. It is in these moments of missing her and mourning the hole she has left in our hearts that we must turn to each other for strength and comfort, but more than that we must rely on the God who has promised to be there like a mother comforts her children. We must rest in the hope that we are gathered beneath God’s mothering wings and we are safe within the love that community provides. By her own example, Nancy taught each of us just how wide and how powerful God’s love is, and it is this love that will sustain us in the days ahead.

Amen.