_[I woke up at 3AM on Sunday morning and wrote this hoping I would have a chance to speak at my Mom's services. It served as the basis for my remarks at her funeral on Tuesday. RIP mama Allio.]
_

When I think about my mom, I think about love. The love she had for life. The love she had for her children and grandchildren, and the love she had for my father. And the love life had for her. The children had for her. Her husband had for her.

When you get right down to it, strip everything away, what else is there?

I would say mom had her hands full raising eight kids. Not quite equally full, mind you. Of course, I have a lot of memories of her taking care of us. Corralling us. Cooking dinner, sewing my school pants after I tore them the first day of school, seemingly attending every baseball or basketball game. Remarking that I should have swung at that 3-2 fastball.

And to think she did all this in the age before comfort lattes and iPhones.

I remember her chasing Joe and Matt around the house with a paddle but not having the heart to give them a good whack. A whack, I might add, that they deserved.

I remember one of her more serious moments with me when she sat me down and asked me if I was "using" because I had so little money after working part time all the way through high school. No mom, I wasn't using. I just hadn't read Fast Food Nation yet.

I remember two Thanksgivings ago when she wrote letters to each of her children and read them out loud to us. How much her letter to me touched me.

When we moved to Beijing it was for a two year life experience kind of thing. All the expats say that. My mom was heartbroken to see two of her young grandchildren move away but she supported us. She looked forward to when we would return. A year into our move we bought a car and someone clued her in that a car was a sign we were not moving back anytime soon. I could hear the treble in her voice as she asked me about that. We've now been in Beijing seven years. We had a third child. I'm pretty sure she was the first Allio born in Beijing. Sorry mom for keeping Aidan, Lydia, and Elisa away for so long. They are lovely. Just like you.

A few short months ago my mom received her diagnosis. The day before I was staying with my parents on a business trip. I got up early with jet lag and looked for the car keys so I could be first in line at Peets. The keys were not in the usual place so I had to go about searching. No luck. I decided, with some trepidation, to venture upstairs into mom and dad's bedroom. This was not a place I wandered into as a child. The keys were not lying out and despite my desperation for coffee I decided not to forage into my father's jeans. While I did not find the keys that morning, what I did see was my parents, lying together in the center of the bed. Snuggling as close as can be. As one.

My dad has faced a lot of challenges in his life. Some of them are sitting here with us today. I'm not sure that at this stage of his life if he was ready or expected or deserved to face this challenge. To face this challenge when truth be told mom was the one in better health over recent years. But he did face this challenge. Is facing it. You showed your love for mom, dad. You did right by mom, dad. You came through for her. We love you for it. I love you for it.