Eulogy for Mum

Thank you all for coming to celebrate and remember my mum, Dorita.

She was born Maria Adoracion Herran Amat on May 26, 1937 in Madrid, around the time of the Spanish Civil war, daughter to Maria and Enrique Herran and she was an only child.

Mum's life was quite a mixed bag. She didn't have a very happy childhood, and she didn't like to talk about it much, but occasionally she would tell us about her Father's cruelty at home after he was released as a war prisoner. At an early age, her parents divorced, which in Spain at that time was practically unheard of – but that's another story. She was raised by her mother who was a tough, hard working career woman, and in many ways quite selfish, and very critical.

Despite this, my mother was always loving, caring and a hugely compassionate person. Growing up, I remember her as one of the most vivacious people I ever knew, always laughing and in high spirits. But the best way for me to characterize her is as someone who constantly overcame adversity. She was a fighter to the end, but always as a peaceful warrior.

One example is how she overcame a very tough injury at the age of thirteen. While playing in a field in the north of Spain, she fell out of a tree and broke her back. She got tuberculosis of the spine, and after a breakthrough surgery to craft a vertebrae from her tibia, doctors told her that she would probably not be able to walk again, and it was unlikely that she would ever bear children. Well my sister and I obviously have something to say about that, and as far as the walking goes, it was hard to keep up with her. I would often marvel at the twelve-inch scar that ran vertically down her leg.

All throughout our childhood, mum did her very best to keep the peace for Debbie and I during a tough first marriage, and we always felt like she was more of a best friend than a Mother. She did so much to shield us from some very hard financial problems, often working two jobs at once to make ends meet, and there was always a meal, lovingly prepared at the end of the day. Paella was her specialty. She never complained, and was there for us, no matter what – and usually with a smile.

Dorita was her own person. She came alone to England to stay for a while and learn the language. As it turned out, the 'while' lasted over fifty years, and she got the language part; but the pronunciation was quite unique in many cases. As a kid, I remember asking her to pronounce words that I knew were difficult. "Mum say 'castle,' and I would get back 'castlee,' accompanied by guffaws of laughter from me and my friends who had gathered around to mock her. She could never quite distinguish her "A's" and "U's." "Hat" would come out as "Hut" and "what is happening?" would come out as "what is huppening?" In terms of character, mum was always accommodating, diplomatic, and usually went with the flow, but she was never a push over. Never afraid to share her point of view, and quite firm in disagreeing with you, to the point of stubbornness if you ever crossed the line, or if she felt that she had been wronged. Although very sweet natured, she was quite feisty in many ways, and my sister and I nicknamed her "fierita," which means "little wild animal."

In the late '70's, she was divorced, mum found herself with not many job skills so she formed a boutique nail salon business with her friend Jenny. I don't know if they made any money, but I do know that they had a great working relationship, and practically never stopped laughing the entire day.

It didn't take long for mum to be introduced at a dinner party, to a very distinguished man about town and eligible bachelor, Michael Drake, who I might add dabbled in politics and was knocking on doors canvassing for conservative votes at the time. One thing led to another and in March of 1980 they were married, at this very church.

Dorita often described Michael as "my savior." I would say that the thirty years that they were married were Mum's happiest thirty years of her life.

Mum's infectious enthusiasm for life and adventure never waned. I think because her childhood was so controlled and she was kept on such a short leash, she would tell us "you can go anywhere in the world you want to." so I went to America (though I don't think she meant for me to stay). But, it afforded her and Michael the excuse to come visit, which they did many times, exploring the US and Canada.

They didn't stop there, and explored Singapore, Malaysia, Mexico, the Caribbean, as well as several countries in Europe, and so she followed her own advice.

As time went by she became a little quieter than usual, and one-night years ago, I remember she didn't say a word at dinner. I knew something wasn't right, even after she insisted that she was fine. About a year later, while on holiday together in New Orleans, Mike and I noticed that Dorita was repeating herself a lot, and asking the same questions over and over. Well, now the rest is history, and sadly our fears for her mental health were confirmed, when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

But even through her decline, her ability to make us laugh never went away. Humor kept us all going, and just like when I was a child, I used to split my sides at the silliest of things that she said, made all the more funny with her wonderful accent.

One example is a time when we were all in a car in Malaga. For some reason mum got a real bee in her bonnet about the cruelty of bullfighting. I think it was after she had just seen one of those big advertisement billboards on the side of the road in the shape of a big black bull. She started on about how she hated bullfighting; it was cruel to the bull, "when they put those big stick things in." "You mean banderillas?" "Yes, those thin." "Its horrible." Ok Mum, so I guess you must feel the same way about fox hunting? "Oh no, that's OK, it's a little animal!" After about five minutes of incredulous laughter, she said, "I don't know why I said that, you know what I mean." "Not really Mum, but I know that you loved all creatures, so it's really not a big deal."

I for one felt it essential that I maintain my key role around mum as a clown, especially in her last few years, when communicating directly with her was getting harder and harder. Saying things like I feel legs growing out of the side of my head never failed to make her laugh, especially if it was said very loudly in Spanish.

The last few years were not easy for Mum, but she always managed to maintain her dignity, no matter what. I am so grateful that I was able to be here a few weeks ago, when we knew things for mum were drawing to a close. Though she couldn't talk, she knew I was there, along with the rest of our family, and I truly believe that she was at peace when she passed away.

I know several people will also speak about Mum, and on her behalf; I thank all of you for being here to show your love and your support. I also want to thank the Bradbury Center where mum spent her last few weeks with people who were constantly by her side. We couldn't have asked for better care. Also a special thank you from the bottom of my heart to Rosemary who consoled all of us, but really helped my sister in particular to deal with our loss.

We must always remember that my Mother didn't hold back. She lived life to the fullest, and I for one am so glad that she did. Mum, we love you and we will keep you forever in our memory.