Words, Mere Words • Eulogies

Services and Eulogy for Wilma Dillon

Copyright © 1995 John P M Dillon

5/9/95 1:38PM

Greetings from the Dillon / Farber family

For those of you unable to attend the services in person, but would like to attend in spirit, below are pieces of the service tomorrow. I know our family will feel your spiritual presence; we all appreciate your support. The services are at 1:00 PM Eastern time.

I tried to uuencode these files so you could receive them in native format, but all I can send is plain ASCII text. I trust you'll understand.

BTW, I've been locked out of my e-mail account on CompuServe since last Sunday, so any messages you've sent since then are irretrievable until I return to California (which is where my new password is waiting). You can send me messages care of my brother Randy's account, which I'm using now.

John Patrick

PROGRAM CONTENTS

23rd Psalm

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside still waters.
He restoreth my soul:  he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for
   his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear
   no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou
   anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:  and
   I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

King James Version

Wilma, My Beloved, This Will Remain
When there is an end of physical desire,
When passion has died (as passion must expire),
When our bodies are dust and our spirits are free,
Immortal will remain my devotion to thee.
 - John D. Dillon

In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to the charity of your choice.


Wilma Dillon
July 28, 1918 - May 5, 1995

Officiated by Reverend Cox, Minister

Wind Beneath My Wings - Esther, Organist
Invocation
Prayer
Candle Introduction
     The candles before you represent Wilma and her family.
     Some of the flames no longer glow as the lives they represent have
     been extinguished.
Remembrance
Old Testament Reading
New Testament Reading
In the Garden - Esther Shott, Organist
Eulogy (Personal Reflections of a Son)
   - J. P. M. Dillon
Closing Prayer
Candle Completion
Benediction
The Rose - Esther, Organist

A time of fellowship and remembering with the family and friends will
follow the services, at the home of Steve and Chris in Melbourne Beach.

Candles of Remembrance for Wilma Farber Dillon

by J. P. M. Dillon

Candle Introduction

The candles you see before you represent Wilma Farber Dillon [point to pink candle in center] and her family. Standing beside her are Dan Farber [point to blue candle] and John Dillon [point to purple candle], pillars of strength that safely enclosed her for over 50 years. Their flames are extinguished, as are the lives they represent, yet still they tower, supporting her even after their bodies have rejoined the earth.

The lavender candles encircling and looking up to Wilma represent her children. One son, Charles Dillon, passed away several years ago, so his flame no longer glows.

Lastly, the small white candles stand for Wilma's grandchildren, ten of whom survive her. One grandson, Raymond Bullard, did not.

As these flames provide warmth, so did Willie's family warm her heart, while her own flame set a shining example for them to follow.

Summary of Wilma Farber Dillon's Life

by J. P. M. Dillon

Today we mourn the passing of Wilma Ferne McClurg Farber Dillon, but we also celebrate her release from pain.

Wilma was born July 28th, 1918 in Warsaw, Indiana. Her parents, Marion and Jessie McClurg, were farmers who retired to Melbourne in their later years.

In 1937 Wilma married Daniel Farber. Unable to have children, the couple adopted two brothers, Randy and Jim. Dan passed away after 25 happy years of marriage.

In 1963, Wilma married John Dillon. A couple of years later they moved to Hawaii and adopted their grandson John Patrick, giving Wilma her third boy. Together, John and Willie travelled the world, always returning to their island home with eyes filled with wonder and albums full of memories.

She remained in Hawaii for two years after John's death in 1991, then returned to Melbourne in 1993 to live closer to her beloved sister Madalyn.

On Friday, May 5th, 1995, Willie bid goodbye to her sister and three sons, then passed away in her sleep, experiencing a quiet, peaceful, dignified death as befitted a lady of her bearing.

Rather than mourn our loss of Wilma Farber Dillon, let us rejoice in her life, rich with adventure and filled with love. Wilma may no longer walk amongst us, but she'll run in our hearts forever.

EULOGY FOR WILMA DILLON

by J. P. M. Dillon, a son

The last time I stood before you, we grieved the loss of my father, John Donald Dillon. Now, again, I'm here to express the loss our family feels, as that person dearest to my father prepares to rest beside him. We are here to grieve--and celebrate--life's ending for Wilma Ferne McClurg Farber Dillon, my mom Willie.

My mother is dead.

These words sound so stark, ringing out in the still air of this assembly, standing alone and barren on the page like the vision of our lives without her. We can rattle and rage and weep and lash out against all that is good or evil, but the undeniable facts remain stacked against our favor. We can rationalize it away with "we're all dying, every moment of every day" but the pain doesn't lessen.

As I stand before you, I want to remind you that eulogies are not biographies. Rather, a eulogy is a mirrored pool made up of our collective hearts, the smooth surface inspiring reflections within ourselves. These reflections call up memories, sometimes warm and happy, sometimes tinged with regret, and sometimes ripe with grief, yet all of them overflowing with life, vitality, passion.

Our society breeds men incapable of demonstrative love, but Willie was able to teach us--each in our own, faltering way--by demonstrating, accepting and giving, giving, giving love herself.

The very fact that she has three sons proves her compassionate nature. Though she was barren and thus couldn't have children herself, she opened her heart to three boys, raising two from infancy, and taking on a third--me--in those most difficult pre-adolescent-leading-into-teenaged years. In a life full of fear, she raised boys that are not afraid to cry. Willie took pride in her boys. Just before she passed into her last long sleep into death, she wrote us a note--all it said was "three wonderful sons."

Willie stood tall and proud of her sons and their families, nor was this all. She loved her sister Madeleine so much that she left her home of 30 years to be closer--as in next door--to her. She enjoyed and accepted under her wing new relatives, acquired by her marriage to John, including my natural mom and sisters, my bruncle Chuck, Aunt Phyl, and their offspring. She loved us all--though some of us exasperated her more than others!--and she was able to perform that most difficult of motherly tasks, the separation of loving a person while not necessarily loving some of their behaviour as much.

And she learned long ago the value of listening. Oh, sure, she could talk up a storm, with a few choice words besides, but she could hear--really hear--what we had to say. Come to think of it, she could hear the things we weren't saying too! She responded when appropriate, and always volunteered her help, but she didn't judge our decisions when they didn't agree with her suggestions.

The funny thing is, she never asked for a lot for herself. Though she carried herself with poise and dignity, she remained unpretentious. In her later years she could have pretty much anything she wanted, but all she really wanted was what she couldn't have--John, healthy and in her arms again, forever and always.

My mom Willie strode through life with dignity and respect, imparting it to her kids and their kids too. She always believed in the people she loved, trusting them, nurturing them, supporting them. She loved beauty in the world around her and in the people near her. Her own beauty--physical, mental and emotional--never left her, right down to those last days spent reclining uncomfortably in her hospital bed. She always saved a smile for her boys, even when cussing at me for snitching to her nurses. She frequently asked us to tell everyone how much she loved them. You all know it, of course, but I'll relay the message to you again, now. She loved you very much.

I asked my brothers for words to summarize our mom. "Loving, caring, compassionate, sensitive," all sprang to our lips, but there's another word that described her that must be mentioned: "strong." Though physically petite and ultimately frail, she had tremendous strength. Strength; strength to pull her through the lingering, painful loss of two dear husbands. Strength; strength to take on a 10 year old son after being married to John for only a few months. Strength; strength in her convictions to make her wishes known though it pained some to hear. Strength; strength to do all that was necessary to make John's life as comfortable and happy as possible. Strength; strength to the very end, strength enough to perhaps even pick her time to die.

As you've probably noticed, we can't talk about Willie without talking about John. They were a team, inseparable to the end, and now inseparable again. She filled a void in his life, and he in hers, like an exquisitely built piece of furniture, all tongue and groove, finish and polish, grace and strength, utility and art. Together they travelled and revelled in the world, but she made that place they returned to, time after time, into a home of warmth, love, tenderness, a respite between adventures, a haven for the fatigue felt at the end of long and satisfying journeys. She completed his life, and has now completed hers, to rest beside him once again.

My mother is dead.

We hope and pray, and seek out gods real or imaginary, turn inward for other strengths, look to our friends and family when the stuff within ourselves is found wanting. We search for omens and signs in the slightest smile, the strongest hands, the weak whispers that once were shouts, looking for reasons. But reality refuses to be denied.

My mother is dead, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. I can't believe it, nor face it, nor voice it, nor accept it. Nor can I change it. I'm not ready to admit the loss of someone so dear, someone who's seen and felt such pain and joy in her long life, someone who stood proud of her sons, who weathered the lingering deaths of two loving husbands, a world traveller who always made a home.

I'm not ready to accept it, but I have to keep saying it, to convince myself like some televangelist preaching to hidden living room faces, to prepare myself for the moment when I'm no longer able to deny what's obvious to these impartial, compassionate witnesses. Sooner or later I must say it with conviction. But not just yet.

Today you all sense the despair of our pain because you experience it yourself, all coldness and shadow. The pain never goes away, but over time it is attenuated. Bill Haneline advises us all, writing: "The spinning earth brings me my sun. The first signs of its approach give the clouds a silver lining. Warmth will soon come. Each day is like turning the pages of a book. With each new day, the old ones are pushed back. The hard, hurting edges are worn smooth with time. Our mind's view of the past is softened with the healing process. Live with today. Remember today. It will fall into the fading light of the past. Let it hurt you now because it will lose its strength as it moves backwards in time."

My mother is dead.

Although her qualities live on in all of us, my mother is dead, and we all already miss her.

--------------------------------------------

Candle Completion

[Pick up pink candle.] Wilma Farber Dillon no longer exists as we knew her. [Touch the pink candle to each of the unlit candles, being careful not to light them.] Yet, she has tenderly touched the lives of those she loved and enriched them. [Touch her flame to each of the lit candles.] She has passed a piece of her life's flame to every member of her family.

Wilma Farber Dillon's love and support live on in the hearts of her children and children's children. [Put pink candle back and snuff it.] Wilma's life glow is gone, but her light will shine forever in our very souls.

(Page last updated: Sun, Sep 11 2005)