Clara Wirch

All my life, I have played a part in hundreds of funerals. This is not the normal kind of thing to brag about, actually… I am not bragging! But it has been a part of my life’s work as a musician and director of music.

There are two funerals that have been the hardest to do: one nine years ago for my father and here: today’s for my mother.

There are a lot of ways to describe my mother. I think the words Grace and Grit really define her. She had grace in her demeanor and grit to push through some very tough circumstances.

The grace part included her beautiful handwriting and using it to send notes and cards of thanks and encouragement. Oh and one other thing, she had incredible enthusiasm about her faith, her friends, her family and singing. These are not listed in any particular order. She was enthusiastic about everything simultaneously. She was so enthusiastic about singing.

Every day since I can remember, I was awakened by the sound of her voice singing scales up and down, and down and up – endlessly. I would bury my head under the pillow and say, “Why does she have to wake me up so early, every day with that singing”.

Several days ago, I was talking to my Uncle Roy and he mentioned, you know, years ago she woke up us kids every day with all these vocal exercises - up and down, down and up. We’d put our heads under our pillows and say, “why does she have to wake us up every morning so early with that singing?”

I want to say thank you Uncle Roy for faithfully taking care of Mom’s needs for years and for taking her to McDonalds for the coffee you hated so much.

Mom had a certain grace about her in the way she kept our home and the way she entertained. It meant that we often had guests. Sometimes they included missionaries or travelling ministers that would say prayers that were way too long. Some of my favorite guests along with the missionaries were my Uncles and two of them are here today: Uncle Ernie and Uncle Roy. They would toss me into the air, hold me upside down by the ankles over a garbage can, and threaten to throw me in. I LOVED this attention. For a time Mom and Dad took in a girl that was my age. I don’t know what became of her but it was nice to have a sister for a while.

As an only child I grew up in the microscopic gaze of two German perfectionists. Now and then people mention that they find me a bit crusty. I know that I am but I needed to be that way to survive. When I was very young, my Mom would sing at church and I would join her with a bit of wild singing of my own. The only thing that would stop me is if I broke free and flew up to the front to be with her as she sang. If a prayer followed, you can be sure that people were praying…for me. They knew that a bit of disciple would be directed my way.

Farther back in history, Mom loved to sing a gospel song called “His Robe” which referred to the robe of Christ. “His Robe, His Robe”. It had a bit of a jump in the melody. At age 2 I stood up and in the crib and sang back to her “He wobe, He wobe”. As Mom tells it, she nearly fell to the ground with joy at discovering that I had music in me – and maybe even perfect pitch! My Uncle Ernie was staying with us and when he came in the door, Mom sang “His Robe, His Robe”. Her good little parrot sang it back to her “He wobe, He wobe”. Now Uncle Ernie was excited. Then my father walked in and you can imagine the rest…

My Mom inherited a lot of grit from my Grandmother. One would be hard pressed to find a more tenacious, hard working person. She grew pickles, peppers, potatoes and pumpkins. There was a lot of cabbage and one had to maneuver around huge crocks of sauerkraut in every corner. Mom certainly added to her repertoire of recipes but these remained the basis of our cuisine.

Mom came by her gift of disciple quite naturally – self-disciple and disciple of others. She had a lot of responsibility and could be kind of bossy. Much later in life she would get a phone call from me nearly every day. By that time, our roles had reversed – she being the child and me the parent. We began to tease each other about this and she would answer my call by saying: “Oh hello, is that my bossy pants Melody?”

Mom was very caring person. She and Dad were devastated when my husband Kerry suffered a catastrophic stoke at the age of 42. He survived brain surgery but entered into a deep coma for the month and a half. We prayed so hard for him.

One day were gathered at his bedside as usual, and for some reason, we were discussing sauerkraut, how we loved it and how Thursday nights would always be sauerkraut night no matter what. Suddenly I noticed Kerry’s lips were moving and I couldn’t believe he was waking up. What was he saying? I put my ear close to him and heard a very soft voice say “Chachoute Garni”, the French term for sauerkraut. Suddenly we knew that he was not brain dead because he understood that we were talking about sauerkraut. Praise the Lord! To this day, sauerkraut is a favorite dish.

The grace part of Mom included a wonderful life long relationship with my Dad. The grit part included lifetime struggles just to breathe. As a child, I was terrified that she would die as she gasped for breath with asthma attached. She also suffered from Addison’s disease – nonfunctioning adrenal gland. This made full time teaching, homemaking, church life and volunteering very challenging. She persevered for so long. At lot of illness with little complaint.

Lest it sound that Mom was a saint, she was human with an Achilles’ heel. It was depression. She struggled with it at various times of her life. She felt that it was routed in her early years – being a child who started school speaking only German, in the 30’s. She pushed through this disturbing period of being bullied but it left its mark. Mom knew a vast number of Psalms by memory. They were her comfort, calmed her, and helped her to carry on.

Mom has always been a cheerleader for her family. She was particularly grateful to Roy who took care of so many things for her for so many years. She treasured his visits. I’m so grateful to him as it allowed me some peace of mind knowing that someone had his eagle eye on her. Our very special friend Blanche has also been an angel to both Mom and I. One week ago today I flew from Toronto to see Mom. She was in hospital with a familiar scenario – an infection that wouldn’t go away until she had treatment in hospital. I thought I would visit Wednesday or Thursday. On Monday night, I felt a strong sense that I should go in the morning and so I did. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me. She was in pain but we had a wonderful visit. I tried to express my thanks for everything she had done for me. She looked very sorrowful and asked my forgiveness for not giving me a dog when I begged for one as a child. I told her she was forgiven and reminded her of the little white dog that I’ve given myself much later in life and how much we all loved our “Polly”.

Our friend Blanched soon arrived and together we shared Mom’s final moments.

Make me a channel of Thy peace

Where there is hatred let me bring Your love.

Where there is injury, Your pardon, Lord

And where there’s doubt true faith in you.

Make me channel of you peace

Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope

Where there is darkness only light

And where there’s sadness, every joy.

O master, grant I may never seek

So much to be consoled, as to console.

To be understood, as to understand.

To be loved, as to love with all my soul.

Make me channel of You peace.

It is pardoning that we are pardoned.

In giving all that we receive,

And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.

My dearest Mom, may you rest in peace.