My sister's husband spoke the eulogy, and we were asked to tell a story or memory of Betty. Many of her friends and colleagues took the microphone, as did her sister, children and grandchildren. I told the story below, and another I posted to bump this thread.
After that we had a talented music teacher play the piano for a sing-a-long, piano bar style.
Bart played song after song from memory and read music too, and helped us with lyrics.
We sang songs from her youth, rather badly since we don't know the lyrics. We sang Elton John ballads, Beatles, musicals that we did know by heart. She gave us music and we gave it back in her honor. She would have loved to be there.
We did it like she would have wanted.
PM me if you want a link to her site.
Here is a story for DeathBUA and the other medicine folks here.
Baby Pete was born to an alcoholic mother and suffered an extensive brain injury due to lack of oxygen at birth. Sad stuff there, but it happens. The mother was in no way able to care for him and he would not make it to his second birthday.
A couple who were respiratory therapists at the hospital offered to take Pete, knowing full well what it meant. Good people. Mom offered to watch over him whenever they needed a break.
Here they come with this baby and a whole kit of medical stuff and baby stuff. I am about 13, and a typical nervous teenager.
She hands me this baby and let me tell you he looked like hell. Small, not there, and turning blue as I watched!
"I'll make us some dinner" she says.
"MOM, this baby looks bad, we need to take him down to the hospital!"
"Oh, he's OK, he just needs a little help. You get that Ambu bag out of the kit and help him out for a while while I cook us dinner."
At this point I'm totally freaking out, but she shows me how to do it and how many breaths and I sit there and do it.
After a while she looks over from the stove and says " See, he is is coloring up just fine".
That was the way she rolled. She had cared for the tiniest and sickest babies you could imagine and bagging that baby at the kitchen table was no big thing, except for a nervous teenager
After that we had a talented music teacher play the piano for a sing-a-long, piano bar style.
Bart played song after song from memory and read music too, and helped us with lyrics.
We sang songs from her youth, rather badly since we don't know the lyrics. We sang Elton John ballads, Beatles, musicals that we did know by heart. She gave us music and we gave it back in her honor. She would have loved to be there.
We did it like she would have wanted.
PM me if you want a link to her site.
Here is a story for DeathBUA and the other medicine folks here.
Baby Pete was born to an alcoholic mother and suffered an extensive brain injury due to lack of oxygen at birth. Sad stuff there, but it happens. The mother was in no way able to care for him and he would not make it to his second birthday.
A couple who were respiratory therapists at the hospital offered to take Pete, knowing full well what it meant. Good people. Mom offered to watch over him whenever they needed a break.
Here they come with this baby and a whole kit of medical stuff and baby stuff. I am about 13, and a typical nervous teenager.
She hands me this baby and let me tell you he looked like hell. Small, not there, and turning blue as I watched!
"I'll make us some dinner" she says.
"MOM, this baby looks bad, we need to take him down to the hospital!"
"Oh, he's OK, he just needs a little help. You get that Ambu bag out of the kit and help him out for a while while I cook us dinner."
At this point I'm totally freaking out, but she shows me how to do it and how many breaths and I sit there and do it.
After a while she looks over from the stove and says " See, he is is coloring up just fine".
That was the way she rolled. She had cared for the tiniest and sickest babies you could imagine and bagging that baby at the kitchen table was no big thing, except for a nervous teenager