---
When I was a baby my mom nicknamed me
"screech owl" because of my affinity for temper tantrums that reached
impressive decibels and pitches higher than her poor musician's ears could
handle. My dad always joked that if I'd only screamed in tune, life would have
been a lot easier for both of us. But as it was, my one-year-old self hadn't
yet digested music theory. So my mom was out of luck.
But somehow, we made it through those years (my
mother's ears intact), and we found many different ways in which to harmonize
with each other that didn't involve me wailing over a stubbed toe or a smooshed
ice cream bar.
We had so many adventures together; there was
always something to do. In fact, growing up, the word "bored" was
like a bad word in our household.
"How could you be bored when there is so much to explore all around
you?" To my mother, being bored was evidence of a lack of imagination. So
I grew up in a world in which boredom didn't really exist.
We read mysteries set in far-away places... we
ate out at delicious ethnic restaurants... we wandered down Telegraph Avenue
and through colorful booths at the Himalayan Fair... we spoke French
together... we told inappropriate groan-worthy jokes together... we
received hugs from Ammachi and went to yoga classes and drank chai together --
my mom would often make a huge pot of it and leave it simmering on the stove
for hours, causing the whole house and whatever you happened to be wearing to
smell like a glorious middle eastern market... We explored the red rocks of
Sedona, wandered through cobblestone streets in Paris, and stayed in
cinderblock cabins in Lake Tahoe while collaborating on creative ambush
techniques for the local mosquito population... we went to the Christmas Revels
and theatrical productions and concerts at the Freight, and sung carols through
December.
Boredom wasn't an issue growing up.
And to this day, I still can't bring myself to
use that word. In part, because I don't really need to. Most of my friends
would agree that I definitely got the Hadidian gene for throwing myself into
life at a mile a minute. And while I'm learning bit by bit -- just like my mom
did -- how important it is to occasionally slow down and truly be present, I'm
thankful that she showed me, again and again, how to look for opportunity
around every corner. And just... dive in.
--
I received a letter this December, a few days
after my mom passed away, from a woman named Alexandra, who had been my
mother's high school math teacher in Beirut, Lebanon, nearly 50 years ago. In
the letter, Alexandra explained that she’d recently come across an old
“friendship” album from her Beirut days in which, following in a Greek
tradition, friends had been invited to answer questions every few pages to form
a sort of memory book.
It turns out my mother had written in this very
album back in 1964, a wide-eyed 15 year old toward the end of her 9th grade
year, and Alexandre had typed out all of the answers she could find written by
Eileen to send along to my dad and I. It was amazing to read, like a
little portal into my mother's adolescent mind. Alexandre wrote "As you
look at the answers of this 15 year old girl, and subsequently at Eileen's
whole life, from her responses you could pretty much see the Eileen that was to
emerge as an adult"
She was right. This one, in particular, stuck
out... it was originally written in French... but don't worry, I've translated
it.
The question posed was this:
Write three things that you would ask of your
future, your life
My mom’s answer…
1. My happiness and that of everyone around me
2. Courage
3. Faith in any situation
That was my mom at age 15. And that was also my
mom at age 64. I think anyone who knew Eileen can say that those three points
remained primary tenets in how she sought to live her life.
I was only 10 when cancer came knocking at our
door for the first time. It came again and stayed when I was 13, all the way up
through last December. It was like this shadow sibling that moved in,
unannounced, which we all had to make room for, and who tagged along on all of
our adventures, completely uninvited.
If there was ever a time when those three tenets
would be tested, day in and day out... it was during those years. Happiness... courage... and faith in any situation.
Those of you who knew Eileen well can attest to
the fact that when she believed in something, she stood by her belief and
advocated for it 110%. "No" was not an acceptable answer. “Tenacity”
was her middle name. This could make living or working with her tedious at
times, but my mom really had a way of bringing people along, inspiring you to
believe what she believed. Cause she believed in some pretty powerful
stuff.
Rather than just focus on how cancer was ruining
the life she’d envisioned, my mother used it to open new doors. She dove deeper
into her musical passions and founded Healing Muses to bring soothing harmonies
into the noisy hospitals that had become her second home. She began to explore
alternative therapies, pushed for more holistic health options at Kaiser, and
became a dedicated advocate to other women going through cancer. Around every
corner, she found new avenues through which to build community and cultivate
gratitude in her life.
Looking around this room now, I'm still blown
away by the number of lives my mom touched. And I feel so incredibly grateful
to each of you for the many roles you've played in creating this amazing
community, which supported my mom all the way through her final days. And which
continues to support my dad and I, with your memories, your love, your
friendship, your generosity. You've been incredible, and we wouldn't be here
today celebrating, if it weren't for you.
This overwhelming belief in the power and the
importance of community was one of the biggest gifts my mother passed down to
me. Eileen loved her friends deeply and it was evident that her "chosen
family," as she liked to say, was just as much family as my father and I.
And beyond her immediate friends, she felt a strong commitment to play an
active role in her larger community -- whether it be the musical community, the
breast cancer community, the healing community, the Albany community. She
believed in the power of coming together, of helping one another. And she
wasn't afraid to ask for help when she needed it. Because she knew she couldn’t
do it alone.
--
There's an amazing Ted Talk by a woman named
Brené Brown called "The Power of Vulnerability" which I would
encourage everyone in this room to go home and watch if you haven't already. I
won't go into all of the details because, really... you just need to watch it. But
one of the core principles Brené talks about is what differentiates people who
have a strong sense of love and belonging... from people who really struggle
for it.
She says, "There was only one variable that
differentiated these two groups and that is... that people who have a strong
sense of love and belonging believe
they are worthy of love and belonging. That's it. They believe they're
worthy."
My mom believed she was worthy. 18 years of
cancer is a ridiculously long time to keep pushing forward, to keep living life
against the odds. But she believed she was worth it.
She believed she was worthy of laughter, of
success, of happiness, of love, of deep friendships and heartfelt
connections.
And she believed all of us are worth it too.
I think that's part of the legacy that my mom
wove... helping others embrace their own worth.
Whether it was through her teaching, helping her
students tap into their creative worth to find their musical potential...
through her cancer advocacy, empowering women to become informed, to know their
options, to fight for themselves through the pain and the bureaucracy and the
unfairness ... through her work with Healing Muses, supporting that belief that
we are all worthy of moments of beauty and tranquility during stressful times...
Or through her role as my mother, telling me
through countless words and actions that I was worth it. That the three failed
pregnancies before I came along were some of the worst doldrums she'd
ever experienced... but that, in the end, it was worth it... because she’d had
me. That all those sleepless nights of screetch-owl tantrums and unending tears
were worth it... because they were part of my becoming. I was worth it.
We’re all worth it.
We are all worthy of love and belonging. We
are all worthy of that happiness that a 15-year-old Eileen wished for herself
and for everyone around her.
But we have to believe that we're worthy. My
mom stood by that belief. And because of it, she pushed through and lived to see
me graduate middle school, and high school, and college, and cheered from the
sidelines as I found my own footing, working at a nonprofit job that I love,
and building my own community up in Portland.
I hope that after sharing food and music and our
favorite Eileen stories during this wonderful celebration, each of us can walk
out of this room tonight honoring my mom’s legacy… believing that we’re worth
it. I can’t think of a better tribute to one of the most courageous and worthy
women I know.
Thank you.
-----
May today there be peace within.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others.
May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content with yourself just the way you are.
Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.
