How are we supposed to go on without our Mom?

Losing my Mom has been like an earthquake. Violent and sudden, it shook the earth late at night and by morning, everything had shifted. Piles of rubble, broken glass, and the roads once so familiar are gone.

Over the next… however long it takes… we’ll be traveling with my Dad to visit all of the places she loved in the hopes of finding some familiar roads.

Here, I’ll be collecting stories. Memories. Pieces of a whole that will maybe make a mosaic — the fragmented reflection of what had been before. Our hearts are broken, but she made us strong. The bits still function; we just have to find a place to put them.

So I’ll start here, with the eulogies read at Lala’s memorial, held March 7, at the Price Center. Before pasting them in, I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to the literal hundreds of guests who came to celebrate her life. We planned for a hundred visitors, but the Price Center overflowed to the point that we had to bring in extra chairs twice and collapse a whole table to make room.

Mayor Jane Hughson, who knew our Mom from Leadership San Marcos and The San Marcos Daily Record, came to the memorial and said that our Lala, Pamela June Gravis, was a pillar of light in our community.

I would also like to thank Karen George and Mandy Farrow of the Daily Record for helping us set up the Price Center. They arrived early, they stayed late, and they made sure everything flowed smoothly. Additional thanks to Lisa Tanksley, our Aunts Ava, Amy, Phyllis, and Querida, Amy Gravis and her Mom, Connie, Clay DeStefano of The Price Center, Gloria Ingram, the Daily Record crew, and every family member and friend who stopped by to share their love.

Special, special gratitude to Parker and Sae, my son and daughter-in-law, as well as our Beak, Amanda Kendrick, who handled the flowers and the food. Also, to Savannah, our angelic-voiced cousin, who broke all our hearts open in the sweetest way with her song. Thank you also to my lifelong best friends, Bobby, Heather, and Katherine. Thank you for always showing up and bringing hugs.

And finally, thank you to my husband Jason Cook, who has held my hand through all of this. I have no idea how I would have made it without him. He handled the sound and presentation and the Memorial, drove all of us around, and held us up when we were falling apart.

As my brother Chris said in the Memorial, I pulled rank as the eldest to read my eulogy first.

Here it is, my tribute to my Mom, Pamela June Gravis. What will we ever do without you?

We die in the midst of plans. This is something I didn’t think of, though I must have known it’s true. We die before we get to see the second part of Wicked. We don’t always get to make it back to Hawaii. 

Our Mom was constantly making plans. Even in retirement, she had stuff to do. She started every day with a list: these are the things I’ve got to get done. She organized her thoughts that way, which she admitted were chaotic. She organized our lives that way. We were even worse than chaotic… Some of us were resistant. Not naming any names.

Mom would tell you that Chris was the easy one. Born after an hour of labor, slept through the night. Never got on a tricycle and rode miles away to the middle of the interstate and had to be brought home by the police twice. In third grade, I was diagnosed with depression, a condition that has persisted my whole life. 

Mom’s plan, of course, was action: Get up. Get involved. Get moving. She made a list of things to try: twirling, pageants, softball, choir. Her thought was that I wouldn’t have time to be depressed if she kept me busy, and making friends would help with my self esteem. It was good in theory, but the best thing to come from it was that I got to spend time with my Mom.

She was brilliant and energetic and resourceful. We went to the Texas State Pageant, y’all, in 1986. Taffeta ball gowns and lots of hairspray. In order to get there, we had to fundraise. She had these amazing ideas. She made piles of stuffed frogs to sell at flea markets. We sold red beans and rice at county fairs. She baked stacks of Texas sheet cakes and sold them in parking lots like they were Girl Scout cookies. And we made it. We spent a week in a fancy hotel where they put chocolates on the pillows. We met Don Johnson and Emmy Lou Harris and Dr. Red Duke. I mean, our station wagon broke down in the parking lot on the first day, so we arrived in a puff of exhaust… but whatever. It was one of the best experiences from my childhood, and it was all because of her. 

She never sat still. She never slowed down. Half the time she was hatching business schemes; The other half she was making vacation plans. Listen, you’ve never had a trip until you’ve experienced a Lala picnic. It was extraordinary how much that woman could organize into the trunk of a minivan. Our childhood road trips were legendary.

In her 20s, she progressed from being a country singer to a disco queen to a back-up singer for Neil Diamond (never forgive him; he wronged my Mama). She started her own housekeeping business to put herself through college. Working full time and taking one or two classes at a time, she finally got her degree. One year after me, but you know, I couldn’t have done it without her.

People may not know this, but we took classes together. We were both in Mass Comm – me in journalism, her in PR. I loved taking classes with her. She was funny and outgoing and people liked her. I’m a great note taker. It balanced out. 

Then after graduation, we both worked at the Record. For years, we were coworkers. At that point, she transcended being my Mom. She became my best friend. Pam became the face of the Daily Record. She did ad design, pagination, sales, front desk. You name it, she did it. She dedicated 28 years to that job, and she loved it.

When she retired six years ago, she slowed down a little. She continued to make her lists and plan her trips, but mostly, she spent time with our Dad, the love of her life. They have the kind of love that makes you believe in love stories. Even after 55 years, they would sit together every night and hold hands.

So it makes sense that her last call on February 16 was to him. About an hour before she died, she called to let him know she had arrived at her destination, and that she was tired. 

The last night of her life, she got the call to drive the papers to Hamilton like she had been doing every Monday. She drove up there all by herself, 159 miles, and unloaded the pallets. Afterward, she drove the two miles to the nearest convenience store, a place she and my Dad visited often when they were able to drive together. She went inside without her purse or her phone, and asked the cashier if she could rest at the tables for a bit. She put her head down, and that was it. No struggle. No fuss. She was tired, y’all, and she went to sleep.

Now we’re here. We’re dressed all pretty at a party I hope would make her proud. And I can’t believe the world didn’t just stop when she did. I mean, the absolute audacity. How can we go on without her?

My last conversation with my Mom was Sunday, right after she took my Dad home from the hospital. We had to reschedule our pedicure. We were like, “Let’s just do it next Saturday. Okay. I love you. See you soon.” 

We didn’t get to say goodbye to her, but I hope she knows how much we love her, how proud we are of her, and how grateful we are that we got to be hers. 

Hey, Lala. I really hope you know.

Here is my brother’s touching eulogy, which followed after mine on the day of the ceremony:

I am so grateful that I had a La La. I’m 48 years old, and I’m still learning things from her. The first revelation: I thought that I was tougher than this. I thought that I would be rational and detached, like I had been in other situations. No matter how much my brain tells me that this is all just a natural part of life, I still can’t get a handle on this. I’ve never lost a toe, but this must be like that phantom limb sensation. I know that a part of me is gone, but I keep expecting her to be there. What I learned is that underneath the emotional callouses and attempts at control, I’m just a boy who loves his mom.

The second revelation: I know she loved me, and I know: she knew that she was loved. But the true lesson is how much more important that knowledge is than all the successes or failures in life. If, at the end of my life, the most important people to me love me and know I love them, that’s what really matters. And she was so loved.

The third revelation: I am grateful for the power of this grief; for the depth of the hole in my life. Because I’ve come to realize it’s in proportion to the joy and love I got to experience with her. While it’s shockingly painful, now, it really was such a blessing to be a part of her life. We had so much fun!. I’m glad that she raised me to be a man who got to tell her that she made me what I am. That the triumphs in my life were made possible by her. I miss her so much, but I have so many memories! Here are just a few:

When I was in elementary school, my mom was a substitute music teacher, briefly. Of course, the other kids loved her! She taught us the words to a song about the ghost of Henry the VIII’s second wife, Anne Boleyn. The chorus went, “With her head tucked underneath her arm, she walked the bloody Tower.” After that, she couldn’t be our music teacher anymore… 

On a family trip, we had a flat tire in Louisiana. We managed to limp to a shop, where a drizzled old man asked a question that seemingly stumped our usually unshakeable La La. As is our custom, she repeated back to him what she thought she heard: “Where’s the eggstrap?” With as much put upon annunciation as he could muster, he gruffly inquired, “Where’s the extra at?” For years afterward, all spare tires were known as “eggstraps.”

When I was 12, I decided I was too old for my toys. (Fast forward 3 decades to me STILL buying Lego sets.) La La decided we should have a grand ceremony to mark the occasion: to the beach we went for an ultimate G. I. Joe and Transformer battle Royale! La La was a master sandcastle architect. The fortifications were raised; the battle lines arrayed. It was plastic man versus plastic machine versus the forces of nature. It was glory! It was carnage! It was so very special. 

Parker’s Eulogy for his beloved Lala:

i’m going to start us off with what recently became my grandmother’s favorite joke. why did the chicken cross the road? (to get to the stupid person’s house.) knock knock! (whos there? a chicken!)

i told that joke to my grandmother not too long ago, and i absolutely relished in her laughter. she immediately went and told her children, and her sisters, and everyone else — so thank you for laughing with me even if you’ve heard it before.

as you all know, it doesn’t matter what the situation is, or who you are — the guest room has always been open for those in need. in december, my grandparents opened that room for me. recently after i had moved back in, i went out to the playground behind her house in the middle of the night, and the sky was full of stars. i got on the swings, just like i used to when i was young. i remember what the view used to be. i could see a windmill over the treetops, and i could see the houses across the way.

when i went out there that night, i couldn’t see any of that anymore. at some point, they had planted a tree. and in all that time between, that tree had fully grown. an entire tree had grown up since i had last come and played on these swings. a whole lifetime gone by.

when i made the decision to uproot everything about the life i had built with my wife in austin for the past five years, i knew it was risky — but i just knew i needed to be with my family again. i felt called by the universe, and i am so glad i didn’t ignore the call. because of that decision, i got 55 more days with her. i got Christmas and new year’s with her. i got valentine’s day. i got shopping trips, and cooking together in the kitchen, and car rides full of music and laughter. she told me that every day, she was so happy i was here. because i was there, and i could give her a hug and a kiss every day. i don’t think we had been together that close since i was a little kid.

i remember when they first were building the house, and lala was so excited. i didnt really understand back then why it was taking so long. but i loved seeing the work in progress. lala and i would come stop by the lot, when it was nothing but a slab and wooden beams. we’d walk around and imagine what was to come. i told her that the walk-in closet was going to be my room. i loved her so much, i wanted to live in her closet, and just be surrounded by everything she was.

she was the person who understood parts of me that i struggle to explain to everybody else. she knew exactly what to say and do to make me settle down. to take a deep breath and relax. her hugs were the whole world to me. ten seconds in her arms and all my troubles went away.

our family is a musical family. music is one of our love languages. we sing as easy as we live and breathe. she taught me all about how to listen, find the pitch, meet each other in the harmony. she had a beautiful voice, a true talent. the sunday before she passed, she played a tape recording of herself singing “somewhere out there,” with her late sister melanie. i asked her if she missed her sisters. she said she did. she also said, that when she got to heaven, she would have her voice back again. and the day after she passed, that song played over and over again in my mind on a loop. i like to think that was her way of letting me know that she’s still here with us — but she doesn’t have to miss her sisters, or her mommy and daddy anymore, and she’s singing as happy as can be.

she is the kind of pink beautiful glow you can only see in the sunrise. she is the birdsong in the trees. she is the smell of sugared peach cobbler as it goes golden in the oven, or maybe a freshly brewed pot of coffee, or a mug of spice tea. she is the light dancing across the ocean. she was, and will always be, love.

i have a thousand stories, and a thousand more memories, that i wish i could share about her in this moment with you all. i know you all feel the same. no words will ever be enough to capture the pure energy that she was. she cared so much about this town and the people in it. she never half assed a damn thing. she brought everyone together, and i think we all learned to be better people because of her presence in our lives.

let’s continue to celebrate her life together, the way she would have wanted. and let’s make sure to shed a whole lotta tears, because she would have wanted that too. thank you all for being here today to remember my grandmother, pamela june gravis. we are so lucky to have been loved by her. i know she would be so happy to see us all here together, sharing in that love which she so carefully poured into us all. thank you.

Here is a tribute from our childhood friend, Ed Sturrock:

“An Unquenchable Zest for Life.”

You hear about people who see beauty in everything and everyone. People who love everyone around them, that draw you closer and make you feel bonded and connected. You get lost in their world alongside them. To me, that was Pam and the world is dimmer with her moving on.

I can credit my first trip to NASA to Pam and her son, my lifelong friend, Chris. Oh man, that dehydrated ice cream was a core memory unlocked! It wasn’t as good as we imagined but it was real space food!!! In other words, we were basically astronauts!!!

I will let all of you in on an inside joke that has spanned most of my life…Sometimes I called her Pammie…because much to Kearney, her husband and Chris’s chagrin, I’ve been openly and brazenly hitting on Pam since I was a teenager! The reactions always gave me a laugh, Pam squealed, Kearney glared and chuckled, Chris groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically! I still laugh at all the times this came up over the years! At one point, when my wife and I were first dating, she was like “Who is Pam again?! Do I need to worry?!” lol

Just a few months ago, we all met up for dinner while I was in town. I have the attached pic of me hugging Pam with Kearney staring me down with an evil glare! Ha! I love their fam!!

But as many of you know, Pam has only had eyes for 1 big Viking of a man. And That’s Kearney G!

Kearney, the og pirate, the first software pirate I had ever met. He had a small hand in helping me get a passion for tech, a career path that has helped me succeed. He had mountains of “backup copies” of games growing up, lining the wall of an entire room/office! We all grew up, well, poor isn’t the right word because we had everything we needed, but rich isn’t either, so the idea of “free” games in a room full of floppy disks and monochrome monitors was mind-blowing to me!

But back to hitting on Pam! …. lol…I tried but who can successfully challenge a Viking pirate who is rich with thousands of stolen games?!! He won time and again, much to my dismay! A love story for the ages. I’ve very much looked up to their fun and chipper relationship most of my life!

I’ll always cherish the Gravis family’s humor and friendship and I hope it only grows more over the decades to come! Next stop together, the secret swimming hole your family introduced me to, when Alexis was a tiny tot!

And forever and always, Pam’s giggles and squeals will warm my soul!! Laugh loud and rest easy Pammie!

From my lifelong best friend, Heather: I lost my absolutely adored alternate Mom today.

Miss Pamela took me into her home when I was in high school and I first moved to Texas. I was definitely not your average Texan, and kind a troubled kid. My parents would let me stay during the school week and ride the bus with Celeste. She was the best. It was such a good environment for me. She let me be a teenager and not have grown up responsibilities like I had when I was a kid in Louisiana. If I ran out of smokes, she’d hook me up with a pack of her menthols. She showed me a loving, happy home environment every day I was with them. Just like I was one of hers.

For our prom she made a super fancy dinner for us and our dates! When she got older, she taught me I can vape on airplanes! Last time I saw her we stayed up way past midnight- remembering, gossiping, and cutting up, having the BEST time!

Celeste AND Ms. Pam were my besties and I couldn’t have been luckier.

My heart is going out to her family, friends, but especially her honey pie of 53 years, Mr. Kearny. I couldn’t imagine that kind of loss. I’m really thinking of him since it’s my 17th anniversary, and that doesn’t even hold a flame to what they had. They set an example to me of what true and lasting love is.

Ibaye baye ntonu Ms. Pam.

May you be welcomed into the realm of the ancestors with familiar faces, loving hearts, and open arms.