The morning of Rory’s service I kept getting this feeling, “You need to say something.”
I kept trying to push it aside. I’ll never be able to keep it together. How am I supposed to speak?
I pulled out a notebook and just wrote. It wasn’t much, but it’s what I needed to say.
My dad was the last speaker from our family, so I asked him to look down at me. If I give you the go ahead announce that I’m going to speak.
At the end, I nodded my head and walked to the stand.
This is what I said:
I want to thank everyone for their love and support. We feel like we’re drowning right now. 10 feet under. But as I look up I see hundreds of life preservers there waiting for us to grasp. Each one of them is thrown by one of you. We might be down here for a while. A long while. But we know and we feel each of your support.
We’ve had wonderful memories shared by my parents and Xander. I would like to share a few of my own.
Rory has always been my sweet baby girl. That’s what I call her. As she grew up I told her, so that there wouldn’t be any confusion, she would always be my sweet baby girl.
Rory asked me frequently when she could start wearing make up. I thought it was so funny because 5 out of 7 days I don’t wear any make up myself. But she’d look through my meager amount of make up and put a little on. I was always so jealous of her eye lashes. They’re so long and perfectly curled. Sometimes I would allow her to put mascara on just to see those beauties more closely.
Rory was silly and funny. The last few years she invented a fake laugh. She couldn’t just laugh with her mouth. She’d fall back and pound the couch and let out the fakest laugh there is. It was so fake.
Rory’s imagination never ceased to amaze me. Last week she carried around a fondant cutter and imagined it to be a million different things. At night she would sit up and read her books and play with her toys. When she’d sit next to me as church she was always moving her arms, imagining she was doing something. Well, when she was leading the music from our row.
I’m going to miss her running into my arms after school. Her kisses on my lips. Because she always wanted them in the lips. Her sweet smile. Her spunky attitude. Man, she got away with everything. Her kind spirit. Her everything.
After Rory passed away, so many decisions needed to be made.
The hard thing about unexpected death, we had never given a single thought to what we’d do if one of our kids passed away. So, everything is planned in the middle of shock and grief.
I feel very lucky. My dad stepped up those days. He went to the mortuary. He got all the information and did as much as he could.
There was a point that we were talking in the doorway of a bedroom about plans and money.
My dad said, “You will not pay to bury your daughter.”
I remember tears rolling down my cheek.
It wasn’t the money.
I knew no matter what, my dad was going to be there. He was going to help us through this.
He did.
In so many ways. Even when it tore him apart to do it.
Especially with the viewing. He ensured Rory looked perfect.
Last year I placed in the Utah Arts Council’s Original Writing Contest.
The last picture we took as a complete family. Rory passed away 9 days later.
Writing is a rather solitary job. The kids can’t actively participate in what I’m doing. But this, they could celebrate with me. Throughout the ceremony Rory alternated between Lance and my laps. Her and Dax were so excited to see my certificate. And as you can tell, they both loved the food.
The Council asked me to come back and read from last year’s entry.
I did that today.
I’m so grateful for last year’s award.
Rory will not be able to hug me at any of my book releases.
She’ll never be able to tear open a box of my books with me.
Last year, I was staying home to hand out candy, the boys were out with cousins and friends, so Rory was trick or treating with my sister and her youngers.
My sister called and asked me to send Rory over. I got her shoes on and sent her out the door. (My sister was at my mom’s, who lived right behind us.)
I gave away some candy. And maybe 5 minutes later my sister called again. “Where’s Rory?”
This was not an usual question. (And, unfortunately, still isn’t.)
My distracted, wandering wild flower.
I looked around a little then asked a neighbor that was trick or treating, “Have you seen Rory?”
“Yeah, she’s down the street with the Vriens family.”
She saw a group of her friends, forgot her destination, and just joined in.
But almost on cue, I see my cute Wonder Woman running back down the cul-de-sac.
After a quick hug, I sent her on her way to my mom’s to have an awesome night of family and candy.
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 