Mom. She spelled her name Lillia, it was officially written Lilia. But she liked the name Mom. Said she liked the way it sounded better than her name. Now.

Mom didn't want public displays after her death.

Cremate me. If you find someplace that gives you peace you can place me there otherwise keep me close so I can watch over you and your children. Where my cranky ass vibes can keep bad people away from you. I don't care if I'm dead I'm still protecting you. For as long as you need me and even if you don't I'm there for you, ok? And don't wear white. As heard under moms breath, "dad and fucking white clothes every year to mourn mom I get nautious everytime I wear white". And don't wear black. As heard under moms breath, "mom and fucking black". You've always liked the rainbow so you are going to wear all the colors and your going smile and laugh and cry and if anyone asks you are going to tell them exactly what kind of horrible, terrible person I was. Absolutely awful. Mean. Promise me.

Mom never stopped talking. To herself. To her children. To her pets. To her plants. Always something was on her mind. That was just one random conversation we had when I was 7 out of the endless number we had in the 36 years I knew her. But a promise is a promise.

I say this half joking, but my apologies to anyone who reads this. I inherited my mothers heart and her mouth. Brevity is not my strong suit at the best of times and these are not.

First the formalities.

Lilia Stevens was born 1959 and lived to the age of 64. She is survived by her oldest son Adam Stevens, youngest daughter Brenda M. Stevens, dog Masaki Stevens, and cat Libby Stevens. Widow to Thomas J Stevens.

Mom was a force of nature. I can practically hear her yelling at me to grieve, damnit! I taught you to face life and death and everything that comes with it so cry and sleep and eat and keep fucking moving and the world will make sense again. And stop censoring my words. You know I swore like a fucking sailor in several languages. So.

Beautiful. Kind. Wild. Ambitious. Curious. Smart. Self-educated. Self-aware. Honorable. Worrier. Honest. Observant. Analytical. Ungovernable. Stubborn. Headstrong. Opinionated. Survivor.

She would often go, "see? Still here" when referring to the past.

She believed in education in all forms and the sanctity of life. She loved animals. She knew just what to say to lift someone up and didn't like seeing people dragged down. Mom had a kind heart. She never had an easy time of things but always tried to leave things better than when she found them. I saw so many random acts of kindness when no one else was looking. Small things like picking up after a pregnant lady walking her dog and cat so she wouldn't have to bend over when doubling back down the alley home. Leaving her sealed piece of cake and a fork for a security guard during a snowstorm. We were getting picked up from the doctors office while the lady was in the washroom after commenting the cake must be good the way I was digging in.

Mom was sure of herself, of her own mind and beliefs. Mom had an unflinching gaze when talking to anyone, always maintaining eye contact. She liked when other people had a backbone and a firm point of view as well. She wasn't arrogant, just tended to observe things and think a lot. She was a homebody, preferring her own space to do whatever she darn well pleased.

Mom had very little filter between her brain and her mouth. She felt people didn't like her because of this but if she liked you? Never could shake her, she would remember you forever. I always saw her make friends easily but she swore she didn't have time for such things.

Mom grew up without many means and her traumas from that time shaped a lot of her personality. Her favorite quote from her father was money is a tool used to make yourself comfortable. It is not your master. It is not your end goal. It is a means to an end.

Her father was a lay brother with some elementary school education, self taught metal worker and businessman. His mother died young and father deserted them both. As a kid he took his sister to present themselves to him and had the door slammed in his face. "I'll take the girl, I have no son". He valued loyalty and honorability above all else. He paid for all of his son's educations, having made something of his business by this point, in whatever field they desired even when failing. He died when Mom was in her 40's a nanogenarian or close to it. They spoke on the phone every so often, including before he passed, telling her he had a form of dementia that was progressing quickly and he wanted to say goodbye to everyone while he still understood. He wanted to make sure she wouldn't feel compelled to return to Mexico for the funeral. Like Mom, he was short in stature but large in personality.

Mom wasn't permitted to attend college, which needed a male guardian's signature at the time. Her mother planned for her to be a seamstress so that was the only option he would pay for. Mom wanted badly to get a college degree. She would sneak into every class she could and devoured any book she came across since young. "Never know when you will need this knowledge or that skill set". She loved tv for the same reason. So many things she never knew. Doctor Who and Star Trek were particular favorites. No matter the type of program she managed to pull some kind of lesson from it and instilled the same in us.

Her mother was a victim of what was called Mexican Repatriation in the previous century. Wrong place, wrong time. Her family, also American born, weren't with her that day so were safe to the best of my knowledge. Mom always had a small fear under the surface that it could happen again. She never let us see it but on the rare occasion she voiced the fear you could see it on her face. That was Mom, always the worrier.

Seamstress by trade, devout catholic, she spent her free time worshiping and volunteering. I can picture the statue of the Archangel Michael with a sword through evil as described by my mother that she would sit the two of them under every day. She grew most of what they ate in pots and had a few chickens for eggs. Her mother had an amazingly green thumb, growing producing fruit trees in cans. When they had nothing to eat they ate chicken, though that was a last resort. She passed when mom was four from an aneurysm in her mid 40's. It really did a number on Mom psycologically, seeing her mother in that kind of pain before and during, made worse by her relatives explaining she was just asleep and if Mom didn't stop crying she was going in the box with her. Mom never thought she would live to see her late 40's. She would dance around singing "I'm old, I'm old", especially on her birthday. She wanted to live to be older than her father with brain and body intact. Living a long happy life and seeing her children thrive was Mom's idea of winning.

Growing up without a mother in a household entirely of males was difficult. Short hair, loose clothes, strict curfew. Teachers assumed she was lazy because she didn't have the knowledge they expected her mother to pass along. Father thought she was dumb because she didn't instantly know how to read. She would laugh as an adult when people asked who taught your children to read and write so young and they didn't believe it was her. Anything she didn't know? "We will go find out". Was that way all her life.

Some locals thought she was of ill repute as she grew up. Always coming out of a house of all men. She was very devoted to the sacred heart after she felt rescued, hiding against the closed door praying after getting chased by a group while trying to get home. The door behind her opened and she was safe. She loved St Francis of Assisi because she loved animals. Mom was very religious and a believer in angels.

She was also a great believer in doors with locks as well as making sure everyone got home safe and on time.

She didn't cry for twenty years after her mothers death. When she did she would get horribly sick from bile so tried to keep her emotions - fear, sadness, anger – in check. Same reason mom had a complicated relationship with food. And sleep. Childhood trauma and her mothers corporal punishment. Any kind of waste or rule breaking was a big issue, even for something like vomiting.

She never thought she wanted children. Worlds fucked up, she didn't want to bring new life into it. She was also worried she would scar them badly because of her past. When she became a mother she was fiercely protective. Threw her entire being into it. When her daughter became chronically ill as a child she never left her side. She took a volunteer job to stay close at school. Because of who she was she helped any child that came to her. Sewed up backpacks, cleaned shoes of dog poop, handed out bus fair from her pocket, gave encouragement to things others didn't think worthwhile. There was a kid she spoke of who would get in trouble for graffiti. Mom just laughed. Your art is beautiful, you just need permission first. Maybe put it on paper. Sign and date it. They came back years after graduating elementary school to show off their scholarship papers to art school. They hugged her and she just smiled, "congratulations and good luck!". She always admired anyone with creative capabilities. Said she couldn't draw a stick figure and musical or physical arts were a dream.

All this is to say Moms background was just like that of the man she married. "Fucked up, but I'm still here", to use her words. She was kind to everyone in spite of everything. Would overextend her self if she felt strongly that something was right. Spent time taking care of other people's responsibilities because she was a caring person. Even if people were not kind to her when she got to this country. Even decades later they would see her and make assumptions of her character, her capabilities. She would make a pithy barb or ask a pointed question. It didn't matter though. Life, her two treasures, and pets were what was important. That's who she was.

Well, that was all very heavy. It was Moms story in her own words as relayed to her daughter. I have no way of checking some of the things she told me but it's what she believed and recounted to me over many years. So. That's good enough for me. It actually was brief compared to how Mom would tell it. Not enough dogs. Cats. Turtles. Random interjections about this friend and that shop keeper. etc etc.

Mom would be mad if I didn't end on some kind of light note. So a few tidbits people may not have known about her.

She couldn't grow anything, even weeds. Loved plants but no green thumb. Anything to do with gardening and plants in general fascinated her because of this.

She could cook, but always felt her children's cooking was better. You could say that about anything really, it was her form of bragging. Except makeup of course. She laughed her butt off whenever we tried that.

She loved technology. The internet took some convincing (that sounds like talking to strangers with some prettying up) but she was all for it when realizing it was basically a mobile library. She loved the library. She found our first graphic operating system on floppy disk in the thrift store, god only knows how she saw it buried and in the back. She beamed with pride the first time I built a computer, she didn't know you could do that. Wanted to know everything but would stare in silent fascination at each piece sliding into place. Any new piece of tech that came into the house she read everything she could about it. When she couldn't she asked endless questions and would get hands-on experience.

Mom was the biggest fangirl you ever met since her childhood. She used to stalk the comic book sellers, didn't have the funds to reserve a copy so would see who had one and manage to read it when they were done. Would run (home when her father eventually got a tv to watch baseball but would run anywhere that played anime, doctor who, and star trek) to watch astro boy. She used to describe the plots of sci fi novels she read as a kid and my brother and I would try to search for them by her description. She felt loved when someone would take the time to read aloud to her, always did. Books, tv, games - didn't matter. Loved hearing the voices of the original languages of cartoons, Japanese or French or whichever, and having someone read the subtitles aloud while she read the screen. She was very found of cooking manga in recent years.

She could speak and read to some degree several languages, though after the stroke she mostly stuck to English. It's the language she thought in for decades so I guess it stuck.

Another thing that took a while to come around to was video games. She was worried they would damage the eyes and brains of her children because she heard that in the past. Then she heard the music, read the stories, solved the brain teasing puzzles. She was in love. When ever we would take a test she would yell behind us, "Remember, it's just a video game!" to calm us down. She cried when playing a farming sim on the nintendo ds while cooking after dropping it in the hot oil. Luckily the battery was ok but the system was quite literally fried, cartridge included. In recent years matching games were her favorites but she always had a soft spot for rpgs and nintendo games.

She was looking forward to her favorite online games' new expansion releasing this year and helping to build a new computer to run it. She may not have played it as much as other people but enjoyed just sitting in that world and watching others go about their digital buisness, soaking in the atmosphere and relaxing. She spent hours when first booting the game make a tall, tan female wood elf.

All these loves, and the love for her children, helped mom recover from a stroke a few years ago. She was constantly wanting to know the details of whatever book, comic, game sprung to her mind or needed the details of whatever book I was listening to while knitting. She loved to watch people knit or do any kind of hand craft. She would also love to putter about, sweeping outside to help keep things tidy, helping to get our dog Masaki ready for walks, and loved watching the birds and squirrels visiting our home as closely as possible. Doing little things that needed doing while watching tv and talking with family.

And lastly, Mom would want anyone reading to know she was very vain. Impossibly vain. With an excellent sense of style and taste. She let go of keeping up some of her exterior vanity due to life but on the inside she was vain and would argue with anyone that said otherwise. Always said that she would never have picked up smoking from lighting cigarettes for family if someone had told her "your skin will wrinkle" or "your teeth will turn yellow", etc. She was very good at putting on makeup but was absolutely gorgeous underneath and knew it.

Mom always said, you have to tell yourself how much you love you in the morning first thing. You must love yourself. Know your worth. Don't let anyone tell you who you are. Know who you are. The picture we chose was from her passport when she came to this country after marriage. A young woman full of hope, of promise, of ambition to make life work for her and her small child. It's the photo we will use at home with a small area set aside for her ashes, surrounded by old photos of her beloved pets who passed. It's the way she always saw herself and saw the world. And the world feels a little colder today without her in it.