Hazel St. Clare Bigby (nee Dixon)
2 Timothy 4:7
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.
I’m not sure where to begin. I never gave thought to having to eulogize my mother, though I suppose I probably should have. I guess I was shortsighted, or too afraid to live – even momentarily – in the gravity of what it would mean to give it thought. Nevertheless, I am here, in this chapel, in front of you all, doing my best to complete the task at hand.
My daughter had an idea to make some bookmarks to memorialize her grandmother, and as she and I started throwing ideas around, I came across that bible verse from 2 Timothy, chapter 4, verse 7 – I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith ….
It seemed simple. If I have the context right, this was Paul expressing his hope about his death. My Mom was a fairly simple woman, while I never really heard her speak about death incessantly, toward the end, she did mention it on random occasions. She was definitely right with it, and so this verse felt like it fit. A simple verse for a simple woman full of faith, that fought a good fight, who has now finished her course.
I can state for a fact that her faith was unshakeable! Without going too far into details, this is already a somber occasion, but she had Alzheimer’s disease – and it did to her, what it does to all who suffer from it. However, I am mentioning it only because towards the end there were only a few things that she unfailingly connected with – the two at the head of that short list were: her faith, and my Dad.
Whether it was someone talking about a Bible verse, or someone singing a gospel hymn, there were obvious signs of a connection in her. Sometimes she joined the song, sometimes she tapped her hands and feet. Sometimes she could be heard saying a prayer. These are things that I can report on, as a witness. I saw them with my own eyes. In the throes of dementia, she held her faith!
My mother was a fighter. That was another constant throughout her life. By all accounts, including her own, she was a pistol as a youngster. She was fiercely protective of her older brother, my uncle Vincent. She spoke of getting into fights at school. However, she grew up. She matured and had successfully put all of that physical fighting behind her years before I came along. I never knew my mother to be violent person. She was assertive. We lived in New York City though, so our environment dictated that you had to be. She was also fearless. I had the occasion to witness her holding her own in arguments with random people, and I never saw her back down.
After we moved to Jamaica, I saw her strength, front and center. My Dad remained in New York to work. For a time, she worked the night shift at Noel Holmes’ Hospital in Lucea. She would do her shift and always make it home on time to take us to school.
There came a time when she stopped nursing for a while and decided to start a farm. We mainly raised chickens, but we also had goats and pigs on occasion. She poured herself into making it successful. In my opinion, it was a fight. She got up early to clean the coops and styes, before taking us to school and she worked throughout the day collecting eggs and feeding the animals – toiling away under the hot Jamaican sun. She fought to maintain her purpose, to maintain her independence.
Things did not necessarily come easy for her, and that predated the version of her that I knew. For example, as mentioned in her obituary, she rode a bicycle throughout Sheffield to deliver babies, as a midwife – day or night, rain or shine. She tended bar in Jamaica, which as a young woman – in any country – I can’t imagine would be easy. She was a fighter.
When she started on her spiritual journey, her fight changed yet again. This time around, the strength, assertiveness, and fearlessness were there, but the temptation to meet negativity with negativity was missing. It was always met with something like, “I’ll leave you to God.” She maintained a calm and confidence in situations that would have most of us seriously frustrated, or worse.
The more she immersed herself in her faith, the more she seemed to be at peace with everything in life. She taught Sunday School and attended many crusades and conventions. She did volunteer work. She spent a lot of time at home studying the Word. This was her final fight. That was her course, and she stayed it to the very end.
As is the case with us all, she was not perfect. However, she did her best. As a mother, that meant she tried to balance love and support with the hard lessons and consequences that life often brings and necessitates. She worked hard, and she insisted on earning anything that she had. She believed in being punctual, being prepared and being independent. These are the main qualities that she did her best to impress upon her children – hard work, punctuality, preparedness and independence.
Speaking only for myself, I can say that my mother instilled whatever good I possess in me. However, I know she tried to do the same with all my siblings. She was always there for me – even when I didn’t realize that I needed her. I miss her. I guess I’ve missed her for a while now, but that’s neither here, nor there.
I love you, Hazel St. Clare Dixon Bigby! You fought a good fight, you finished your course, you kept your faith ….