06/13/2026
Mom was laid to rest on this beautiful day, surrounded by family and friends. It was an emotional yet peaceful farewell for a woman who touched the lives of everyone fortunate enough to know her. The love, support, and stories shared today were a testament to the remarkable person she was and the lasting impact she had on so many. Our hearts are heavy, but we find comfort in knowing she is finally at peace and reunited with those who went before her. Thank you to everyone who joined us in celebrating her life and honoring her memory.
For those who weren't able to join us, here is the eulogy I delivered today. I hope I made her proud.
Good morning, and thank you for being here to support my family and me during one of the most difficult days of our lives.
Before I begin my tribute to my mom, I’d like to honor some of the important people in her life. One of the greatest blessings in my Mom's later years was Amber, her PCA, her angel on Earth of almost two years. Mom absolutely loved and adored Amber, and the feeling was mutual. She cared for Mom with extraordinary kindness, patience, dignity, and compassion. She treated her as if she were her own family.
The truth is, Amber quickly became family. Somewhere along the way, she stopped being Mom's caregiver and became one of us. She's now stuck with us for life, whether she likes it or not, and we love her dearly. Our family will never be able to fully express how grateful we are for the love and devotion she showed Mom every single day.
I would also like to take a moment to thank the other extraordinary caregivers who became part of our extended family - Natashia, Christa, Ellie, Amber R, my sister Lisa, and the entire Hospice team that supported us so well. They cared for and treated her with kindness, dignity, patience, and compassion. They celebrated her good days, comforted her through the difficult ones, and provided support not only to her, but to all of us who loved her.
There are no words adequate to express our gratitude for the care they provided. Knowing she was surrounded by people who genuinely adored her brought us tremendous comfort and peace. Thank you for loving my Mom so much.
My mom, Theresa C. Saharceski, died just 10 days shy of her 94th birthday. Legally, the "C" stood for Clara, a name she hated but embraced because it honored my great-grandmother. However, those of us who knew her best knew that the "C" really stood for cookies, candy, cake or chocolate because my mother never met a dessert she didn’t like.
Chocolate was truly her first love, but ice cream was a very close second. A bowl of ice cream could brighten her day no matter what was going on. Between the chocolate and the ice cream, she had life pretty well figured out. In fact, if there is chocolate and ice cream in Heaven, I'm fairly certain she found them within the first five minutes of arriving.
As difficult as today is, this is not the first time I've said goodbye to my mom.
She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2010, so for the last 16 years, I watched the woman I grew up with disappear piece by piece. Each time another part of her slipped away, I grieved the loss of something I knew would never return.
Alzheimer's is an unforgiving disease. Imagine waking up and not recognizing your own room, your own home, sometimes even your own family, and having absolutely no idea how to navigate your day. You need help with every aspect of your life, and you have to trust others simply to survive.
My mom lived that life for a very long time, and yet she never lost the qualities that made her who she was. She kept her sweet smile, her wonderful sense of humor, her quick wit, and her nurturing spirit. Over time, I learned to focus on what I was lucky enough to still have instead of what I had lost. She was still the woman who raised me to become the person I am today. She gave me the strength and perseverance to stand before you today, to fight for my dreams and believe in myself, and she was always there to pick me up when I stumbled.
One of the things I'll miss most is hearing my mother's voice.
Mom had special names for the people she loved. If she called you "Honey Bunny," you knew you held a special place in her heart. It was one of her favorite terms of endearment, and she handed it out generously to family, friends, and anyone fortunate enough to be wrapped in her warmth and affection.
Even as Alzheimer's stole so much from her, certain things remained. For years, the last words she said to me every night were, "Love you too, babes." It became our ritual, our way of ending the day, and a reminder that no matter what challenges we were facing, or how difficult our day was, love was always there.
What strikes me now is how often I find myself saying those same words to my bonus daughter and my husband. Without even realizing it, I carried that piece of my mother forward. It's one of the many gifts she gave me. Her love didn't stop with her; it continues through the people she loved and the family she built. Every time I tell my husband or my daughter, "Love you too, babes," I hear a little bit of my mom's voice in my own, and for a moment, she's right there with me.
Long before Alzheimer's entered her life, my mother dedicated herself to caring for others. As a nurse, she spent her career comforting people during some of their most difficult moments. Nursing wasn't just what she did—it was who she was. She was compassionate, patient, and endlessly caring. Even after retirement, those qualities never left her. Taking care of others came naturally to her because she genuinely cared about people.
Looking back, I realize that many of the values she taught me—kindness, resilience, empathy, and service to others—were the very same qualities that made her such an exceptional nurse.
My brother and I were incredibly fortunate. We were adopted by two amazing parents who chose us, loved us, supported us, and gave us a wonderful life. We never doubted that we belonged. We never questioned whether we were loved. Mom and Dad made sure of that every single day. They celebrated our successes, helped us through our failures, and stood beside us through every chapter of our lives.
Being their children was one of the greatest gifts we could ever receive, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
Mom loved and appreciated people's outfits and often commented on what we were wearing on a daily basis. Alzheimer's destroyed any glimpse of a "filter" she may once have had, so there was never any doubt about where she stood with her opinion. You learned very quickly not to ask for it if you weren't prepared for an honest answer. And then there were the times when you received unfiltered advice whether you asked for it or not.
Thankfully, she was usually full of compliments. She loved telling people how nice they looked, and her enthusiasm always seemed to increase if you happened to be wearing purple.
Mom absolutely loved the color purple and surrounded herself with it everywhere she could. As many of you know, that particular trait somehow found its way into the next generation. Every time I wear it, I'll think of my mom and feel a little closer to her. It's one of the many ways I will continue to honor her, remember her, and keep her close to my heart.
She held a very special place in my husband's heart, too. He was unbelievably patient, kind, and loving when it came to caring for her. He welcomed her into our home without hesitation or reservation. He sacrificed a great deal during the three and a half years she lived with us, simply to keep her safe, happy, and healthy.
Part of his daily routine involved helping her wash her hands and brush her teeth to start or end her day. He would make up songs and sing to her to help her understand the steps and stay on track. Sometimes his plans went awry because his made-up songs and antics would get her dancing and laughing so hard that she couldn't focus on the task she was supposed to be doing.
He'd tell her stories, and she'd look at him with a twinkle in her eye and respond with one of her favorite sayings: "And the farmer took another load away!"
That poor, hard-working farmer worked overtime a lot in our house!
It's an eerie feeling to wake up one morning and realize that you're the last one standing from your immediate family. There's a sense of loss and abandonment that can't really be described unless you're living it. My whole identity has changed. I'm no longer a daughter, a sister, or a caregiver. I'm just me, and suddenly that has to be enough to fill the void they all left behind.
It's a very lonely feeling.
But looking out at all of you today reminds me that I'm not alone. Every person here carries a memory, a story, or a piece of my mom with them. As much as it pains me to be the one carrying this grief and navigating a new path forward, there's also a part of me that's thankful. It means my parents and my brother didn't have to endure this loss. They didn't have to stand where I stand today. And somehow, that brings me comfort through the pain.
One of the gifts Alzheimer's gave us, oddly enough, was the opportunity to appreciate living in the moment, and enjoying the simple things - a smile, a laugh, holding hands, watching game shows, or just sitting together quietly. We learned that love doesn't disappear when memories fade. Sometimes it shines even brighter.
I’d like to think that my mom is finally free again. Free from confusion. Free from fear. Free from the limitations that Alzheimer's placed upon her. I imagine her reunited with the people she loved and missed so dearly, her mind restored, her laughter unchanged, perhaps wearing something purple, with a piece of chocolate in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other.
Mom, thank you for your love, your sacrifices, your strength, and the countless ways you shaped my life. Thank you for teaching me how to care for others, how to persevere through difficult times, and how to find humor even in life's hardest moments.
Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for being my mother. You will always be with me. I will miss you every day, but I will carry your love with me for the rest of my life. May you finally rest in peace.
And Mom, one last time...
Love you too, babes.
