Maisa's Tribute Speech

These are the words I spoke at Maisa's celebration of life on November 17, 2023. Many more words to come. I love you Maisa.

Thank you all for being here. My name is Samia and I had the honor of being Maisa’s mother.

I want to tell you about the necklace that I am wearing. Two good friends gave this to me when I was pregnant with Maisa in 2009. It’s a circle - no beginning, no end. On one side it has her name engraved: Maisa Rose. 

I picked her name out when I was 21, before I even met Maisa’s dad, James. I was on a trip to Morocco and I met a girl named Maisa. It’s Arabic and means “one who walks with a strong, proud gait.” 

On the other side of the necklace four words are engraved: love, joy, presence, and peace.

These four words represent my hopes and goals as a mother. I wanted all my children to feel and know love, joy, presence and peace. For them to feel love for themselves and feel loved in our family. To feel joy in their lives. To feel strong and proud in their own presence, and to know inner peace, and peace in our family. These words shaped our values and were my daily wish.

Maisa taught us Love 

I look back over photos of Maisa and our family together and I can see the love we shared. 

There are countless stories of her love for her brothers. Like, in 2018 when we took them to Guatemala to visit friends. She was 8. We got the kids all ice cream cones and walked to a nearby park. Sawyer, age 6, dropped his on the ground  and started crying and she immediately started sharing her ice cream cone with him. Her generosity and desire for him to be happy was natural at such a young age. I watched her and learned how to love better. 

Her love for James and me was innocent and pure. Those of you who know me know that I am an avid Virginia basketball fan. In 2016 Virginia played Syracuse in the Elite Eight for a trip to the Final Four. In typical Virginia style we blew a 16 point lead in the second half and lost. To make things worse, we had tickets to that Final Four that year for my 40th birthday. In spite of my best efforts to display good sportsmanship for my kids, Maisa, being the empath that she was, could tell I was really sad and disappointed. She made this Virginia trophy which is now more valuable to me than the actual National Championship we ended up winning in three years later.

It is difficult to accept that the love our family shared  was not enough to keep her here.

Maisa taught us Joy

Maisa taught us the joy of simple things - she loved being in nature and helping others. 

When I picked her up from preschool at The Children’s School she would often look at me and say, “No mommy, it’s not time to go yet! I haven’t gotten muddy!” And she would walk over to a mud pit and put mud all over her feet, her legs, maybe a little in her hair for good measure. 

She loved to walk the neighborhood and pick up trash. I quickly learned that we needed to bring a bag with us because it wasn’t a good look to have a child walking around with arms full of empty beer cans. 

She found joy in music and enjoyed sharing her love of music with others. She played the trombone in band and jazz band at school and was playing some piano and guitar at home. 

She found joy in movement, though lacrosse and running. 

We would often find her climbing trees in the yard and outside enjoying the sunset. This past week I’ve found myself outside watching the sunrise and sunset just to feel closer to her. The colors in the sky seem extra beautiful these past few days.

Maisa taught us Presence 

When Maisa was a nursing baby she used to play with this necklace and stick her little baby fingers through the circle. It was a repeated reminder to me to just be present in that moment with her. To notice how the light would reflect on her sweet cheeks or how her warm skin would feel as she fell asleep after nursing on my chest. 

She would often take detours on hikes, always wanting to climb something, search for rocks, explore side trails. She reminded us not to be in any hurry, just to enjoy the moment we were in.

Even now, she is still teaching me presence. I have no choice but to be present with this overwhelming grief and pain of losing her. To take life one breath, one minute at a time. 

Maisa taught us Peace 

What is more peaceful than watching a sleeping baby or child? She brought a lot of peace into my life. One of the last things we did together was camp near Elko to watch the annular solar eclipse for her 14th birthday. 

It was cloudy and we were worried we wouldn’t get to see it but the clouds parted briefly and we saw the ring of fire. 

For a moment there was stillness and smiles and peace and everything seemed right in our world and hers. I watched her enjoy the peace and stillness of the desert, the open landscape. 

She flew kites with her younger brother. We watched the beautiful and expansive sunset and looked at the stars that seemed to go on forever.

We have a hill with a trail behind our house where Maisa loved to play. I looked up there a few days after Maisa died, and saw a heart and a rainbow. I burst into tears, feeling like it was a sign from her that she is at peace and ok.

I don’t know exactly what caused her to go into a dark place where we couldn’t reach her. If I had answers, maybe she would still be here. Mental illness is complex and there is a lot we don’t know or understand yet. 

I do think it was extremely painful for Maisa to observe what humans are doing to each other, all of the division, polarization and suffering in the world.

Being the daughter of two attorneys she had an acute sense of justice. Last year in class when a teacher tried to punish the entire class for something one student did, she told the teacher that collective punishment was a war crime which violated the Geneva Convention and cited to the relevant article . The class applauded and gave her a standing ovation.

There is a lot of pressure to pick sides on almost everything. You have to be an expert on every topic and be able to distill it all down to 140 characters or a meme. It’s too much for adults and it’s definitely too much for kids. We need gentleness and nuance in our conversation.

We need to listen to each other. Listen to understand varying viewpoints instead of trying to change minds. 

Can we approach our differences with curiosity rather than judgment? In a world that is becoming increasingly polarized and black and white, I encourage you to widen your circle, to stay curious, and make room for the both/and. More than one thing can be true.

There is an overwhelming amount of suffering in the world, and there is a lot of beauty and goodness in the world. I feel enormous and overwhelming grief that Maisa is no longer here with me in her physical body and also some relief that she is no longer tormented by the things that were causing her to want to leave. 

I wrote in Maisa’s obituary about starting in our own hearts and I do believe that is where change needs to start, at the individual level.  

To the adults in the room: How can we do better? How can we listen more, connect more? With each other, with our children? 

To the kids and young adults in the room: Please, I am begging you, talk to us, tell us what you need and how to help you. Tell us how to make things better. We are listening. 

Let’s listen to each other. Let’s care for each other. Let’s give each other the gifts of love, joy, presence and peace. Let’s be the good we want to see in the world. For each other. For Maisa. Thank you.