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Readings, Comments, and Lyrics from the Miami Memorial Service L List of folks that attended the Florida service. We apologize for misspellings and omissions. If you recognize a name that doesn't appear under the "Friends" section, it is likely they are unaware of this site. If possible, notify them that the site exists.Click here for the Rowayton Memorial Service.
Plymouth Congregational Church
Tupelo
Honey She's as
sweet as tupelo honey She's as
sweet as tupelo honey She's as
sweet as tupelo honey You can
take all the tea in China Because
she's as sweet as tupelo honey The Master Speed Comments by Beth Currie-Hill, Kind, compassionate, giving, caring, loving, generous, helpful, knowledgeable, strong-minded, adventurous, intelligent. A wonderful mother, wife, and a dear friend to us all. Currie has touched every one of us in this room in a different and special way. She was so full of energy, knew what she wanted out of life and went for it. Accomplishing each goal with an over the top job every time. No matter how busy or involved in her own projects, Currie always had time for others. She was definitely the Julie McCoy for our group. She was always organizing group events for us all from fabulous trips to the pond house in New Hampshire to awesome fun-filled weekends. Currie always had our weekends planned in such a way that it was action-packed and yet “oh so relaxing” at the same time. She was definitely the hostess with the mostest! Joe and Currie’s relationship was magical. One that you rarely see. She was not only his shining star, but all of ours as well. Currie, we all love you very much and will miss you dearly, but we will always have you, Little Joe and Jack in our hearts forever. I love you, my friend. The Ship I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and the sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says “There, she’s gone.” Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as huge in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and is just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her, and just at the moment when someone at my side says “There, she is gone”, there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout “There! She comes!” As we mourn and grieve our loss, we must remember how blessed and lucky we all are to have known Currie and loved her and been loved by her. We have had our chance, and now we need to be strong and share. Comments by Bry Good morning, and welcome. If a person is judged by her friends, Currie-Hill was an awesome lady! Thank you for coming from California, Colorado, Costa Rico, Canada, Mexico, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut and of course, from all around Florida. Currie was very special. She reached out and touched many people with kindness, fairness, good humor, and especially love. We all were privileged to know her and her bright and beautiful baby Joe. Currie was resourceful. Jennifer and Currie grew up in Rowayton, Connecticut. Their summer excitement was the swimming team and swimming meets around the county. Labor Day weekend was the big swimming meet for all the kids in town. One year, just before the big race, Currie fell and broke her wrist. Tears of pain and disappointment filled our house – what to do? If you knew Currie, you can guess the end of this story. She wrapped the cast in plastic bags and rubber bands, swam her race, and won it! We are broken, and we have a race. Let’s win it. Ok, but how? Over the last several days, people have been saying that Susie and Bry have strength. Whatever strength I may have comes from my Heavenly Father through his son Jesus. The terrible burden of this crime and punishment – both are out of my control – Jesus has taken this burden from me. He will take your burden if you turn to Him. Hebrews 13-5 and 6. Because God has said, “Never will I leave you; Never will I forsake you.” So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid, what can man do to me?” Matthew 11-28 through 30 The words of Jesus – “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me. For I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Comments by Christi For Currie and Little Joe It has been my pleasure and privilege to be a friend and neighbor of Currie and Joe for several years. It is a privilege for me to have the opportunity to speak here today and share some of the thoughts that have been going through my head the past few days. Currie and I were learning to be moms together, one day at a time. We helped each other through the rough spots and shared joy in the many simple pleasures that come your way when you hang around with toddlers. What you might not know about Currie is that she never actually thought of herself as a grown-up. She saw herself as the girl who always hung out with the guys – she often said “it’s not like I’m a girly girl”. So pregnancy and motherhood really rocked her world. I will never forget the day I spent with Currie and Jen shopping for baby stuff. Currie spent the whole day laughing and pointing and asking what everything was for … somehow being pregnant and having a baby was not something she really thought she would actually be doing. She found it surreal and hysterically funny … we spent four hours in the store, and Currie had to have one of everything, regardless of whether she understood what it was for. Even before little Joe was born, she was determined to have all the tools, all the equipment – to do this thing right. Currie believed that anything worth doing is worth doing right. But she thought of “mothering” as a girly thing, and she felt somewhat out of her league. She had a great deal of anxiety about being a mother and doing things the right way. What Currie did not realize is that she was a natural at being a mom. Her entire life, she put the needs of others ahead of her own and took care of people and taught by example. Whether she was --paying monthly bills for her husband’s elderly grandparents or --masterminding a street festival for thousands of people or --climbing up on her roof to fix a leak in the middle of July (six months pregnant) … Currie was capable of succeeding at anything she put her mind to. And being a mom was no exception. She was magnificent at motherhood. And you didn’t have to look very far to see proof of that. Currie was dedicated fully to nurturing her son’s intelligence and sensitivity, and the success of her efforts was right before our eyes. It’s important to me that everyone leave here today knowing little Joe a bit better. He was Currie’s work in progress, and he was a delight. While he was just beginning to get the hang of the sharing thing, at the age of two Joe was already an artist, a strong swimmer, a lover of books, and a surprisingly good dancer. Joe and my son Eli were best pals. This mostly means they liked to hit each other with sticks, throw sand at one another, and fight over the big wheel, but their social skills were progressing. Joe had read the manual on what behavior is expected of two-year-olds, and was following it to the letter. He spent most of the summer with a lopsided Beatles-style hair, because he refused to allow anyone to come near his hair to cut it. Currie would sneak in his room at night and cut one side while he slept, then wait for him to sleep the other way later in the week to finish the job. Joe turned two on August 15th, surrounded by balloons and the people he loved most at the pond in New Hampshire. He had the best summer any kid could dream of, and racked up more frequent flyer miles than anyone else in this church. In the past few months, little Joe learned to swim like a fish in my backyard pool, got the hang of kayaking and catching fish in a net in New Hampshire, and delighted in seeing whales and purple starfish in Washington State on the family vacation to the Orcas Islands. When summer came to an end, Currie took him for his first real haircut at Larry’s Barber Shop. Joe didn’t enjoy it very much, but he finally had a big boy haircut – even all around -- and he was ready to start school. Currie and Joe were so excited (big Joe, that is – little Joe was not exactly thrilled with the being left alone at school idea). Joe was going to be attending school two mornings a week at Plymouth Preschool right here behind this church. Currie was so thorough with the questionnaire she filled out about him that one of his teachers said when she read it she felt intimidated and wondered if she was qualified to teach this mom’s child. Currie told the teachers at Plymouth that Joe was expecting a baby brother in a few weeks, that he knew all of his colors except green, that he could count to eight. She told them he loved music and dancing, I Spy books, climbing, jumping, cars and trains, painting, playdough, his chalkboard, marbles, grapes, chicken nuggets, yogurt, cookies, and when he got lucky, M & Ms. Oh, and that he loved Buzz Lightyear and Stuart Little and Wilbur the Pig from Charlotte’s Web and his beloved Aunt Jen. And all of this information – and more -- was contained in a one-page form. The only person who doubted Currie’s potential as a mom was Currie. Plymouth Preschool certainly knew she was the real thing. Almost eight months pregnant when she signed Joe up for school last week, and gearing up for a busy events season with ESP Events … guess who signed up to be the Room 11 room mother. Guess who signed up to provide snack for the class on the first full day of school (which would have been today). And guess who volunteered to help with both the bake sale and the book fair in October, notwithstanding the fact that she was scheduled to deliver baby Jack on October 21st. Currie Velie. She was the real thing. I can’t tell you how many times in the past year she answered her phone to hear me say “Just one small favor?” And she never failed to say “no problem – I’ll take care of it.” You see, Currie was my “go-to” person. The person you go to when you need something. Capable, competent, resourceful. Leaky roof... a ride to the airport at 6 a.m. … emergency babysitting… help with a birthday party on a blustery April day in the park. You name it … Currie had the tools to do just about anything and she knew how to use them. It showed in the son she was raising. Joe was a bright and happy little boy, secure in the knowledge that he was loved completely and without reservation. Currie was delighted to learn that the baby she was expecting would be another boy (“I’m not a girly girl”, she said, “I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl!”) Currie was capable and confident at everything she did, but I believe she truly found herself as a mother. She was beginning to learn who and what she was, and who and what she was meant to be. She was a woman – a grown-up woman -- who needed more than anything else to love, and to be loved, by a family that was hers. Currie loved her husband Joe, little Joe, the baby she was carrying in her womb, and her beloved sister Jennifer, with unbridled passion and commitment. And they loved her back with equal fervor. With apologies to Pastor Tom, I’ll close by saying this. Currie, as a mom – indeed, as a person -- you kicked ass. I wish I had told you that. I hope you are listening now. I love you. Comments by Miguel My wife Beatriz met Joe for the first time when he was around ten years old, as Joe’s father was one of my best friends, when they used to come for vacation and business in Cozumel island, Mexico. And we had the pleasure of meeting Currie in her early twenties when she was living in St. John. What a coincidence, meeting these two young people in islands always surrounded by the clear and transparent Caribbean sea, that sometimes can be a calm sea and others can have the roughest storm, like the events in our lives. Sometimes calm, peaceful, others tragic. Nothing can be controlled by us, that is why instead of questioning, it is better to accept the facts. Why Joe’s plane did not crash that day or why Jen, Diana or me were not taken away, we do not know. Maybe because of God, for those of us who believe and trust in him, maybe for luck or some providence, but I am sure for those who were not taken that day, there is a mission in life to accomplish. In the short term justice, for the lost ones. In the long run God will let us know. The grief in our hearts will last forever, but we will have to learn how to live with it. There is a story from old China that says there was a man so wise that people started to think he could do miracles. One day a lady that had lost a child came to him crying and said “Master please can you help in bringing my son back?” The Master answered “Of course. I need only one ingredient to make a formula and it is an easy one. Get me a little salt from one of your neighborhood homes, but there is a condition. The salt must come from a home that has known no sadness, grief, or sorrow.“ The lady went around and could not find a single home with that condition, and returned understanding the message of the wise man. Suffering is what makes us better human beings. From where do we get the strength to face this sorrow? Just a firm base of faith in God, with the Hope that we can start changing this world in crisis for lack of values. On watching events we understand with pain that nothing lasts forever in this life, that close ones go ahead of us to God’s call because they were better than us. I am sure Currie is now a Celestial Princess and little Joe and Jack are singing as angels with their Grandpa Joe. Just time, love, hope and faith heal. Jesus said at the hour of his crucifixion: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? He who trusts in the Lord, let the Lord rescue him … But you, O Lord, be not far off … O, my strength, come quickly to help me. I conclude: Don’t question. Fill your heart with love, and accept. A Message of Hope from Currie, Joe and Jack When somebody dies, a cloud turns into an angel and flies up to tell God to put another flower on a pillow. A bird gives the message back to the world and sings a silent prayer that makes the rain cry (and it poured buckets on Friday night). When that happened to us, please know that although it may seem like we have disappeared, we never really went away. We’re up here helping to put the sun to bed, to wake up the grass, and to spin the earth in a dizzy circle. Sometimes you’ll see a cloud swirling … it’s us dancing in a cloud during the daytime when I’m supposed to be sleeping. We’ll paint the rainbows and also the sunsets and make waves splash and tug at the tide. We’ll toss shooting stars and listen to wishes. And when we ding wind songs, we’ll whisper to you, “Don’t miss us too much. The view is nice, and we’re doing just fine.” Talk to us often because we will be at your side … watching you, protecting you and giving you a helpful nudge in the right direction when you need it. The Prophet It was but yesterday we met in a dream. You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky. But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn. The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part. If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song. And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky. A Letter to Little Joe from Jen Dearest Muffin Puff, Joe, you little angel, you brought unspeakable joy to my life. I’ve never felt so happy as when we were together. I’ll cherish your excitement for all things, your curiosity, brilliance, enthusiasm and smile. I’ll never forget how you ran, how you jumped from the windowsill over the couch onto the bean bag chairs. I’ll remember how you swam like a fish. I’ll remember how we read “boops” in your teepee, and how you loved to hide. You played the piano and loved “marples”. I’ll never forget your voice, your slight English accent, or the hundred or so words you knew. You liked pink fish, and pops. You counted to eight. You knew you lived in “Florda”. You loved to sing. You danced, quite well I’d like to add, to any and all music: you even moved your little hips to commercials. I think you started dancing in the womb at the Jazz Fest. You’ve been on more motor boat rides than I have. You always said “Cheeeeeeeze!” You were possibly the most photographed child on the planet. Take care of your Mommy and Jack. Joe: I take your face in my hands, pucker my lips, and give you three little pecks on your lips. I especially loved it when you did that, for no reason, right in the middle of us playing together. I’ll keep an eye out for the frog in the birdhouse. We’ll take good care of your “wees” for you. I can picture you and your Mommy and Jack hanging out on the clouds that are above us all. On days when there are no clouds, I’ll know you guys are on vacation. After all, the Velies vacation often. I see you jumping from cloud to cloud. I love you as if you were my own. Let me know what new things you are discovering up there. I see your wave, and I hear your voice. Cheers, little man! Love you from the bottom of my heart, with all my heart, forever. Love, Nin Nin A Letter to Currie from Jen Dearest Beanhead: As you know, I’m sitting here looking out over Biscayne Bay from the fourteenth floor of a place we shared great times. I miss you deeply Curly. I miss you deeply. We were, and will continue to be, the best of friends. We were as close as if we were twins right from birth. You and I shared absolutely everything together. We thought and felt the same way about all things. I cannot fathom the idea of never hugging you again, but there is comfort in truly knowing that we’ll continue to talk everyday. I now you are watching over me and I vow to live, from this day forward, as you would have wanted me to. There was and is no human being on earth as special to me as you are and that will never change. I was always so proud of you: your ways and your many accomplishments. It was an honor to be your sister. You are a treasure to me. I’m grateful to you for letting me into your family so easily and without hesitation. I’m grateful I shared with you all your greatest moments: your wedding, your first house, both ultrasounds, the birth of your son and all the other everyday joys and triumphs. I’m grateful that I spent almost every single day and weekend with you and your son. I have no regrets – only stupendous memories. I loved the way you said good morning to even the most reluctant faces. I loved how you wore earrings all the time, even if you were just going to the beach. Sand inside your house really bugged you. You loved getting tan. You loved all outdoor activities: water-skiing, kayaking, canoeing, camping, swimming, scuba diving, horseback riding, roller-blading. You hated water marks on your leather couch. You loved dancing at all the shows and bringing home the set lists every time. We had to pack our squishy pillows when we traveled. We couldn’t go anywhere without at least two drinks in our hands, plus at least three bags of “stuff”. We couldn’t take two trips from the car, we had to carry everything in one trip. You usually had so many things to do and so many details in your head, including taking care of us, that you’d forget the simplest things: like closing the side door of the parked car before you went to the pool for two hours. You hated mosquitoes. I loved how we both felt approximately 22 years old. You were so young at heart, and this is an understatement. You were always so happy and content and easygoing. Never ever negative. Real. Honest. Non-judgmental. I’ll remember going to the Five Mile River dock with our nets to catch minnows so we could then fish for snapper. I’ll remember laughing so hard in church, whenever we sat next to each other, that we shook the whole pew. I love that you took three birch trunks and constructed a tee pee for the boys to play in at the Pond House. I admired how deeply you loved Joe, Little Joe, and Jack and what exceptional care you took of them. You lived each day to the fullest, from the start. What a great way to live. What you wanted most of all for me was to meet a nice guy and have my own children. I’ll work on that, babe. Don’t worry, sweetpea. I’m strong like you were (two peas in a pod) and I’ll take care of things down here. You take care of things up there and we’ll hook up later. You were, and will always be, a brilliantly shining light that will forever warm my heart. Love you. P.S. I was going to wear the Nantucket sweatshirt today, but you left it in New Hampshire, you little bugger. I’ll snag it soon enough. Don’t worry, I won’t wear out the cuffs. Comments by Joe My life with Currie was a gift. A gift that opened each day with a hug and a kiss. A gift that grew as every day passed. A gift that brought us together as a couple and as a family. She was my soul mate, my business partner, my best friend, the mother of my children, and most of all, the light of my life. We were friends in high school, lovers in college, and husband and wife forever. She was the strongest person we all knew. She found happiness in sorrow and saw the good in the bad. She always thought of everyone else before herself. Her smile is what drew her to me immediately. Her personality is what made my cling to her forever. She truly was an individual beyond equal. To her anything worth doing was worth doing correctly and with 100% passion. And that is how she took her role as a mother. The last two years of our lives have been without equal. Our son brought us together even stronger than we had been in the past. He was everything we could imagine and more. Each word he uttered we treated as gold. He was a child who was well beyond his age of two. Our little man we called him. We dreamed of our future together. Watching our boys grow up as we grew old was all we wanted out of life. We were truly a match made in heaven. And heaven is where we will meet again as the family we were and the family we were to become. I’ll miss you, Currie, Joe, and Jack, and my love for you will continue to grow. All is Well Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Reminds Me of You Letter to the Editor Editor: She was always going out of her way to help the needy, and she left a
mark
in our community -- first with the Ocean Drive Special district, where she
managed the sanitation services and hired homeless persons to give them an
opportunity, then as a project manager for MBCDC, producing affordable
housing projects such as the Madison (for families), the Jefferson (for
the
elderly), The Fernwood (people with special needs), the Crespi Park
Apartments, the Coral Rock House Community Center, and the Seymour. Mother and Child Reunion |
