In Memoriam: Cathi Schnell Thomas
(The eulogy below, which includes Cathi's obituary, was written and delivered by Cathi's daughter, Lori.)
Today we have gathered to celebrate the life of Mary Katherine Thomas. I am her daughter Lori, and I am honored to speak about her today.
Mary Katherine Thomas (Cathi) of Humble, Texas died Tuesday, January 19th, 2010 at the age of 63. Cathi was born May 29th, 1946 in Okeene, Oklahoma to Ruben and Alice Schnell. Her family moved to Stillwater, Oklahoma in 1959. She met Jay Thomas in High School and the two were married on January 21st, 1963. From an early age, she showed great artistic talent, became a self taught American Indian artist; covering all types of media with concentrations in painting, pottery carving and painting, woodcarving, and multi-media art. She showed her art at local galleries, antique malls and area art shows for many years. She served as President of the Houston Civic Arts Association in the mid 70’s. She also taught private art lessons and volunteered her artistic expertise at Pat Neff Elementary school.
Cathi is survived by her husband of 46 years Jay Thomas of Humble Texas; son and daughter-in-law Todd and Diane Thomas of Humble Texas; daughter and son-in law Lori and Robert Ryan of Humble, Texas; six grandchildren Kalen Thomas, Emily Thomas, Sarah Thomas of Austin Texas; Ethan Schmitz, Eily Ryan and Conor Ryan of Humble Texas; great-granddaughter Chloe Lynn Thomas of Austin, Texas; siblings Kirby Schnell of Prescott, Arizona, Kaye Driscoll of Houston, Texas, Jaki Wheeler of Prescott, Arizona, and Earl Schnell of Vacaville, California.
I searched my heart for many hours, scoured my memories for the right things to say, not wanting to forget any detail that might convey the person my mother was. I sat with a blinking cursor for a long time, not sure where to begin. Worried if I wrote one memory down, pulling it forward in my mind might make others fade. I thought about favorite memories, things that remind me of her, and things I will miss most about her. Finally I remembered the two of us looking at a picture of her mother Alice, and how we both noticed her hands and admired them. Alice’s old, wrinkled, mishappen and beautiful hands. And finally I knew, MY mother’s hands were the one thread that bound everything together.
My first memories of my mother were her reaching her hand down to take mine. Her fingers gently rubbing my earlobe to help me fall asleep. Watching her fingers grasp a pencil or paintbrush and making the paper come alive with her imagination. Watching how my hand writes like hers, our writing was indistinguishable from one another’s for a while. She used her hands to covey her passions, her love, her concern, her joy, her hopes, her dreams, her ambitions, and she adorned her hands with her prized possessions. I cannot imagine how many conversations we had looking at her hands, admiring a new ring, smiling at the memories of an old one.
My mother’s hands were not wrinkled, or misshapen, or old. They were smooth, her nails neatly filed, her signature brown nail polish only slightly chipped. Her hands held Todd and I, rubbed my legs and hands when they hurt, painted, drew and carved wonderous art, smoothed down each of her grandchildren’s hair, held daddy’s hand for almost 47 years, planted and tended to hundreds of plants and ached to do more. Taught children how to draw, searched the shores for the seas treasures, searched the antique shops for her own treasures, wrote her innermost thoughts and hopes, offered comfort to a friend. Her hands found cancer, smoothed lotion into daddy’s back when he was sick, moved when she talked, confidently shook the hand of art clients, pulled the arm on the slots, pushed the button the elevator to take her bucket of nickels up to the jewelry store before daddy came back and saw she won the jackpot. Her hands changed diapers of two kids and six grandkids and yearned to hold her first great-grandchild.
I will remember her smile and the way it lit up her whole face, it seemed to come from the center of her being and shine forward. I will remember her cute little feet. I will remember how all of her Indians she drew ended up having Schnell noses like her. And mostly, I will remember her hands. I began my life in hers, and held hers in death.
Her artistic talent, as great as it was, was not the thing she was most proud of in her life. Her marriage to my father was always at the top of her list. My parents love for one another made me believe in forever. They always put each other first, worked at their relationship constantly and had a deep respect for each other.
Our family of four, Mom, Dad, Todd and I have in the past few years been pulled very close together because of illness. We live together, eat together, celebrate together, fight together, raise kids together, we all take care of each other. So you will understand when I say, we are not just mourning her death, a huge chunk of our souls are missing now.
My mother was a remarkable woman, a survivor. But she didn’t just survive, she created beauty in this world, she loved with all her being, she lived life the fullest she could every day.
Mom, we miss you terribly, but we are so happy that you are at peace, happy and whole. We know you surely were given the job of painting the skies at sunset, and so we will scatter your ashes and watch for your handiwork.
©2009 Stillwater High School Class of 1964