Eulogy for Lorna

Thank you all for being here today to help us honor and say goodbye to an extraordinary woman — my mother, Lorna Jean Lewis

I'm not sure I’ll find the right words to describe what she meant to me, to our family, and to her friends and people lucky enough to have known her. But I’ll try, because she deserves that — and so much more.

Lorna was a proud Jamaican woman who came to Toronto at the young age of 22, unsure of her future. She and her friend Vilma were destined for Winnipeg, but skipped their flights and never looked back. That move took courage. It took heart. And it set the stage for a life that would touch so many people. At 26, she met my dad, Joe, and after testing the waters for about eight years. This partnership had not separated for more than half a century, through every high and low, right up until late October.

She was not just a wife, mother, or grandmother. She was the glue that held our lives together. The person we could count on — always. She raised me with love, with strength, with patience, and with joy. She raised a great son — not just because I say so, but because she made me want to be someone she could be proud of.

She always had my back. Whatever I wanted to do, whatever direction life pulled me in, she supported me with everything she had. She believed in me always. Because of her, I never questioned whether I could make a home somewhere else. She was always proud of me and always let me know it. She talked about me with everyone.

Mom taught me more than just life lessons. She was cool, and she talked to everyone. She took rides from strangers, peered into window shops, and brandished the hang loose gesture when they noticed her. Many Ryerson fashion students loved her as she genuinely loved being around them. She was a happy person, even in the worst of her dementia condition, she never got mean or nasty like many affected by the disease.

She taught me how to be a gentleman. She taught me how to move. She had rhythm, she had a style, and she had that lightness of spirit that made you want to get up and move with her. It wasn’t just about dancing, though — it was about confidence, joy, and expressing who you are. That was her way.

As a grandmother, she was just as loving and present as she could be. If you hadn’t heard her talk about Langston, you must not have spoken with her in the last 10 years. Her pride in her grandson was unmistakable. In NY, she played for hours with him in the basement, until she had to submit as she found her match for energy.

She is survived by her devoted husband, Joe — Dad, your love for her was constant. Loyal. Gentle. The way you stood by her all these years is a love story in its own right.

To say I’ll miss her doesn’t need to be said. She would tell me she will be with me — in the way I walk through this world, in the way I love my family, in the way I laugh, and in my spirit. She wouldn’t want me to be sad or upset. She’d say it’s part of life and we all go through it.

Mom, thank you for your love, your care, and everything you gave of yourself for me. Thank you for your strength. Thank you for being you. I love you forever and ever.