The microphone moved from person to person Saturday at South Congregational Church, igniting conversation and passion along the way.
Sort of like Miriam Watson used to do.
Up and down the two aisles the mic went, into the waiting hands of those who couldn’t wait to relay their own story about Watson, who died last month from breast cancer at the age of 44.
This was a celebration of Watson and what she represented, and it included elements in her life that she loved: a stringed ensemble that included her two children, 13-year-old Anabelle and Gregory, 11, both of whom played the violin; music from Harry Potter movies; balloons; and people.
Always people.
Lou Rosenthal rose and said he worked at the local cold-weather shelter program, which Watson and her husband Bill Watson ran for four years.
“After speaking to her, I’d always think, ‘Wow, that woman was really happy to have seen me,’ ” Rosenthal said.
Another man said Watson never “blamed anyone for anything.” A woman marveled that Watson had brought Anabelle and Gregory to a Bhutanese community celebration, saying she “was moved by her willingness to come and add some diversity” to the event.
A young woman said she’d get an Easter care package from Watson in college each year, featuring a bunny stuffed with treats. Even little kids felt emboldened to stand at the packed church and speak about Watson and what she’d meant to them.
Quinn Caryl-Klika, who’s 12 and lives with a life-threatening allergy, said, “She was never worried about herself. She was always worried about me and how to make my life better.”
And remember, Watson made a career out of making people feel good about themselves, while she herself fought cancer. As Bill Watson said during his moving speech Saturday, “She didn’t feel sorry for herself, and she did not complain to others. In fact, most people had no clue what she was going through.”
He continued: “The other day someone offered condolences and said, ‘Do you mean she was sick for 11 ½ years?’ She wasn’t sick for 11 ½ years. She had to deal with cancer for that long, but she lived and she thrived when it came to topics that were important to her.”
Everything seemed important to Watson. Diagnosed with breast cancer while pregnant with Gregory, she mapped out plans for a homeless shelter program while undergoing chemotherapy treatment at Concord Hospital. She worked with refugees, baking them bread and delivering Christmas gifts to make them feel more at home.
She home schooled her children, taught them how to sew, learned to skate so she could play hockey with them, encouraged and supervised their violin practices, started a yoga program for mothers and their babies, hosted Thanksgiving dinners for anyone who was hungry, taught kids to ski, and on and on.
“She gave everything she had in everything she did for every moment in her life,” Bill said.
And to thank her, people shoehorned themselves into the South Church. There was violin music by the Suzuki String ensemble, featuring Anabelle and Gregory, with the notes floating high toward a ceiling that went on forever. There was piano music, too.
And, of course, there were speeches, one of which was made by Gregory, who thanked Watson for helping him with “my grammar skills and my confidence to stand up and speak powerfully, firmly and respectfully.”
Anabelle’s speech was read by Rev. Carlos Jauhola-Straight. “Despite the fact that she was a tiny woman, this did not impact her personality,” Anabelle wrote. “She was caring, clever, funny and fun loving. She was unafraid to fight for what she believed in. I could not be who I am today without her.”
There was humor as well, including this nugget from family friend Kevin Nyhan, who saw Watson the day before she died and tried to reassure her that he would support her family. “It gives me no comfort,” Watson said, according to Nyhan, “that you’re taking care of my family.”
The laughter generated by that line mixed with tears and sniffles as a community said goodbye to a friend. Bill said his wife wanted to leave quietly, afraid she’d be a burden to others.
Bill would have none of it.
“Sometimes it works the way you have it planned,” he said, “and sometimes it doesn’t. But I guess that’s life.”