I would like to tell a story about a woman that I know.

A story about love. A story about a woman who could overcome anything, make anyone smile, tell anyone the truth, and a woman who always put her family first. Many of you knew my mom and you will share some memories from recent years past, but I would like to share some memories from her early life.  

My mom grew up in a small town near the capital of Ukraine. Her father died when she was 10 years old, and my widowed grandmother was left to raise my mother as the middle child between two other sisters, in Soviet Ukraine during the 70s and 80s. 

Before my mom’s father passed, she had a beautiful relationship with him. She would tell me stories about how he would take her to the garden, the sun would be shining, and they would sit in the warm grass picking perfectly fresh strawberries, blueberries, or raspberries until their bellies were full. They would laugh so loud that her older sister and mother could hear them from inside the house and they would always get jealous. 

My mom moved out when she was 16 into a small apartment in Kiev where she lived with one of her friends and continued her education. She got her master’s degree in history and had several jobs to support herself including teaching, modeling, and even shoe making. 

My mom as a young woman had gravity similar to that of Earth. Everyone was attracted to her. Her best friend from her early 20s in Ukraine, Raiska, told me over a Skype call once that my mom was always the life of the party. She said that no one could believe Larisa was having such a good time, laughing with everyone, but would never have a single drink. When people offered my mom a drink she would say: “No, I don’t drink. Unless it’s only one, and it’s a very classy champagne, in an elegant crystal glass” … and the next party that they would go to, there would guys lined up with expensive bottles of champagne, each carrying one single crystal glass offering my mom a drink – and, she would still turn them down. 

My mom had me when she was 28 and we moved to the states in 1994, landing at JFK airport. Her family in Ukraine was complicated, my father wasn’t present, the Soviet Union was being dismantled, and she had the guts to take a chance to give ourselves an opportunity at a better life. We moved to the centre of the universe, a paradise of sorts, called Nashua, New Hampshire. 

American life was new. My mom had to adapt quickly and learn how to survive. She didn’t have a car. On one side of the highway there was our apartment. On the other side of the highway there was the grocery store. So naturally, grocery shopping meant holding hands with my mom, and running across an 8-lane highway. One day, a police officer saw this skinny woman with her 4-year-old son wearing oversized sunglasses, carrying a gallon of milk, running across the interstate like they just robbed a grocery store. When the officer asked my mom what the hell she was thinking, she simply explained, “we are crossing the busy road, no big deal” … in many ways, that moment was emblematic of our life. Making use of what we had… and having fun while doing it. 

My mom soon landed her first job as a translator, between English, Russian, and Ukrainian, with our dear friend John Furry at a company called Rosetta Stone. It was my mom’s first real job in the US and when she got it, we celebrated by picking up Taco Bell, going to a little parking lot by the Nashua airport, sitting on the hood of her car, eating tacos, watching the planes fly over our head and land on the tarmac until the sun went down. From that point forward, that little parking spot became our celebratory spot. Taco bell and the sound of airplanes will always remind me of my mom and success. 

When my mom enrolled in the Nashua Community College to study software engineering during the late 90s, she would study, work, and spend time with me. Some of my favorite memories are from our empty apartment, where we would pull the mattress into the living room, blast Abba’s greatest hits and jump and dance around like we were on top of the world. And we were on top of the world. She always had a knack at making something out of nothing. 

At Nashua Community College my mom had a physics professor, Paul. Paul and his wife Mary immediately became infatuated with my mom, and sort of became my quasi grandparents. One day my mom had a break down and told Paul that she was going to pause her studies to continue working and to take care of her son. Eventually, he talked her out of it, sharing a quote: “If you are going through hell, keep on going. Why would you stop in hell? Keep going”.  

Our dear friend Paul passed away, and Mary who couldn’t be here today wanted me to share something with you. From Mary:

Dear Anton and friends of Larisa. I wish I could be there with you today to celebrate the life of this lovely strong woman. She was a dear friend, and we will all miss her very much. 

I met Larisa through my husband, Paul, who was a Professor at multiple universities.

Larisa was in one of his classes and needed some help, which he often gave her.  He suggested that she stays in school and does not give up.  She was very grateful, and we were friends for many years. 

I will always remember her smile, her laughter, and her delight in joking and teasing friends.

She was so pretty, she could have been a model. She was very smart and always figured out how to solve a problem.  

I couldn't believe how she obtained a book on how to paint, bought some supplies, and produced so many beautiful paintings.  I feel fortunate that I have two of them in my home.

I will be celebrating with you today in spirit.  With sympathy and love.

After my mom got her associates degree she landed her first job as a software engineer, but adventures with her son were still her number one priority. These were some of my most favorite memories of my mom as she was so keen on adventure and fresh air. She loved mountain biking, hiking all seasons, especially winter, skiing, snorkeling, and going fast. 

I remember hiking in the spring and a finding beautiful pasture of green grass and blooming flowers of all colors. Those were the moments that would make her the happiest because they reminded her of her father. We would stop on our hike, and take in the air, the blue sky, and the colorful field, and I would say “I made this all for you mom” and it would always make her smile. She was always the most grateful for the simple, sweet things in life. 

She was a killer on the roller blades. I remember we used to go to the Hudson Skate Park, and I would hear skater kids say “who is that crazy middle-aged woman on the rollerblades in the half pipe” – and I would say “That is my mom” … and they would say… “That’s pretty wild bro”

We would ski non-stop. Ski during the day, then ski at night, with almost no breaks except to gobble a packed lunch. It was one of our favorite ongoing missions to find a thermos that could keep hot chocolate warm for as long as our day lasted – we could never find one. When I would ask my mom why she didn’t use poles when she skied, she would say “Because they slow me down”   

My mom also loved the blue waters of tropical islands. Her and I were actually the original pirates of the Caribbean. I think before the age of 10, my mom took me the Bahamas, Bermuda, Aruba, St Johns, St Thomas, and even Hawaii. That song Kokomo by the beach boys I am pretty sure was about my mom and I… “Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama”. I remember my mom’s friends thinking she was crazy for taking these vacations with her son, mentioning that she needs to go on these types of trips with a boyfriend. And my mom would just simply laugh and reply “No, my son is more fun in the sun” … and when some people thought I was crazy to save up money to take my mom to Jamaica my senior year of college… well, now you get it. 

One day my mom was conducting her daily exercise routine, roller blading around our neighborhood, with our German Shepherd Rex. Rex saw a squirrel, pulled the leash sideways and my mom had a massive wipe out on the street. I remember being really mad at Rex about chasing that squirrel, but as my mom was recovering from her pavement scratches and bruises, she noticed a bump in her breast that wasn’t going away. That bump turned out to be stage 4 breast cancer. In a weird way, Rex was always looking out for us. I was around 10 years old and that is when a different journey for my mom began. A journey that brought my mom and I closer, and one that brought many of you in this room today. 

However, to her, it was just another highway to cross with her son. 

Even on her worst days through treatment, she managed to be a mother, a father, a sister, a colleague, a mentor, a friend, and a teammate. My mom could take on any challenge big or small, and she could fix anything. At times I would find her on her back under the sink with her toolbox, or in the basement putting in flooring, walls, and a ceiling to finish the basement. Countless times my God Father Ernie would call me and say “Anton… do you know what your mother just called me about? We are going to have to go to Home Depot”. 

That woman had more hair on her chest than most of the men in this room. I remember one day, when she was going through chemo, I came home from practice at night and her bald head peeped up from under the hood of our Nissan Maxima. She had a flashlight in her mouth, car manual on the radiator, and a wrench in both hands working on the engine. She asked me how my day was, and if I was prepared for my upcoming exams. I would then proceed to walk into the house, and there would already be dinner on the table. She was an all-star. 

Who knew that a two-bedroom condo in Nashua ran by a single mother with cancer, would be the safest and warm place for my friends to come over, relax, and speak to my mom as they were going through the complexities of growing up and family drama… She was like a relationship oracle where my friends could talk to her about anything, even the awkward, personal stuff that many aren’t comfortable talking to their own parents about. It was the safe zone. 

My mom loved surprises, sometimes too much. The day I turned 16 years old, I came home from school to a giant surprise party. But none of my friends were there. Does anyone want to take a guess at who was there? In my house, by surprise, I found about 25 of my favorite teachers and coaches going all the way back to 1st grade. I am still not the same after that surprise and I don’t think I will ever recover. But I will say that this is a true testament of my mom’s ability to build a community and infrastructure around us. Regardless of how untraditional it was.

As the treatments went on and her body became weaker overtime, her mind and soul became even stronger. Someone suggested painting as a therapeutic exercise. So, my mom picked up a book, taught herself how to paint, and a few weeks later she was an artist and had a new passion. I foolishly remembered doubting her, and there she was again, beating the odds and creating something beautiful. I remember she would show me a new piece of work and it would be the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Then the next day she would white it out, and I would say, “Mom what happened??” And she would just say it wasn’t good enough and that she wanted to re-do it. If you know my mom, you know she was a perfectionist and wanted things done a particular way...

One thing I want you all to remember that my mom taught me, is that there is family and community in every single one of us. Growing up, I felt no different than others with traditional families because my mom surrounded me and others with love. I often ask myself, how did a single mother, from a foreign country come to a place where she knew virtually no one, and give her son a father (Ernie), a second mother (Vicki), several other aunts and uncles, and a group of more than 15 brothers and sisters that her son could call his family. The family she procured is an untraditional one and I wouldn’t want it any other way, and as you look around the room you know that those around you share same selfless love that my mom had for life and the people in her corner.

So let her legacy be one we all carry within us and pass to others. My mom was an artist, both literally and figuratively. Creating beauty and promoting the best in what life had to offer through her love and warm spirit. The next time you see a field of flowers and blue sky, fresh strawberries, a snowfall, or an adventure before you, good or bad, I want you to think of my mom.  

In loving memory, Larisa Tustin 

Special thanks to my mother’s Oncology & Medical staff for helping her outsmart cancer for almost 20 years, and cheat death – she was an expert at that. Thank you to her caregivers and social workers who loved her dearly and became close friends and part of our family. Thank you to my God Parents, who enabled her fight cancer without fear, as she knew that her son, particularly in early years, would always have parents who love him. And lastly, thank you to all that helped with my Mother’s Celebration of Life, including those that helped build this website and those that purchased paintings, in support of my mother’s preferred burial.