For my Mom. 

Thursday, July 22, 2021. 

St. Francis de Sales Catholic Church, Kilmarnock, VA.

 

Hello. 

I love this church.  I’m starting with this because its far easier to talk about how much I love this church than about how much I love my Mom.  Ten years ago, we had my father’s funeral here.  Eight years before that, my son Daniel, and my cousin Kole, were baptized here.  Many years before that, my parents walked down this aisle-well, they walked out of here together anyway-after being married right here at this alter.  In between then and now, I attended so many services here- Easters wearing borrowed dressed (thank you, Kristi) and other celebrations, and plenty of plain old Sunday morning services.  My Mom would like that we are here-that you are here-celebrating her life.  So we welcome you-me and my siblings, and thank you for coming.

I wanted to speak about love.  Thanks, Uncle Frankie, for stealing my thunder[1].  The love a mother has for a child is not unique.  Each relationship is special-each mother/child relationship is special, but its not unique.  Parents everywhere, good ones and bad ones, love their children.  What my mom gave us that was different, was unique, was that she cherished us.   She came to each of us in our own way, in whatever place we were, whoever we were and we were cherished.  For every minute, every second, every nanosecond of my life, I have known that I was loved and cherished.  It knocks me off my feet just thinking about it.  That was a gift that my mom gave me and it is amazing.

My mom loved her big family.  She made sure our house was always open to our friends.  There were so many people who left kind remarks and comments after hearing about her death.  I would like to read a few that were especially touching.  From one friend who was an only child who went on to have a big family: 

“She and your dad were always so kind to me.  I did not know it at the time but both were showing this only child how large families love and care for each other.”

My mom had children in the RMSH soccer program for about 10 years straight.  First my sister Kim and I, then Cathy, then Steven.  She never missed a game and always brought fresh cut up oranges for halftime.  From a friend who played soccer with both Kim and I: 

“I still think about the orange slices she brought to soccer games.  To this day, I’ve never had a better orange slice”.

And from a friend who spent as much time at our house as at her own: 

“She welcomed me and so many others into your family and is an integral part of some of my most formative years.  I’m quite sure I spent more time in your home than I did in my own in high school and I was so richly blessed to have known both your Mom and Dad.  Their open door to all of your friends was such a gift to so many people.”

No matter how old I got, my mom was my biggest fan.  On our annual beach trips I would gather shells and she would always ooh and ahh over them.  Everyone else would roll their eyes and be like “get those damn things off the kitchen counter” but Mom would say “Oh, so pretty!”.  Her favorites were scallops.  She has a pile of them in her room even now.  Who will love my shells now? 

I am going to miss my Mom.  Every Easter, without fail, I would call her up and ask her how to boil eggs.  I can never remember: do I start them in hot or cold water?  add salt or not? start the timer when I put them in, or when they start boiling, and for how long?  Not once in all the years did she suggest the logical solution to my problem, which wasn’t start with cold water or set the timer for 10 minutes-it was: Why don’t you write this down so you don’t have to call and ask every year?  Part of it was that she liked hearing from me.  But a bigger part was something built into her personality.  She was not judgy.  She did not offer unsolicited advice.  She was not loud or pushy or aggressive.  She was a gentle soul.  Bobby told us yesterday that he never saw her mad-maybe change her tone, but never mad.  I think that’s right.

She did have sore spot for social justice issues where she was vocal and passionate.  In these matters, she was a fierce defender of the little guy, a harsh critic of those she disagreed with.  We were so proud of her for finding her voice after so long being passive!!

I have a couple of anecdotes from her youth that I want to share.  When she was 17, Uncle Frankie was 16 and was going to get his drivers license.  Whoever was taking him was like, why don’t you come along Jeannie?  So she did.  (Did you pass Uncle Frankie?  Maybe the test but not the driving part?)  She took the driving part and the instructor told her to parallel park.  She did this perfectly.  Then, she proceeded to drive straight out of her parking spot, right over the boards that defined the parallel parking spot.  She got her license anyway.  Mom loved that story.

One time, when we were little-the story is unclear on whether there were 3 or 5 of us, it was certainly Katie and Beth and Carey, and possibly me and/or Kim, and she, Grandmom and Aunt Margie took the girls down to White Stone Beach.  It was fall or early winter and the little girls were all dressed in long pants and coats.   The littles were so excited that Grandmom held their hands and ran them all down to the water’s edge while Mom and Aunt Margie came along behind.  As the story goes, the little girls, all 3 to 5 of them, were so excited that they ran right into the water.  I can picture it now, Grandmom trying both to hold onto the chain of precious granddaughters with one hand and trying to lift her skirt and prevent it from getting wet at the same time-and everyone laughing so hard they could barely stand up.  No one went home that day with dry drawers.   I tell this story because she loved to tell it, and it was one of the times in her life when Mom was full of life and laughter and pure happiness.  I like to remember her that way.

Mom loved music-old country songs, Mary Chapin Carpenter and some group that I can never remember the name of and which I can’t read my writing of- Pentatonix?  (the congregation offered up the name to help me out).  She loved Jeopardy and Stephen Colbert.  She loved old movies-Rear Window, The African Queen, and Barefoot in the Park.  She loved contemporary classics like Girls Just Want to Have Fun.

My mom loved her sons-in-law.  She always said they were such good dads.  She was so proud of her family.

My mom loved to travel.  When we were little she would throw us all in the car and drive to Virginia or Pennsylvania, or wherever.  These days, she thought nothing of driving up to Maryland to see Kim and Jeff, or out to Minnesota to see my family.  In the past ten years we traveled to so many places-Yellowstone, Grand Tetons, the Utah National Parks.  She took trips with her siblings to Chicago, Richmond, New York, out west to Yellowstone.  They were planning a trip to Florida to the Everglades which was interrupted by Covid, but I am sure they would have rescheduled it and gone.

I have something to read.  It may be familiar to some of you-if you want to say it along with me, that would be fine.  I know that when I looked it up, some parts stood out as if they were ingrained in my soul.  Some parts, I was like, that’s not part of it, is it?  I remember it imperfectly.  Anyway, as we send you off on your last journey, I offer this:

Oh St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires[2].  Oh St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intersession and obtain for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings, thru Jesus Christ, our Lord, so that having enjoyed here below your heavenly power, I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving Father.  Oh St. Joseph, I never weary of contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms.  I dare not approach while he reposes near your heart[3].  Press him in my name and kiss his fine head for me and ask him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breathe.  St. Joseph, patron saint of departed souls, pray for me. 

Amen.

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[1] Uncle Frankie’s homily was about love.

[2] This prayer has special significance to my maternal family.  My grandmother (my Mom’s mom) said this prayer EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. she or anyone else got in a car to drive.  All of her children and grandchildren knew the prayer by heart and would run the range of saying it with her or rolling their eyes and patiently waiting for its completion before the car got moving.  Until I looked it up for this eulogy, I did not realize that St. Joseph was the patron saint of departed souls.  So now it has that additional meaning.

[3] At this point in the prayer I could not read the paper anymore and my aunt Rita and aunt Margie, along with others in the church maybe, helped me fill in the blanks for the words I was unable to make out.