Mary Kate's Remembrance for Bernie:
Let me start by saying that eulogizing my mom is a daunting task for numerous reasons. I thought about bringing copies of Women’s World and Oprah’s magazine, mom’s favorites, for you all to leaf through during some potentially long pauses. Mom, being the incredible, brave woman that she was, sat down a few months ago with my equally brave dad and planned this very mass. When I offered to do the eulogy, Mom looked at me skeptically and said, “I don’t know. You’re going to be pretty sad. You might have to audition.” Well, mom, I hope I pass the test, because we don’t have a back-up.
“It’s in my job description.” This is what mom would say after asking about my vitamin intake, my tooth-brushing regimen, the appropriateness of my dress for cold weather, really anything that makes children roll their eyes at their mom.
“Did you make that appointment with Dr. Holohan? You have such pretty teeth, let’s keep it that way. This is in my job description, you know.”
“How about water? Are you getting enough water? Just doing my mom duties here, it’s in the job description.”
But Mom’s job description went far beyond my calcium intake or dentist appointments. Mom knew me inside and out, in many ways because she helped mold me into the woman I am today, but more importantly, she allowed me to discover myself. What I will cherish so deeply about my mom, was her deep capacity to listen and simply be with. Along the way, her job description included avid supporter, celebrating every victory with me and mourning each loss, helping me to find meaning in both. She was my relationship guru, laughing with me after eventful first dates, offering healing and guidance when I was left bruised from rejection, always giving me space to explore in a way that felt safe, loving, and healthy. Her job description included being a model of feminism for me, teaching me from a very early age that every single person has deep value, my abilities as a woman in this world are limitless, and any one or thing who suggests otherwise, is likely not worth my energy. And among so many hundreds of ‘other duties as assigned,’ mom was my spiritual guide. She taught me how to pray through meditation, breathing, conversation, song. She let me know that I am the beloved, that I was created perfectly just as I am. I was recently looking through e-mails mom sent me over the years, and found this from an exchange we had shortly after I graduated from college,
“In regards to God, I'm glad you are on speaking terms now. I see God as God the Father and God the Mother a beautiful blend of both male and female energy. That's why I love the word God. God is Love..... That term runs deep within me.”
Much to my dismay, mom’s life did not solely revolve around me. Long before I came around, mom was a loving daughter to Marie and John. She is John, Theresa, Bobby and Jimmy’s responsible older sister (someone had to be). She was a grade school teacher, high school teacher, attained two masters degrees, became a graduate school professor at Loyola University in the Institute of Pastoral Studies, she was a therapist, and after retirement, as if she hadn’t done enough, she was a consultant for Avenues to Independence, an organization that provides care for individuals with developmental disabilities. But her greatest feat of all? Being married to my dad for 31 years.
Mom would tell you from the moment she met my dad in class at Loyola, she knew he was the one. Dad would say, “I wasn’t sure….it took me a little bit longer.” This sums up their personalities perfectly: mom, so decisive, so assertive and dad, a bit slower with the decisions, taking all factors into consideration. They dated 7 years before dad finally agreed it was a good idea for them to get married, a fact Mom liked to remind dad of on their anniversary, Valentines Day, their birthdays, and any given Tuesday. But dad came to his senses and together they built a beautiful partnership and home so full of love, joy, warmth, and laughter. They encouraged each other in their professional careers, they traveled the world together- their favorite most exotic location being Door County, raised a daughter, they held each other accountable to be the best versions of themselves, and loved each other fearlessly if either fell short. Watching my parent’s relationship continue to grow throughout my mom’s illness and witnessing the way my dad cared for my mom in these last few months is nothing short of sacred. In a beautiful moment of clarity just a few weeks ago, mom reminded dad how much she loved him. It didn’t matter how long it took them to make decisions throughout life, in the end, they got it right.
In a recent visit, one of mom’s very dear friends told her that when she reflects on her own friendships, mom is the kindness friend she’s ever had. I think many here would join in that chorus. Mom was a woman with a fiery spirit, she was also deeply kind and gentle with everyone she encountered. She could put you at ease with one of her ear-to-ear smiles. She formed bonds that lasted decades. A true gift in these past weeks has been receiving visitors from all walks of mom’s life all wanting to be by her side. I will borrow words from a wonderful friend of mom who wrote this to me after mom attended one of their beloved book groups, “What a gift it was to have your Mom there with her spirited energy and delightful humor. No one laughs as fully as she does and she pulls us all in to her delight. Amazing.”
There are so many things I will miss about you, Mom. I will miss the way you greeted me at the door every time, even if I had just run out to do an errand, I will miss the way you delighted in everything I did, I will miss the way you and dad sat by the fire, your feet on him or his on you, loving each other the way you have for nearly 40 years- gently, persistently, without abandon. I will miss the way you and your sister Theresa could talk for hours, making each other laugh and taking care of each other. I will miss how you lovingly ribbed your three younger brothers, rolling your eyes at how goofy they are, and always holding them close in your heart. There are countless things I will miss. But you have given me the greatest gift.
Love. If I could only attach one word to my mom, it would be love. Never, in my 28 years, have I ever doubted how deeply and fiercely my mom loved me. There are no words to describe the kind of pain I feel in my mom’s absence. She always knew just what to say or do, and this time is no exception. She instilled in me and in all of us, the tool we need to keep going: her love.
I’ll close with a Gaelic prayer a friend read at her bedside:
Deep peace of the running waves to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the smiling stars to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the watching Shepherds
to you,
Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.
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