Good morning I would like to begin with an acknowledgement, an excuse and an explanation:

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Father Sokol, thank you for officiating this mass and for allowing mom’s funeral to take place at Christ the King. From attendance at the weekday morning mass to her participation in the perpetual adoration program, this parish was at the core of her spiritual life.

 

To the Ludlow public school educators in the pews. Please forgive any dangling modifiers or passive voice that may dribble from my mouth—these mistakes are not a reflection of your expert teaching—I know you tried, and you did the best you could with me.

 

And to my Uncle George, who recently stated that “Pallotta’s don’t due Eulogies.” Uncle George, Sweeneys probably shouldn't do eulogies either but I was asked to say something and I’ll do my best.  And so I would like to Eulogize in the form of an open letter to your sister and our mother.

 

Dear Mom,

 

You are missed by so many people and in so many ways.

 

Mom, you are missed by your lifelong neighbors on Bluegrass Lane, especially Rita DeCaro. She misses meeting with you almost every night—something you did nearly every day for half a century. She misses sitting on each other’s stoop and cackling so loud you could be heard down the street or playing cards and forgetting the score because the score didn’t matter, the two of you just enjoying each other’s confidence and company. OK, sometimes the score mattered and yes, Rita, you were cheating.

 

Mom, you are also missed by your fellow educators, and most of all, by the members of your exclusive book club. While you were in California, Stephen would dutifully play the audio books to you. And when you would join your fellow women of letters via ZOOM, I would always try to leave the room—I felt intrusive and unworthy. After all, it never was about the book—it was about your shared experiences as seasoned educators, and your collective friendship.

 

Mom, you know you are missed by your extended family from curacao whose culture insists that family are never a burden and that our matriarchs and patriarchs should be treasured. And while it will never be as much fun as when you were there, Mom, I promise I will continue to buy scratch and lottery tickets for Wela.

 

Mom, you will be missed by your brother and sister, George and Judi. How they loved to commiserate with you about your childhood. Undoubtedly, there would be a discussion about eating Grandpa’s dinners of liver and kidneys. But most of the time the stories involved you serving as part sister and part mother to your younger siblings. Mom, it was hard for George to see you move out of your house and he didn’t want to see you move away, but he knew your life and your needs were changing and with selfless love and devotion he helped you navigate this transition, even though he knew it would mean that he might not see you again in this world.

 

Mom, your grandchildren miss you dearly. You were their safe-haven—to be in your presence was to be free of any parental judgement. Once, when one received a B in gym class to the dismay of her mother you declared at the dinner table, “who cares about gym.” In large doses, you provided wisdom, humor, desserts and later an occasional sip of alcohol. They loved you for your Moxy. They loved you for your magical knick-knacks. They loved you for raisin, chicken and broccoli meals, extra butter on toast and extra-large dessert portions. But most of all they loved being showered with your unconditional love.

 

Finally, Mom, you are missed by your children. We owe all our successes and none of our missteps to you and Dad. By your marital example, you showed us what true love looks like. Some people might be shocked to know you never pumped gasoline until dad became sick. And during those same 40 odd years Dad never made anything in the kitchen other than coffee. Just one of the many manifestations of your love was your desire to do for each other no matter how menial the task. You taught us so much, but especially the value of education and you prioritized this in our lives. I will never forget the image of you facing backwards in the front seat of our station wagon reading some American classic to us, while we zig-zagged across the country to explore yet another historical site or national park.

 

Mom, if one of your book club members was to read this letter, they would be tempted to take out their red pen and write in the margin that this letter is disjointed and tangential. But these musings and recollections share a common theme—a description of a talented, funny and loving mother, grandmother, sibling and friend. 

 

Mom you are both classic and a trailblazer. You value traditions. You value your catholic faith. By your volunteer work you taught us the timeless value of charity. On the other hand, you were unremittingly curious, forward-thinking and ahead of your time. You were the first person in our family to go to college. You were the first person I knew to take a computer programing class. Before there was “Emotional Intelligence” there was you. You understood people, what motivated them and how they thought. I’ll never forget you explaining to me the concept of “good taste” which you summarized as “what you say when someone agrees with you.” And before there was a public discussion of “mindfulness” there was you. You could care less about a B in gym class, a buzzing cell phone, a fancy car or any other life distraction. Your focus was your faith, your family and your friends and in each of these realms you were ever-present.

 

Mom, I know today there is one person who is not missing you and that’s Dad. You are with him, and I am sure he is once again pumping gas for you.

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As Auntie Peg would say...

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With loads and loads of love,

 

Dan