Mother

Mother's heart stopped beating at 2:35 last Thursday afternoon. It had just worn out. Her heart had begun beating in late 1915, a time when most streets were still dirt, and horses and carriage were still pretty common. Woodrow Wilson was in the White House, and WWI was just building to its peak.

 At the time she died, she had been a mom for nearly 66 years, a grandma for 41 years, a great-grandma for 21 years, and a great-great-grandma for two years. Mother was so full of love, and she shared that love freely.

She used to often tell us about her younger days, of the player piano they had at home, about making root beer, about the burning crosses up on the mountain, and about the black mariah that used to bring the dead and injured miners home from the mines.

She told us that when the church burned in the early 20s, she and her sisters weren't allowed to see the devastating results, but that they snuck down here anyway to see for themselves. A favorite story is how, when her parents owned a small store on Spruce Street and all the children were still little, her sisters used to talk Mother into sneaking downstairs at night to swipe candy for them. They figured Mother, being the youngest of the sisters, wouldn't get in as much trouble as they would. She loved being a tomboy, and used to like hanging upside down by her knees in the cherry trees in the backyard of 228 West Street, where she grew up. She liked to sing and dance in her youth, and that's how she met our dad, at the Palace Dance Hall.

Mother never cared much for jewelry, but at the time she died, she was wearing Dad's high school ring, something she did some 67 years before.  To her, jewelry and money weren't to be treasured. Her treasures were the little things accomplished by her children, good report cards, acting in school plays, scholarships, the Betty Crocker pin, merit badges, Mr. Unsung Hero award, Good Conduct Medals, and the like, and in later years, drawings and notes from her grandchildren and great grands to go on the refrigerator.

Just about her entire life centered on our family, Dad and the eight of us and grandkids and great-grands. She loved being a mom and a grandma.  Some of my fondest memories are of Mother in a chair with little ones climbing all over her, each one wanting to be closest to her.

Mother took great delight in her Irish heritage. Her favorite saying was "If you're lucky enough to be Irish, you're lucky enough." She loved Irish music and Joe Feeney in particular. She thought it was great fun when brothers Vince and Tommy and cousins Mae and Johnny visited, as that's when all the Irish stories were told. Not only do the Irish have a gift for story telling, they never miss a chance to make you laugh. I had been born at home, on West Street, but one time, as a teenager, I asked Mother if she could change one thing in her life, what would it be. She replied, "I would have left you at the adoption agency."

Years ago here at Sacred Heart, the girls used to sit on the left side of the church and the boys on the right. Mother grew to like one pew in particular, left side, third one back, and she sat in that same pew  for more than 60 years. From there she could watch the eight of us receive our first Holy Communion and be confirmed, and from there she watched as her daughter crowned Mary the Queen of May. She loved watching the processions we used to have in the old days and she looked forward to Forty Hours and visits from the bishop. Mother considered all the priests and sisters who served in Williamstown to be her personal friends. And she considered Cardinal Keeler one too. For many years she hung on every word said by John Paul II, and no one was allowed to speak when he was on television.

Mother always had a special devotion to the Blessed Mother. She said the rosary every day for years. Every year we'd have a May Altar in our home. We had holy water fonts at each door and were taught to use them.  We were told we were fortunate to have a Catholic school to go to and to have the Sisters of Mercy here to teach us. In more recent years, she considered Sister Carlotta and Sister George among her dearest friends.  To Mother, her faith was a gift she cherished, and she enthusiastically shared that faith, including serving several years as a CCD teacher.

Two years before EWTN was available on cable here in town, we bought Mother a satellite dish so she could watch the Mass on TV each day. And she did so every day until she left for the hospital back in July.

Mother always did three or four crossword puzzles a day, in ink. Her favorite TV shows included "Murder She Wrote," "In the Heat of the Night," and Lawrence Welk. She also liked different programs on the Animal Channel and the Discovery Channel, but would quickly turn the TV off if someone came to visit.

Those of us who lived away or who traveled always felt a rush of excitement in coming home, turning the corner and seeing the little house on Spruce Street. We knew we'd soon be going inside and seeing  Mother. We always knew she'd be there, and she always was. There's no place like home, but now home just won't be the same. Now Mother's at her new home, with Pop and Tia, with her sisters, her parents, her friends, and with Jesus and Mary.

Thank you for coming to help us honor our Mother.  

I love and miss you, Mom.

To See Pictures of Mom & Dad, click here

To See Some of Mom's Poetry, click here