If you were to visit Mom’s gravesite after today, you would note below her name, the year she was born, 1910, followed by a dash, followed by the year she died, 2000. The operative word in that sentence is “DASH.”

My son Andrew, some time ago, e-mailed me a poem, from which I will quote a couple of verses.

So, I’m going to review a little of mom’s dash with you, as I speak to her.

Mom, thanks for being the supporting member in our family and trying to keep us all on an even keel.

You supported dad when he opened Wink’s Inn in St. Henry, on a shoe-string, serving 3.2 beer and a lot of rabbit.

You were supportive when dad and Mr. Reilly, or neighbor, decided to raise, slaughter, dress and sell rabbits during the meat-rationing era of WWII. They had as many as 80 rabbits in our garage. They sold bunnies, too, and then in about 6 weeks, the people would bring them back.

You were the driving force to keep the victory garden going, down near the Miami River.

You took it upon yourself to learn about sports, because that was Dad’s thing. There were many evenings we sat on the front porch and listened to Reds baseball games, prizefights, and even automobile races on the radio, and you joined right in as a fan.

Although you were petrified around bodies of water, you made our annual multi-family fishing vacations to Michigan very happy and memorable times, even though you told dad he’d have to catch and clean, all you’d do was fry. And then, only one time, we rented a boat large enough for all 3 vacationing families to go perch fishing, and with a little arm-twisting from your friends, you agreed to go along, and you caught the Walleyed pike on a perch hook.

By the way, mom, I forgive you for shutting Uncle Al’s car door on my fingers!

When I was 7 and we had the polio epidemic, you came through again, with the hospital visits and the house quarantine, while at the same time your sister Leona was diagnosed with cancer (and then she lived to age 99).

You were at dad’s side when he organized Cub Pack 100, being involved as my den mother, among other things, and again when dad started the Credit Union, both at Corpus Christi Church in Dayton.

Although you didn’t tell us until after dad passed away, you were insistent that the family take a vacation to Florida while Lois and I were in mid-year 4th and 8th grades. We didn’t know it was his doctor’s orders. We thought we were among the elite.

You were also a girl-scout leader. And you probably attended every PTA meeting there was while Lois and I were in school.

You were supportive too, when there was the Leukemia scare involving Lois, and at the same time you spent a week administering loving care to your hospitalized mother.

You probably attended every choir, band, variety show and glee club function that Lois and I were involved in. You encouraged Lois with her piano lessons, and you were there when I played a little baseball and played center for the Corpus Christi CYO football team. And I’m sure your and dad’s rooting had something to do with our winning the city championship in 1949.

Your quick wit was enjoyed by all. Lois recalls Sister Madonna coming by the house, many years ago, and needing to use the facilities on the second floor. She was wearing the standard, in those days, floor length habit. As she was getting into the car to leave, you noticed the bottom of the habit and, as the car pulled away, you said to Lois, “Well, I won’t have to dust the stairs.”

You were also there for the grandkids, at the baseball games and the soccer games and the dance recitals. And when the great-grandkids were around, you loved them, and got down on the floor and played with them. And they loved it!

Dad liked golf, so you took it up at about age 40, looking forward to chasing that little white ball when you both retired. Then your eyes went bad, but you never let adversity get in your way. You’d hit the ball, dad would find it, he’d point you in the right direction, and you’d hit it again.

You found New Mexico’s lack of humidity helped your eyesight a little, so retire here you did. But a year later, dad passed away, and you decided it was time to get the transplants and learn how to drive. You hadn’t driven a car since the 50’s, when they built the super-highways. You were petrified of them, too.

You had 20 good years here in New Mexico, playing golf with your many newfound friends at Tanoan, as well as always supporting the members of the family. And they enjoyed you, and it was obvious that you enjoyed them, visiting, watching sports with you, taking you to lunch, or you fixing lunch at your place, playing golf with you, and just being around you. And if you look closely, (you may have to squint, mom) you will notice 5 of your grandsons and 2 grandsons-in-law, your pallbearers today, are dressed in golf shirts, as a tribute to you. Most of them have played a round or two or more with you, and I suspect they will never forget it.

A few nights ago, your nephew Jim Beckman reminded me of another of your qualities. He said “You never heard a cross word from her” But then he went on to say “except maybe the time I came into her house with mud on my shoes.”

A couple of days ago, Grace, a golfer with you at Los Altos and Arroyo del Oso called, and reminded me of your generosity. She said there were numerous times you were volunteering to give other ladies a lift home, or to church, or somewhere else. And inviting them as guests at Tanoan. They appreciated that.

Mom, you accepted adversity better than most. You always rolled with the punches. And when you entered the nursing home in ‘94,’ you said to Lois and me “I want to go home with you, but I know why I’m here” and you pointed to your head.

Then we heard you wanted to teach the nurses how to putt!

Well, now that you and dad are at that 19th hole, enjoy it, and help us when you can, except with putting. We hear it wasn’t your strong suit. You were better at Bridge. And send us some more of those 100’s of beautiful sunsets you enjoyed capturing on film.

Mom, thank you for your endless support, your love, sense of humor, generosity, and the foundation you’ve given us in our lives. We’ll keep trying, as you always did. We love you, and we’ll continue to miss you.

Fore!

And to those here in attendance today, Thank You!