Love is Simple
Feb. 19th, 2018 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Flawless light in a darkening air
Alone and shining there.
Love will not elude you,
Love is simple.
I love this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in.
Love will not elude you,
Love is simple.
Be sure to know that all in love is ours.
That love is a philosophy,
Is simple
(Simple: David Piltch & K.D. Lang – 2000)
About 10 or 12 years ago, my mom met with our youngest brother, Alex, who was a lawyer, to see about forming a trust and preparing for her inevitable death and burial. She was about 80 years old at the time, and had been experiencing anxieties, fears, and helplessness over her increasing signs and symptoms of aging. She had trouble seeing and reading because of macular degeneration of the eyes. She suffered memory lapses, both short and long term, and she experienced difficulties maintaining her balance and walking without a cane. But instead of giving in to her seeping depression, she energized herself with a project that would insure her legacy and take a future burden off her family. In consultation with Alex, she arranged to place all her financial and property assets into a trust that her six children would inherit equally, and she would plan her own funeral mass and burial next to my father’s grave in Holy Cross Cemetery. I only heard about it after it was completed, when I paid my mom one of my infrequent visits to her home in Venice.
I was visiting mom during one of Stela’s annual weekend trips to Palms Springs or Portland, OR. On those occasions she would accompany our younger sister Grace on shopping excursions or to visit Gracie’s children in Portland. During these 2 or 3-day absences, Stela would arrange for each of the remaining four brothers (Arthur, Eddie, Alex, and me) to go by the house to check in on mom. It was during one of these visits, after waiting impatiently for me to finish my update about my job, children, and wife Kathy, that mom shared her proud accomplishment. She patted me on the hand, saying she had something to show me, and left the room. She returned with a large briefcase that she proceeded to open.
“These”, she announce proudly, “are the documents Alex prepared for me”. She then pulled out two folders containing separate documents, a bound Trust Agreement, and a mortuary contract. Without really studying the documents, I remember complimenting mom on her foresight and initiative – especially in terms of the Trust. I had heard and read enough to know that forming a legal Trust was an efficient way of avoiding a lengthy probate period in dealing with the property and financial assets after death. She nodded her head while accepting this praise, but hurried on to show me the other documents, along with explanations. Mom showed me the insurance plan she had purchased from Holy Cross Cemetery that called for funeral services at the mortuary and interment next to Dad’s gravesite. This too I took in stride, again soberly praising her thoroughness. It wasn’t until Mom brought out a fat manila envelope packed with stabled sheets of typed paper, holy cards, obituaries, worship aids, and the hymns one sees at funeral rosaries and masses that I laughed out loud.
“You were really serious about planning your funeral, weren’t you?” I exclaimed.
Her humorless expression at my questioning laughter showed her annoyance at my response. She soberly began a 30-minute lecture explaining each item, and how they fit into her vision of what her Rosary, Funeral Mass, and burial would look like and sound. I took it all in with a bemused and tolerant smile.
This was the “take-charge” Coordinator and Super Mom I had seen emerge after my father’s death in 1971. This was the structured and efficient perfectionist who wanted things done “the right way”, and the way she planned them. This was the woman I had stopped traveling with 15 years earlier, because on a flying trip to Mexico to visit family, she wouldn’t deviate from her fixed itinerary or personal preferences despite my appeals to see people or places she didn’t care for. I simply had to follow her program, and swallow my resistance. So I just listened and nodded my head at all her funerary plans. Nothing broke this neutral response until she began announcing the parts and roles she had ascribed to family members: my brothers Eddie and Arthur would read the Gospel selections at the mass, and my sister-in-law Tamsen would play the violin at the service.
“You”, she announced, “will give the Eulogy!”
“Well”, I said, swallowing my original protest to the idea, “that’s quite an elaborate accomplishment. You really put a lot of details into your plans, Mom. Good job!”
I had fought down the impulse to be honest, and chose silence in response to her casting me in this role in her scripted screenplay. I kept this silence throughout the succeeding year of my mom going over and over these plans for her funeral. Kathy, my wife, was the only person with whom I shared my discomfort at speaking at my mom’s funeral, and she cautioned me to say nothing to my mother. It was only much later, when my mom was again reviewing these plans to Stela, Eddie, and me, that I shared my ambivalent feelings about my part in the mass to them. They accepted my feelings without judgment, only noting that a eulogy would be a difficult assignment for anyone.
My mom died on November 22, the day before Thanksgiving. She died from a paralytic stroke on November 1 that led to a swiftly cascading series of failing health issues that required nursing and hospitalization. 35 days elapsed between my mom’s stroke and subsequent death, and her interment on December 7th. Looking back now I would characterize the first 21 days after the stroke as a period of confusion, uncertainty, and dread-filled waiting, with everyone holding their breath. The 14 days after her passing was like being disconnected from everyone and everything in an upside-down world, along the lines of the parallel universe portrayed in the Netflix series, Stranger Things. Truly nothing can prepare us to witness the spiraling physical and mental decline of a dying parent. I had read, and been told, of how a traumatic fall or stroke could act as a catalyst to swiftly failing mental comprehension and health, leading to inevitable death, but I had never seen or experienced it first hand. My own father had died quickly from a sudden heart attack. And although I thought I had seen this process played out in the death of my father-in-law, and witnessed its effects on his children, I had no clue as to the real toll it took on each one of them. Yet, as difficult as this dying and grieving process proved to be, I complicated it even further for myself by adding this troubling question: Could I, or would I, give the Eulogy at my mom’s funeral, as she wished? I’d like to say that I solved this dilemma on my own, by directly attacking the question. But I didn’t. The solution evolved, because other people got involved.
Two things I’ve learned over the years: parents don’t change; and brothers and sisters grow apart. I’ve yet to see the myth proven true, that old age leads to sagacious wisdom and gentle understanding and acceptance. Mom may have accepted the inevitability of growing old with failing faculties, but she didn’t like it, and never stopped complaining about them. She also never let go of lifelong personal and political opinions, resentments, and prejudices. Discussing religion, politics, and national news events with her was like hearing the same conservative and traditional values record played over and over again. Another question and request that never varied from my mom was:
“Have you spoken with your brothers and sisters? You should call or go see your brothers and sisters”.
The sad truth about siblings is that we marry, move away, raise families of our own, grow apart, and lose touch with one another. The only times we got together were family events, like Christmas, birthdays, weddings, and baptisms. The center that always held us together was mom living in the home we all grow up in. My mom’s stroke, hospitalization, and death changed all that.
I suppose I had always been resistant to the idea of giving mom’s Eulogy because I saw it as an invitation to write my story of mom’s life. Even though I was well practiced in writing essays of my family and its history in my blog, I knew they were viewed from my own perspective and my personal memory and emotions of these events. Time and time again, friends and family members had regaled and challenged me with differing memories of the same events I described. Even though I was the oldest sibling among 6, I felt that it would be dangerous to portray mom solely through my personal and opinionated lens. This resistance hardened with time, as I had less and less opportunities to reunite with my brothers and sisters, and share our stories and memories of growing up with mom and dad. That changed as we came together to deal with mom’s swiftly declining health.
Mom’s stroke prompted me and my three brothers to communicate more than we ever had in years, and got us to rally around the efforts of Stela and Grace to first care for her at home, and then visit her as often as possible at the rehabilitation facility and hospital. Stela and Grace had carried the main burden of living with and caring for our mother for years, especially as she got older and older, and less able to care for herself. The stroke got us to show up as often as we could – especially to relieve the girls, who seemed constantly by mom’s side during her lasts weeks. At first we tried staggering these visits, to avoid too many people being in her room at once, but invariably three or four of us would find ourselves together, talking to mom, or waiting for her to become alert and aware of our presence. In the intervals when our mother dozed off, we talked to each other. We shared stories of our childhood with mom and dad, during our days living on Duane Street and Cove Ave in Silver Lake, and of our high school and college days in Venice. We also compared the stories mom had told us about her life in Mexico, and how she remade herself from a college student in Mexico into a homemaker and mother in Los Angeles. While marveling at the consistency of these stories, they also served as a catalyst – reigniting lost memories and stories of our own years with her and Dad. Those days made us shake our heads ruefully and laugh at our youthful antics growing up, and those of our parents. It is remarkable how, as children, we blissfully accept as normal the sometimes-bizarre habits and behaviors of our parents, but later, as adults, seeing them as arbitrary and capricious actions. All those memories of mom and dad made us chuckle and laugh, and brought us closer together at a time when we were all struggling to cope with her failing condition, and the unanswerable question of what day would be her last. Yet through it all, remembering their weirdness, their peculiarities, and their failings, the love they felt for us was always visible, clear, and bright. We were loved – it was as simple as that.
My darkest night came on the evening Stela and Grace, in consultation with the doctors, informed us of the cessation of all extraordinary means of monitoring or sustaining mom’s vital life signs. Kathy drove me to the hospital that night, and our son, Tony, stayed with me for a time. I simply felt the need to keep a solitary vigil with mom, watching her sleep and hearing her breathe. She never woke up that night, and our brother Alex was with her when she breathed her last on the following day. Kathy and I again drove to the hospital to see mom for the last time, and it was while in the car that I came to the realization that I had to give mom’s eulogy. It was her wish, and she had expressed it many times over the years to me and my brothers and sisters. My only hesitation was in finding the right things to say. All my journal entries and notes over the last weeks of mom’s stroke and hospitalization were about my feelings, my perceptions, and my reactions to the events that were transpiring. None of it was applicable to a eulogy. I needed some direction. So, on the day I met my sisters at the mortuary to review the arrangements for the funeral services, I told them that the only way I could write one was to arrange a meeting of all mom’s children so that they could give me the input, stories, and memories they believed should go into the eulogy for our mom. It proved to be a joyous afternoon, and it produced a eulogy, I think, our mom would be happy with.
I actually finished this essay two months ago, but wasn’t willing to post it because I felt “it wasn’t ready”. The piece sat in my notebook, week after week, daring me to re-read and finish it. Instead I found that describing my feelings upon learning of the death of my good friend JoAnna Kunes was easier, because it allowed me to re-process my attitudes about death and especially grieving. I finally realized that it wasn’t my mom’s essay that wasn’t ready – I wasn’t ready. Upon re-reading it, I’ve concluded that my belief in Life as a continuum of some kind has now expanded to include grieving as an additional stage. Reflecting on how my mom dealt with death, and her faith in an existence beyond, gives me hope that this continuum has more stages to come. If you are interested in reading my eulogy for my mom, I’ve attached it below:)
Eulogy for Maria del Rosario Villalpando de Delgado
December 7, 2017
Holy Cross Mortuary Chapel
Good morning, I am Tony, Maria Rosario’s oldest son, and I have been asked to speak on behalf of our family. First of all, we are grateful for your presence here today. Your prayers and support touch us deeply. I especially wish to express our heartfelt gratitude to my brother-in-law and Deacon, Dick Williams for the advice he gave us, the solace he gave Mom, and the compassionate services provided by the staff and care givers of his company, Homewatch Care Givers. We are also grateful for the care and comfort of Mom’s doctor, Dr. Denise Sur and the staff and nurses of Santa Monica-UCLA Hospital. Dr. Sur’s constant presence and care were essential and personally important to us. Thank you also to Fr. Paul Spellman and Joe Girard, the pastor and deacon of St. Mark’s Church, Mom’s home parish of 59 years, for celebrating today’s mass. We’d also like to thank our sister-in-law Tamsen, for providing the musical selections for the rosary and today’s Mass. Her participation was a particular request of our mother.
I would be remiss not to especially mention my two sisters, Estela and Grace, for the love, care, and attention they provided Mom as she grew older and less able to care for herself. Estela for her dedication to Mom’s personal and emotional wants and needs, and Gracie for supervising her medical and hospital care. They were the constant and continuous providers for everything Mom needed in her last years.
During our mom’s final days and hours, all of her children were able to spend time with her, and her youngest son David Alejando (Alex) was with her when she took her last breath on November 22. During her 93 years on earth Mom lived many lives. She was a child, a student, and a family member in Mexico; a wife, mother, and homemaker in Los Angeles, CA; a single, working mother, a teacher, Master Catechist, and Religious Education Coordinator in her home parish of St. Mark’s Church; and finally, a retired grandmother and great-grandmother who taught and reinforced her beloved Mexican traditions and customs to her expanding family, along with her deep spiritual faith.
Our mom was born in 1924 in Aguascalientes, Mexico, as the youngest daughter of eight children. They called her “La Güera”, because of her wavy, blondish hair. She was born into a very proud and noble family of landowners, statesmen, doctors, lawyers, and teachers. She loved her family and was fiercely devoted to, and protective of her seven siblings – especially after the death of her father. As her mother, our grandmother “Mima”, worked as a school principal, Mom began her education in a Convent boarding school. It was here that our mom discovered the wonder of books and literature, the peace of contemplative life, and the desire to pursue an intellectual life as a writer and a teacher. These plans seemed on track after she completed “secundaria”, or high school, and enrolled at the Normal Superior Teaching College. But all that changed with a letter.
Our mom fell in love with our father, Antonio Jose Delgado, while he was at war. Our father, a first-generation Mexican-American, and a lonely, sea duty Marine, was on his way to Austrailia and the Philippines when he sent a letter to his distant relations in Mexico. All of Mom’s sisters passed on writing to him except for our mom. She was intrigued and she responded. They wrote letters throughout the war and fell in love. Our mom was a regal beauty as a young woman, and our father called her “princess”. When our father came to Mexico City to meet the family in 1946, they married. It was the beginning of a love story that would last until our dad’s death in 1971.
Our mom gave up everything to follow Dad to Los Angeles. She gave up the country she loved, her mother and siblings, and her dreams of teaching and writing. In Los Angeles she became a wife, a mother of six children, and a conscientious homemaker. She employed all her intellectual and learning skills to master each of the housekeeping duties she encountered, or felt were important to perform. She especially devoted herself to teaching us to read and write Spanish, learn Mexican history and culture, to achieve academic success in school and college, and to pursue professional careers. Our school days did not end until we completed our homework, sitting around the dining room table, still wearing our school uniforms. Summer vacations meant devoting an hour each day with our mom in the backyard patio, sitting in chairs, reviewing the Spanish alphabet and practicing reading. Her marriage with Dad was a partnership. They complemented each other – each one making up for the others weaknesses and reinforcing their strengths. But that ended in 1971 with the death of our father, and everything changed.
Dad’s death was shocking and sad, but it also signaled the end of one stage of life and the beginning of another. Mom had to change many attitudes and rethink and remake her life. She took citizenship classes and became a naturalized American for fear of jeopardizing the futures of her children. She began reading comic books with Eddie and Alex, after years of banning them from the house when the older siblings tried buying them. She also became a single, energetic, and hardworking mother who pursued a new vocational career. Picking up on Dad’s early interest in the parish’s religious education program, Mom began teaching catechism classes, completed the Catholic Master Catechist training program, started teaching adult catechists in methodology and scripture, and was eventually hired as the Coordinator of the Spanish Language Religious Education Program at St. Mark’s Church. In many ways Mom’s life had come full circle in allowing her to complete the intellectual and religious dreams of her youth in Mexico. She continued in this career until she retired.
The last stage of Mom’s life entailed a redirection of her efforts. She still spent time reading and studying the gospels and Church doctrine, but she also refocused her energies on her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She worked at establishing family traditions and rituals that would outlive her – traditions that highlighted our Catholicism, and our Mexican ancestry, with its history and culture. She reshaped our Christmas Eve celebration from a holiday party into an event that included prayer, posadas, nacimientos, songs, tamales, and piñatas, and she personally selected the gift of a religious book for each child and adult (including a 20 or 50 dollar bill hidden in the pages).
Lastly, I just want to add that if you really knew our mom, you knew her as a structured, organized, efficient, and meticulous planner and administrator – and a devout Catholic. She could also be annoying. Her idea of “Mexican time” meant arriving 30 minutes early to a party, dinner, interview, or appointment. We had to “dress up” for every occasion, and she would inspect us before we went out. She was also a woman of great religious faith and devotion – a daily communicant and active parish member for most of her life. Every October and May meant daily rosaries in Spanish after dinner, with all of us on our knees in the living room (after all – her name WAS Maria DEL Rosario). And even though Good Friday was part of our Easter vacation, it meant a 3-hour vigil of in-house detention as we listened to Passion Week readings. All of these qualities came to a head about 10 years ago when Mom announced that we didn’t have to worry about her funeral and burial because she had planned everything. Honestly, at the time she announced this, and wanted to discuss the details, most of us did not. It sounded morbid and uncomfortable, and we wanted to concentrate on the present. It wasn’t until we began reviewing these plans last week that we realized the last gift our mother had given us.
Last week we asked my sister-in-law Patti Williams to help us with today’s funeral. As she went over Mom’s liturgy selections and hymns for the funeral, she expressed amazement at the detailed planning and the readings. She explained that through these readings Mom was actually sending us her last thoughts and a reassuring message. It took a while for this to sink in, but as my brothers and sisters gathered last week to go over those readings, we got it. Mom has spoken to us through today’s readings.
Rest in peace Mom. You have fought the good fight. You have finished the race. You have kept the faith. Now the Lord will reward you with the crown of righteousness. You are finally at Peace with the young Marine you fell in love with, married, and raised a family with. You are leaving behind a family and a legacy that we will always keep alive in our memories and stories. Thank you, Mom.
Alone and shining there.
Love will not elude you,
Love is simple.
I love this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in.
Love will not elude you,
Love is simple.
Be sure to know that all in love is ours.
That love is a philosophy,
Is simple
(Simple: David Piltch & K.D. Lang – 2000)
About 10 or 12 years ago, my mom met with our youngest brother, Alex, who was a lawyer, to see about forming a trust and preparing for her inevitable death and burial. She was about 80 years old at the time, and had been experiencing anxieties, fears, and helplessness over her increasing signs and symptoms of aging. She had trouble seeing and reading because of macular degeneration of the eyes. She suffered memory lapses, both short and long term, and she experienced difficulties maintaining her balance and walking without a cane. But instead of giving in to her seeping depression, she energized herself with a project that would insure her legacy and take a future burden off her family. In consultation with Alex, she arranged to place all her financial and property assets into a trust that her six children would inherit equally, and she would plan her own funeral mass and burial next to my father’s grave in Holy Cross Cemetery. I only heard about it after it was completed, when I paid my mom one of my infrequent visits to her home in Venice.
I was visiting mom during one of Stela’s annual weekend trips to Palms Springs or Portland, OR. On those occasions she would accompany our younger sister Grace on shopping excursions or to visit Gracie’s children in Portland. During these 2 or 3-day absences, Stela would arrange for each of the remaining four brothers (Arthur, Eddie, Alex, and me) to go by the house to check in on mom. It was during one of these visits, after waiting impatiently for me to finish my update about my job, children, and wife Kathy, that mom shared her proud accomplishment. She patted me on the hand, saying she had something to show me, and left the room. She returned with a large briefcase that she proceeded to open.
“These”, she announce proudly, “are the documents Alex prepared for me”. She then pulled out two folders containing separate documents, a bound Trust Agreement, and a mortuary contract. Without really studying the documents, I remember complimenting mom on her foresight and initiative – especially in terms of the Trust. I had heard and read enough to know that forming a legal Trust was an efficient way of avoiding a lengthy probate period in dealing with the property and financial assets after death. She nodded her head while accepting this praise, but hurried on to show me the other documents, along with explanations. Mom showed me the insurance plan she had purchased from Holy Cross Cemetery that called for funeral services at the mortuary and interment next to Dad’s gravesite. This too I took in stride, again soberly praising her thoroughness. It wasn’t until Mom brought out a fat manila envelope packed with stabled sheets of typed paper, holy cards, obituaries, worship aids, and the hymns one sees at funeral rosaries and masses that I laughed out loud.
“You were really serious about planning your funeral, weren’t you?” I exclaimed.
Her humorless expression at my questioning laughter showed her annoyance at my response. She soberly began a 30-minute lecture explaining each item, and how they fit into her vision of what her Rosary, Funeral Mass, and burial would look like and sound. I took it all in with a bemused and tolerant smile.
This was the “take-charge” Coordinator and Super Mom I had seen emerge after my father’s death in 1971. This was the structured and efficient perfectionist who wanted things done “the right way”, and the way she planned them. This was the woman I had stopped traveling with 15 years earlier, because on a flying trip to Mexico to visit family, she wouldn’t deviate from her fixed itinerary or personal preferences despite my appeals to see people or places she didn’t care for. I simply had to follow her program, and swallow my resistance. So I just listened and nodded my head at all her funerary plans. Nothing broke this neutral response until she began announcing the parts and roles she had ascribed to family members: my brothers Eddie and Arthur would read the Gospel selections at the mass, and my sister-in-law Tamsen would play the violin at the service.
“You”, she announced, “will give the Eulogy!”
“Well”, I said, swallowing my original protest to the idea, “that’s quite an elaborate accomplishment. You really put a lot of details into your plans, Mom. Good job!”
I had fought down the impulse to be honest, and chose silence in response to her casting me in this role in her scripted screenplay. I kept this silence throughout the succeeding year of my mom going over and over these plans for her funeral. Kathy, my wife, was the only person with whom I shared my discomfort at speaking at my mom’s funeral, and she cautioned me to say nothing to my mother. It was only much later, when my mom was again reviewing these plans to Stela, Eddie, and me, that I shared my ambivalent feelings about my part in the mass to them. They accepted my feelings without judgment, only noting that a eulogy would be a difficult assignment for anyone.
My mom died on November 22, the day before Thanksgiving. She died from a paralytic stroke on November 1 that led to a swiftly cascading series of failing health issues that required nursing and hospitalization. 35 days elapsed between my mom’s stroke and subsequent death, and her interment on December 7th. Looking back now I would characterize the first 21 days after the stroke as a period of confusion, uncertainty, and dread-filled waiting, with everyone holding their breath. The 14 days after her passing was like being disconnected from everyone and everything in an upside-down world, along the lines of the parallel universe portrayed in the Netflix series, Stranger Things. Truly nothing can prepare us to witness the spiraling physical and mental decline of a dying parent. I had read, and been told, of how a traumatic fall or stroke could act as a catalyst to swiftly failing mental comprehension and health, leading to inevitable death, but I had never seen or experienced it first hand. My own father had died quickly from a sudden heart attack. And although I thought I had seen this process played out in the death of my father-in-law, and witnessed its effects on his children, I had no clue as to the real toll it took on each one of them. Yet, as difficult as this dying and grieving process proved to be, I complicated it even further for myself by adding this troubling question: Could I, or would I, give the Eulogy at my mom’s funeral, as she wished? I’d like to say that I solved this dilemma on my own, by directly attacking the question. But I didn’t. The solution evolved, because other people got involved.
Two things I’ve learned over the years: parents don’t change; and brothers and sisters grow apart. I’ve yet to see the myth proven true, that old age leads to sagacious wisdom and gentle understanding and acceptance. Mom may have accepted the inevitability of growing old with failing faculties, but she didn’t like it, and never stopped complaining about them. She also never let go of lifelong personal and political opinions, resentments, and prejudices. Discussing religion, politics, and national news events with her was like hearing the same conservative and traditional values record played over and over again. Another question and request that never varied from my mom was:
“Have you spoken with your brothers and sisters? You should call or go see your brothers and sisters”.
The sad truth about siblings is that we marry, move away, raise families of our own, grow apart, and lose touch with one another. The only times we got together were family events, like Christmas, birthdays, weddings, and baptisms. The center that always held us together was mom living in the home we all grow up in. My mom’s stroke, hospitalization, and death changed all that.
I suppose I had always been resistant to the idea of giving mom’s Eulogy because I saw it as an invitation to write my story of mom’s life. Even though I was well practiced in writing essays of my family and its history in my blog, I knew they were viewed from my own perspective and my personal memory and emotions of these events. Time and time again, friends and family members had regaled and challenged me with differing memories of the same events I described. Even though I was the oldest sibling among 6, I felt that it would be dangerous to portray mom solely through my personal and opinionated lens. This resistance hardened with time, as I had less and less opportunities to reunite with my brothers and sisters, and share our stories and memories of growing up with mom and dad. That changed as we came together to deal with mom’s swiftly declining health.
Mom’s stroke prompted me and my three brothers to communicate more than we ever had in years, and got us to rally around the efforts of Stela and Grace to first care for her at home, and then visit her as often as possible at the rehabilitation facility and hospital. Stela and Grace had carried the main burden of living with and caring for our mother for years, especially as she got older and older, and less able to care for herself. The stroke got us to show up as often as we could – especially to relieve the girls, who seemed constantly by mom’s side during her lasts weeks. At first we tried staggering these visits, to avoid too many people being in her room at once, but invariably three or four of us would find ourselves together, talking to mom, or waiting for her to become alert and aware of our presence. In the intervals when our mother dozed off, we talked to each other. We shared stories of our childhood with mom and dad, during our days living on Duane Street and Cove Ave in Silver Lake, and of our high school and college days in Venice. We also compared the stories mom had told us about her life in Mexico, and how she remade herself from a college student in Mexico into a homemaker and mother in Los Angeles. While marveling at the consistency of these stories, they also served as a catalyst – reigniting lost memories and stories of our own years with her and Dad. Those days made us shake our heads ruefully and laugh at our youthful antics growing up, and those of our parents. It is remarkable how, as children, we blissfully accept as normal the sometimes-bizarre habits and behaviors of our parents, but later, as adults, seeing them as arbitrary and capricious actions. All those memories of mom and dad made us chuckle and laugh, and brought us closer together at a time when we were all struggling to cope with her failing condition, and the unanswerable question of what day would be her last. Yet through it all, remembering their weirdness, their peculiarities, and their failings, the love they felt for us was always visible, clear, and bright. We were loved – it was as simple as that.
My darkest night came on the evening Stela and Grace, in consultation with the doctors, informed us of the cessation of all extraordinary means of monitoring or sustaining mom’s vital life signs. Kathy drove me to the hospital that night, and our son, Tony, stayed with me for a time. I simply felt the need to keep a solitary vigil with mom, watching her sleep and hearing her breathe. She never woke up that night, and our brother Alex was with her when she breathed her last on the following day. Kathy and I again drove to the hospital to see mom for the last time, and it was while in the car that I came to the realization that I had to give mom’s eulogy. It was her wish, and she had expressed it many times over the years to me and my brothers and sisters. My only hesitation was in finding the right things to say. All my journal entries and notes over the last weeks of mom’s stroke and hospitalization were about my feelings, my perceptions, and my reactions to the events that were transpiring. None of it was applicable to a eulogy. I needed some direction. So, on the day I met my sisters at the mortuary to review the arrangements for the funeral services, I told them that the only way I could write one was to arrange a meeting of all mom’s children so that they could give me the input, stories, and memories they believed should go into the eulogy for our mom. It proved to be a joyous afternoon, and it produced a eulogy, I think, our mom would be happy with.
I actually finished this essay two months ago, but wasn’t willing to post it because I felt “it wasn’t ready”. The piece sat in my notebook, week after week, daring me to re-read and finish it. Instead I found that describing my feelings upon learning of the death of my good friend JoAnna Kunes was easier, because it allowed me to re-process my attitudes about death and especially grieving. I finally realized that it wasn’t my mom’s essay that wasn’t ready – I wasn’t ready. Upon re-reading it, I’ve concluded that my belief in Life as a continuum of some kind has now expanded to include grieving as an additional stage. Reflecting on how my mom dealt with death, and her faith in an existence beyond, gives me hope that this continuum has more stages to come. If you are interested in reading my eulogy for my mom, I’ve attached it below:)
Eulogy for Maria del Rosario Villalpando de Delgado
December 7, 2017
Holy Cross Mortuary Chapel
Good morning, I am Tony, Maria Rosario’s oldest son, and I have been asked to speak on behalf of our family. First of all, we are grateful for your presence here today. Your prayers and support touch us deeply. I especially wish to express our heartfelt gratitude to my brother-in-law and Deacon, Dick Williams for the advice he gave us, the solace he gave Mom, and the compassionate services provided by the staff and care givers of his company, Homewatch Care Givers. We are also grateful for the care and comfort of Mom’s doctor, Dr. Denise Sur and the staff and nurses of Santa Monica-UCLA Hospital. Dr. Sur’s constant presence and care were essential and personally important to us. Thank you also to Fr. Paul Spellman and Joe Girard, the pastor and deacon of St. Mark’s Church, Mom’s home parish of 59 years, for celebrating today’s mass. We’d also like to thank our sister-in-law Tamsen, for providing the musical selections for the rosary and today’s Mass. Her participation was a particular request of our mother.
I would be remiss not to especially mention my two sisters, Estela and Grace, for the love, care, and attention they provided Mom as she grew older and less able to care for herself. Estela for her dedication to Mom’s personal and emotional wants and needs, and Gracie for supervising her medical and hospital care. They were the constant and continuous providers for everything Mom needed in her last years.
During our mom’s final days and hours, all of her children were able to spend time with her, and her youngest son David Alejando (Alex) was with her when she took her last breath on November 22. During her 93 years on earth Mom lived many lives. She was a child, a student, and a family member in Mexico; a wife, mother, and homemaker in Los Angeles, CA; a single, working mother, a teacher, Master Catechist, and Religious Education Coordinator in her home parish of St. Mark’s Church; and finally, a retired grandmother and great-grandmother who taught and reinforced her beloved Mexican traditions and customs to her expanding family, along with her deep spiritual faith.
Our mom was born in 1924 in Aguascalientes, Mexico, as the youngest daughter of eight children. They called her “La Güera”, because of her wavy, blondish hair. She was born into a very proud and noble family of landowners, statesmen, doctors, lawyers, and teachers. She loved her family and was fiercely devoted to, and protective of her seven siblings – especially after the death of her father. As her mother, our grandmother “Mima”, worked as a school principal, Mom began her education in a Convent boarding school. It was here that our mom discovered the wonder of books and literature, the peace of contemplative life, and the desire to pursue an intellectual life as a writer and a teacher. These plans seemed on track after she completed “secundaria”, or high school, and enrolled at the Normal Superior Teaching College. But all that changed with a letter.
Our mom fell in love with our father, Antonio Jose Delgado, while he was at war. Our father, a first-generation Mexican-American, and a lonely, sea duty Marine, was on his way to Austrailia and the Philippines when he sent a letter to his distant relations in Mexico. All of Mom’s sisters passed on writing to him except for our mom. She was intrigued and she responded. They wrote letters throughout the war and fell in love. Our mom was a regal beauty as a young woman, and our father called her “princess”. When our father came to Mexico City to meet the family in 1946, they married. It was the beginning of a love story that would last until our dad’s death in 1971.
Our mom gave up everything to follow Dad to Los Angeles. She gave up the country she loved, her mother and siblings, and her dreams of teaching and writing. In Los Angeles she became a wife, a mother of six children, and a conscientious homemaker. She employed all her intellectual and learning skills to master each of the housekeeping duties she encountered, or felt were important to perform. She especially devoted herself to teaching us to read and write Spanish, learn Mexican history and culture, to achieve academic success in school and college, and to pursue professional careers. Our school days did not end until we completed our homework, sitting around the dining room table, still wearing our school uniforms. Summer vacations meant devoting an hour each day with our mom in the backyard patio, sitting in chairs, reviewing the Spanish alphabet and practicing reading. Her marriage with Dad was a partnership. They complemented each other – each one making up for the others weaknesses and reinforcing their strengths. But that ended in 1971 with the death of our father, and everything changed.
Dad’s death was shocking and sad, but it also signaled the end of one stage of life and the beginning of another. Mom had to change many attitudes and rethink and remake her life. She took citizenship classes and became a naturalized American for fear of jeopardizing the futures of her children. She began reading comic books with Eddie and Alex, after years of banning them from the house when the older siblings tried buying them. She also became a single, energetic, and hardworking mother who pursued a new vocational career. Picking up on Dad’s early interest in the parish’s religious education program, Mom began teaching catechism classes, completed the Catholic Master Catechist training program, started teaching adult catechists in methodology and scripture, and was eventually hired as the Coordinator of the Spanish Language Religious Education Program at St. Mark’s Church. In many ways Mom’s life had come full circle in allowing her to complete the intellectual and religious dreams of her youth in Mexico. She continued in this career until she retired.
The last stage of Mom’s life entailed a redirection of her efforts. She still spent time reading and studying the gospels and Church doctrine, but she also refocused her energies on her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She worked at establishing family traditions and rituals that would outlive her – traditions that highlighted our Catholicism, and our Mexican ancestry, with its history and culture. She reshaped our Christmas Eve celebration from a holiday party into an event that included prayer, posadas, nacimientos, songs, tamales, and piñatas, and she personally selected the gift of a religious book for each child and adult (including a 20 or 50 dollar bill hidden in the pages).
Lastly, I just want to add that if you really knew our mom, you knew her as a structured, organized, efficient, and meticulous planner and administrator – and a devout Catholic. She could also be annoying. Her idea of “Mexican time” meant arriving 30 minutes early to a party, dinner, interview, or appointment. We had to “dress up” for every occasion, and she would inspect us before we went out. She was also a woman of great religious faith and devotion – a daily communicant and active parish member for most of her life. Every October and May meant daily rosaries in Spanish after dinner, with all of us on our knees in the living room (after all – her name WAS Maria DEL Rosario). And even though Good Friday was part of our Easter vacation, it meant a 3-hour vigil of in-house detention as we listened to Passion Week readings. All of these qualities came to a head about 10 years ago when Mom announced that we didn’t have to worry about her funeral and burial because she had planned everything. Honestly, at the time she announced this, and wanted to discuss the details, most of us did not. It sounded morbid and uncomfortable, and we wanted to concentrate on the present. It wasn’t until we began reviewing these plans last week that we realized the last gift our mother had given us.
Last week we asked my sister-in-law Patti Williams to help us with today’s funeral. As she went over Mom’s liturgy selections and hymns for the funeral, she expressed amazement at the detailed planning and the readings. She explained that through these readings Mom was actually sending us her last thoughts and a reassuring message. It took a while for this to sink in, but as my brothers and sisters gathered last week to go over those readings, we got it. Mom has spoken to us through today’s readings.
Rest in peace Mom. You have fought the good fight. You have finished the race. You have kept the faith. Now the Lord will reward you with the crown of righteousness. You are finally at Peace with the young Marine you fell in love with, married, and raised a family with. You are leaving behind a family and a legacy that we will always keep alive in our memories and stories. Thank you, Mom.
