Eulogy for my mother

Francine Marie Provost O'Connor

4/8/1930-10/10/2007

My mother enjoyed life and a wide variety of things in it. To her, whatever was up next was going to be great! She loved her family, all children, books, crossword puzzles, teddy bears, dolls, the Catholic church, seafood, cigarettes and coffee, the Secular Franciscans, and jazz. Hers was a world in which Precious Moments could groove to Oscar Peterson. As a child she'd taken acrobatic ballet lessons and late into her life she could still do a perfect cartwheel. Without any formal education or training she made a successful career of writing and publishing; and she made it look natural and easy.

My mother's life was not easy. And it was populated by some difficult people. For many years I was one of them. And yet she absolutely insisted on seeing the world through the eyes of love and grace and beauty.

Ever my father's daughter, I can't tell you how many times I tried to explain to her (and these words are all capitalized like in Winnie the Pooh) The Reality of the Situation. She would just say, "I know, Peg," and go right back to seeing the world in love and grace and beauty. And no matter how many times I warned her, she always talked to strangers.

I want to tell you my family's iconic Francine story: It is the mid-sixties, a time when going out to eat was for very special occasions only. We're in one of my father's used cars, let's say the Rambler, and we drive past a pancake house. My mother says, "A pancake house! Those are always so nice." A pause. My father says, "Fran, have you ever been in a pancake house?" She hadn't. But she knew that if she did, it would be great.

In her final days my mother's body was bruised from the accident and she had pneumonia. It hurt her to move and it hurt her to breathe. But, typically Francine, because her family was standing around her bed she said, "Hasn't this been the best week ever?"

Myself, I'm not such a believer, but for her I am sure that whatever is up next is bound to be great.