"Grief is about remembering," part 2: My grandmothers

In the last post, I shared some of my experiences at the Wendt Center's Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC (see below). As a volunteer for camp, I chose to share my experiences losing my two grandmothers, Cleo (who died in 2001) and Theresa, aka: Mammal (who died in 2003). Much of this weekend was about sharing their stories, so I thought I would honor them by sharing a bit of that here:

Grandma Cleo was my Dad's mother, and I remember her as the quieter and gentler of my two grandmothers. She came from a tiny, poor mountain town in the Cumberland Gap area of VA. She was one of 8 or 9 children (several died in childhood, so I've never been clear on the exact number). Many of our relatives still live in that tiny town, where life hasn't changed much since Grandma Cleo left. Grandma Cleo married my grandfather in her 20's and had two boys. When my Dad was 10, she moved with him up to MD to seek treatment for my grandfather's mental illness. She arranged treatment, but never succeeded in getting him to MD. Eventually, they divorced and my uncle joined Grandma Cleo and my Dad in MD.

Grandma Cleo got a job and supported her sons as a single parent for many years, until she met a man at the grocery store and fell head-over-heels. By all accounts, her second marriage was a fairytale romance. Sadly, it ended before I was born when her husband died suddenly of a heart condition. Grandma Cleo spent the rest of her life living alone in a little waterfront house on the Eastern Shore. She was a very gentle, sweet, nature-loving person and much beloved by her neighbors who often visited the beach by her house. My family and I spent every Easter and many summer days at that house. My strongest memories of Grandma Cleo are of walking with her on the beach, collecting shells and fishing for minnows. She was also a gifted artisan, who made beautiful wood carvings and crochet pieces until arthritis finally stopped her. I'll always remember her peacefulness and her appreciation for the simple things in life: people, nature, food, and things made by hand.

Mammal, my Mom's mother, was like a third parent to me. We were incredibly close, and it seems very appropriate that I live in her house now. This is the eulogy that I gave at her funeral:


Theresa Mathilda Bowen
November 28, 1914-January 7, 2003

It is my great honor today to represent my family and tell you about my grandmother, Theresa Bowen, whom I knew as Mammal. I’m told that part of any eulogy is biography, which makes it my job to relate to you the facts of my grandmother’s life. Of course, those of you who knew my grandmother know that she was never very interested in the facts, so I’m going to keep that part brief. If I exaggerate, deviate from the point a bit, or leave a few things out, just consider it a tribute.

Theresa Mathilda O’Connor was born on November 28, 1914 to Matthew David O’Connor and Theresa Mathilda Walter. She grew up in Baltimore, the middle child of three girls. According to her account, she and her sisters Dorothy and Alice were always “the talk of the town,” particularly when they went out dancing. Dorothy, Theresa and Alice all shared a life-long love of music, dancing, and generally having a good time.

Mammal graduated from Forest Park High School in 1932. The following fall, she met Joseph Vernon Bowen, Sr. of Annapolis. They married on April 18, 1937 at Edward’s Chapel in Parole. Soon after their marriage, Vernon and Theresa moved into a two-bedroom home at 1002 Jackson Street- the home my grandmother would live in for nearly 65 years. In that home, they raised four children: Colleen came first, followed by Joe, Marc, and finally my mother, Dorothy.

When she moved to Eastport, Mammal joined Eastport United Methodist Church, which she attended for over 60 years. She sang in the choir for over 25 years, taught Sunday School until the late 1990’s, and attended Bible Study right up until the final weeks of her life. In her life she displayed perfect faithfulness to the credo of the Methodist Church- she upheld it by her prayers, her presence, her gifts and her service so that in everything God may be glorified.

Over the years, Mammal worked at a wide range of jobs to support her family. She was a salesclerk at a number of stores, particularly Murphy’s and Britt’s. One of our family’s favorite stories happened when she worked at the Royal Farms dairy store. A man came in to rob the store, and despite the pleading of her fellow employees, Mammal refused to hand over the money. The would-be robber eventually grew frustrated and left empty-handed. A few weeks later, Mammal stood up in court and identified him with no fear for her own safety. Mammal’s final job was in the mailroom of The Capital newspaper, from which she retired in the late 1970’s.

Retirement did not begin to slow Mammal down. When she was in her 50’s, she traveled to Baltimore weekly to take lessons at the Arthur Murray dance school. In her 70’s, she took a year of paralegal courses and received excellent grades. In her 80’s, she bought herself a computer and a set of Tae-Bo tapes. I don’t think she ever mastered either, but it was not for lack of trying.

Mammal became a grandmother for the first time with the birth of Colleen’s daughter Marie in 1960. It was Marie who came up with the name “Mammal,” because she could not pronounce the word “Grandma.” Mammal was blessed with many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even great- great-grandchildren. When you count the stepchildren in the family, whom she loved every bit as dearly as all the others, Mammal has 7 grandchildren: Marie, Rodney John, Kristen, Christopher, Andy, Meghan and myself. She has 11 great-grandchildren: Charlie, Jed, James, Jackie, Nicholas, Melanie, Michael, Kyle, Jordan, Summer and Shane. Finally, she has two great-great granddaughters, Kim and Caitlin, and another great-great grandchild due in March.

It is as a grandmother that I knew Mammal best. My first memories of her are from when I was about three years old. Mammal took care of my cousins and I after school while our mothers worked, and all day in the summer. Our close relationship continued long after I grew too old for a babysitter. Barring my parents, she has been the most constant, closest, and most influential person in my life for as long as I can remember.

The task of describing Mammal to you is almost impossible. She had such a huge personality that words could never contain it. I feel that the best way to understand her is to look at her family. After God, Mammal valued nothing more than family. Looking at all of us, I see her influence everywhere. I joked recently that Mammal had four dominant characteristics, which are well-represented in her four children: My mother worries too much, Colleen knows everything, Marc is full of bull, and Joe likes to eat. It was a joke at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I see the truth in it.

Like my mother, Mammal was definitely prone to worrying, but her worries grew out of a deep love and concern for everyone she came into contact with. She spent her life working to give her family everything they ever wanted or needed. Mammal always seemed to know just when you needed something, whether it was money, a particular item, or just some loving attention. Yet, her concern did not stop at relatives; Mammal also cared deeply for friends, casual acquaintances, and even total strangers. Only a few months ago, I had dinner with Mammal and told her about some of the children I serve as a counselor. All of these children come from poor families and many come from backgrounds of abuse and neglect. A few days after our conversation, Mammal called me and told me that she needed to have a private talk, just between her and I. She told me “I’ve been thinking about those kids you work with. If any of them ever needs anything, I want you to just go ahead and buy it and tell me how much it costs so I can pay you for it.” I see this deep love and concern for others reflected in my mother, who cared lovingly for Mammal, my Grandma Cleo, and many of the elderly ladies in our family and church. I saw it over the holidays when Mom helped me buy presents for all of the children I serve so that they could each have a special Christmas. In my mother, Mammal leaves a legacy of kindness and generosity toward all.

Like my aunt Colleen, Mammal ended her formal education at high school; however, she truly never stopped learning. Her house is full of books on every subject imaginable, from Quaker theology to law to New Age medicine. When something sparked Mammal’s interest, she studied it with a diligence and enthusiasm to rival any Ph.D. I’ve ever known. She did not keep these studies to herself. Knowledge was nothing to Mammal until it was shared with others. She never shied away from any discussion, and she spoke about any subject with the confidence of an expert. Her knowledge of the Bible was truly impressive, and from what I hear, she kept generations of Sunday School students and ministers at Eastport on their toes. Her opinions may have changed over the years, but they were always right. Like Mammal, my Aunt Colleen is a student of everything. When she likes a song, she learns all she can about the singer. When she likes an actor, she sees every one of his movies. When one of us gets sick, she pulls out her medical books and diagnoses us within minutes. She is willing to defend her views against any criticism, and reminds us frequently that it is important to stay informed. In my Aunt Colleen, Mammal leaves a legacy of lifetime learning.

Like my uncle Marc, Mammal had a story for every occasion, and every one of her stories contained enough drama to match any afternoon soap opera. The truthfulness of these stories was always questionable, but the facts were never as important as the telling itself. Mammal’s stories infused the events of everyday life with a sense of significance, magic, and above all, comedy. I’ll never be sure if she actually jumped over the Eastport drawbridge in her car, or if her old toaster really shot her morning toast perfectly onto her plate every day. Still, hearing her stories from an early age taught me that life is an adventure, and that funny and interesting happen all around us every single day. Like Mammal, my uncle Marc’s stories are full of superlatives. Everything is either the best or the worst, things always happen, or they never happen. He shares her ability to deliver the perfect comeback to any comment while always keeping a straight face. Like Mammal, he applies himself diligently to the serious and difficult obligations of life, but his outward appearance is always one of confidence and a deep sense of humor. In my Uncle Marc, Mammal leaves a legacy of hard work balanced with great humor.

Like my Uncle Joe, Mammal loved to eat and to laugh. Mammal always encouraged us to eat dessert first because you might be too full for it after the rest of the meal. She talked often over the years about dieting, and she devised some interesting eating plans for herself, but in the end she never let anything get in the way of enjoying a good meal. Even if she got too full to finish something, she just pulled a plastic baggie out of her purse and wrapped it up for later. As much as she loved to eat, Mammal also loved to laugh. I honestly have no memories of her without a smile on her face, and she never went more than a few minutes without making a joke. During her final days in the hospital, one of the nurses administered a test to determine Mammal’s mental status. As part of this exam, the nurse asked Mammal if she could write a sentence. Without hesitation, Mammal took the pen and paper and wrote “I love God and chocolate.” She truly laughed in the face of death. Like Mammal, my Uncle Joe loves good food and laughter. He is a man genuinely loves life and lives it to the fullest every single day. Even as we made the arrangements for Mammal’s funeral, Joe and I kept each other laughing, and every once in awhile, he offered me a sandwich from a zip-lock bag in his pocket. In my uncle Joe, Mammal leaves a legacy of taking joy in life.

When I think about Mammal’s great qualities, it strikes me that the bedrock of them all is a deep and abiding faith. Mammal had a truly unshakeable faith in God, which in turn allowed her to have faith in herself and faith in others. Mammal gave me innumerable gifts over the years. She taught me the importance of family. She instilled in me a love and appreciation for learning. She demonstrated the value of putting others ahead of myself. She taught me to laugh as often as possible, in the face of whatever comes my way. Still, what I’ll cherish most about our relationship is the faith that she had in me. In 23 years, I never heard a discouraging word from her mouth. On the contrary, she was my constant cheerleader and #1 fan. She told me that every paper I wrote was brilliant, every musical or dramatic performance was flawless, every haircut was “the latest style.” When I came home from my first year of college 25 pounds heavier, she told me I looked thin. One of the last things she said to me in the hospital was “I think you are just adorable.” Mammal and I had many differences in our beliefs and lifestyles, but I know that it was her example and her faith in me that gave me the courage to become who I am.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing Mammal, but I have no regrets about our relationship. She gave me enough stories to tell for a lifetime, and left me with an example that it will easily take a lifetime to live up to. In our family, I will always see living reminders of her influence and I know that I can turn to them in her absence. Most of all, I know that she loved me, I loved her, and we enjoyed every moment we spent together. To put it quite simply, we thought the world of each other, and my life is forever blessed from knowing her. Thanks, Mammal.