Eulogy for Betty Gadue, Given by mark gadue
I want to start by thanking Father Brian for making us feel so welcome here at St. Michael’s. Dad graduated from here as did Anne and I. This feels like home, and we do so appreciate his thoughtfulness and consideration in allowing us to celebrate Mom’s life in this wonderful Chapel. We’d also like to thank Father Steve and Father Charlie, and Jerome our music minister, for their generous participation in helping us to celebrate Mom’s life as a devout Catholic, something that was of critical importance to both her, and to my Dad. The Gadue Family thanks you.
Upon hearing of my Mom’s death, our dear friend Eddie Johnson sent a note that read in part:
Mark called to share the profoundly sad news that Mrs. Gadue passed away this morning, June 9, 2020. As I write this with tears in my eyes, I also have a full heart for the love I will always have for your mother.
I often said I had two mothers because of how I was treated by your Mom as one of the “family”.
How I will miss her, and the opportunities we had, like last summer, just to sit and talk, and laugh, and feel close. I often remarked to Mark how blessed I felt to be part of his extended family.
Words can never adequately convey the importance, or impact of a life, but I can personally attest that Betty Gadue, my 2nd Mom, had a lasting, loving, spiritual, and life-altering impact on mine. And for that, I cannot ever say thanks enough!!!
Thank you for sharing her (and your Dad) with me!!!!
All my love,
Ed (and Donna, Bryan, Cat and Cooper)
Mike Stackpole, another dear friend of all of ours, also sent a note about my Mom that I’d also like to share with you. Here is what Mike wrote in part:
To the Gadue family,
Your mom’s passing leaves me very sad. She was a lovely woman whose ready smile always managed to make things better. She had an uncommon amount of empathy, and while very easy-going, was capable of insightful thought as situations warranted. She was a very impressive woman and I remember her fondly.
Your mom always made me feel welcome, and I know that feeling extended to Pat and Kerin as well. Moreover, we felt wanted. Your mother’s interest in what we were doing, and her pride in our successes goes right back to that unqualified support and love. I remember our looking forward to heading down to your house on Christmas night, as we did for so many years, and I always have looked forward to seeing your mom every year at our traditional lunch on Christmas Eve.
Your mom’s heart and strength of character really made of her life a victory from a set of circumstances others might have depicted as tragic. But there never was a sense of tragedy, just a steadfast belief that things would be overcome and turn out okay. And if they didn’t, well, it was just one more problem to work through, and then continue on. To me, it was never a question of “How did she deal with all the stuff she had to deal with?” Instead it was just a statement of “Of course she dealt with it.”
The memories I have of your mom are hopeful and happy. I treasure them. She reminds me that no matter what’s going on, being good and being happy are choices that have their own rewards. It brings me joy to think of her, and calls upon me to be my better self, no matter what else is going on.
Love,
Mike
Receiving their notes immediately after Mom’s death warmed all of our hearts.
For myself, I want to start by saying how proud I am of my sisters, Anne, Patrice, Carol and Laurie. I can assure you that Dad is proud of you as well. You are remarkable women. And you all married remarkable men.
These past few years have not been easy for any of you. In fact, so many times I found myself flabbergasted with your individual strength, your unwavering commitment, your steely determination, and your unfailing generosity toward Mom.
I would argue constantly, but ineffectively, with you that our primary duty to our Mother as she aged was to ensure her dignity, her comfort, and her safety. I was afraid you were all making such profound personal sacrifices to care for Mom that you were spread too thin to meet your own families’ immediate needs.
I felt so torn and so reluctant because I was worried that you were sacrificing the current generation, and the coming generation, your children, for the past generation, but none of you saw it that way. Not at all. Instead, you lived the lessons of love and generosity that Mom tried to impress upon us every day. Maybe that was why Mom had way more daughters than sons. She and Dad knew she was going to need all you girls at the end. You’ve done all of us proud.
And these women, these sisters of mine, could not have survived this impossible journey without the support of their husbands, all of them kings in their own right.
As just one illustration, one of my most poignant memories of Mom’s last days was seeing Carol’s husband Nate sitting by her side late one evening, all by himself in a room full of people, holding Mom’s hand for a long time, perhaps saying his last goodbyes to her. He stood watch with Mom not because he had to, or because anyone expected him to. It was his honor. Mom was a magnet for other’s love and attention. Nate’s love for Mom was plain to see.
That vision of Nate holding Mom’s hand as she was trying to die will endure in my mind for years to come.
No one could have asked or expected more of a person than what Bob Morgan did for Mom, day in and day out, for years, but particularly in these past few months. All of us will be forever grateful to you Bob.
And I know that Tom and Steve demonstrated their commitment to their dear mother-in-law many, many times over these years as well. My brothers, I salute you all, and thank you too.
Mom was the most unique person I have ever known. Everything about her was genuine.
Mom was a little like the Vermont weather. Vermonters say, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute, it will change.” In my mom’s case it was something similar. “If she hasn’t told you what she thinks yet, wait a minute, she will.”
The corollary to that thought was often, “God help us.” Mom could blurt out the most amazing things; however true they might have been. You wished she’d have kept certain thoughts to herself. While that may have occurred to us, it never occurred to her.
Mom didn’t necessarily intend to be forthright. She just couldn’t help it. With my Mom, you didn’t have to guess where you stood, or what she thought. She just told you. And for some reason, that mysteriously just made her even more endearing.
Mom was a genuine force of nature. But her underlying philosophy was simplicity itself, and that philosophy was the cornerstone and the catalyst of everything she did throughout her life. Here is what she taught us, and this is what I would like to share with you today.
Mom said, “The Lord will not be outdone in generosity.”
The Lord will not be outdone in generosity.
It’s a circular thought, right? However generous we might be to others, the Lord will be more generous to us.
Therefore, generosity isn’t just essential in the world. It’s essential to us. I have always found the simple elegance of Mom’s teaching breathtaking.
However unpredictable and surprising Mom could be, she was remarkably consistent about this one thing. She unfailingly practiced her own unique brand of radical hospitality as an expression of her generosity.
She knew for certain that the Lord could not be outdone in generosity, but that did not prevent her from attempting to do so. She imprinted a message on the hearts of all who met her. That message said, “Come. You are welcome here.”
Mom said: “Come with your individual story. You are uniquely important to me. Come with your problems. They don’t scare me. Come with your singular perspective. I welcome it. Come with your sense of humor. I share it. Come with your bright intellect. Enlighten us.”
“Come too with those who you cherish, and who are important in your life, so I can cherish them as well.”
I believe people found this last trait of hers, loving those who you love, particularly empowering.
Added to her radical vision of hospitality, Mom offered her guests the ultimate compliment. Not only would they be welcome where she was, into her home and her life, but they would also be encouraged to change her with their values, with their ideas, with their loved ones.
She adapted to people. She grew in their company. Her welcome was so profound that she allowed others to become part of her; to change her. She didn’t just show her love. She let the light of your love glow in her too.
I’m not sure if this was a gift or a talent, but in any case, she possessed it in abundance.
I’m guessing that the generosity she relentlessly displayed came from her experience, and her training, as a child. When she was five, our Uncle Mark, her beloved brother, was born. As most of you know, Uncle Mark was a Down Syndrome individual who was also a person of great passion, warmth, and wisdom in his own right.
Uncle was the person in Mom’s life who was always there, always teaching her; always calling upon her to be generous; always showing her how generosity was to be expressed; always demonstrating to her the usefulness and value of generosity. He was her constant companion throughout most of her life. While she protected Uncle, he softened her, and enhanced her gentle humanity. He taught her patience. Ironically, Uncle Mark also helped forge the steely independent woman we all knew, while he was also enhancing her overall humanity.
Mom did with Uncle Mark what she did with everything, and for everyone; She turned what other people might consider a burden into both an asset and an opportunity. Uncle was no impediment to anything Mom wanted to do, EVER. Uncle Mark was a joy, and that helped make Mom a joy too. Their fates were intertwined.
Mom confessed to us that it wasn’t until she reached high school that she realized Uncle was different from other people.
Mom was most often innocent of the differences between people. This was a common theme throughout her life. Where others use “different” as a way to wound, or a way to exclude, Mom embraced difference. This was a philosophy that she developed early in her life, and never abandoned.
Keep in mind that when Uncle Mark was born in 1934, Down Syndrome children were not welcomed home. They were not welcomed anywhere. They were just too different for our culture at the time to include. They were often warehoused, hidden from view in places that shortened their life expectancy to just their teen years. Under Mom’s care, Uncle Mark lived until he was nearly 70 years old, a remarkable living testament to dedication and to love.
Mom tended, by the force of her personality, and her rather unique value system, to envelope the differences between people in her own sea of generosity, and while she couldn’t make the differences between people disappear, she could make them seem irrelevant. And whatever difference it was that set you apart from others, it held little interest for her.
Her response to you, regardless of your differences, was always one of generosity and welcome.
Mom had two other profound traits and personal qualities that were her constant and inevitable companions, besides her generosity. First, she was tough-minded. Second, she could laugh at herself all the while she encouraged you to laugh with her.
As most of you know, my Dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer when he was only 45. Shortly after his initial diagnosis, he underwent two major surgeries.
It just so happened that the second surgery took place on Good Friday in 1977. Mom and I had gone to church together that Holy Thursday night to pray for Dad and for ourselves. We were driving back to the hospital after the service, and also after our traditional trip to Dairy Queen to celebrate the end of Lent. (Mom was always celebrating, regardless of the circumstances, and ice cream was often involved.) While we were away praying, Dad was lying in the hospital, being prepped for surgery, waiting for us to return for a final few words of encouragement.
During those early days of Dad’s illness, we spent most of our time going back and forth from the hospital, to the house, to the dry cleaning business, and back around again. As you can imagine, it was exhausting. Those were difficult days, full of fear and uncertainty. Laurie was only six at the time.
But Mom found comfort in us, her children, and comfort from many of you here today, and comfort from many who could not make it here today for obvious reasons; and from many we love who have predeceased her but remain with us in Spirit. She was comforted as well by her faith in the Lord and her faith in the Church.
As we were eating our ice cream that night on the drive back to the hospital, Mom noted that the next day, Good Friday, was a day to fast. I told her I hoped it would be a faster day than this one was, just trying to gently point out to her the irony of someone in her position being concerned about fasting.
“Are you kidding me with this fasting stuff?”, I’m thinking, as I was driving toward the hospital. But before I could say anything, she followed that thought with an even more outrageous one.
I remember the next thing she said as though it happened five minutes ago. Mom turned to me, and said with all earnestness, that all of Lent had passed and she hadn’t done any penance at all; and then she wondered how she might make that right?
I almost drove right off the road. I was thinking, “How much penance could one person do?” Sick and dying husband, five young children at home, a new business to manage, two elderly parents to care for plus a Down Syndrome brother, and she thought she needed to give up candy as well! Unbelievable.
But there was no point in arguing with her. Her standards were….. different. Her bar was higher.
From what depth of character did that question come?
I can assure you that it is beyond mine. Mom’s burdens always rested lightly upon her, and while she may have noticed them, they in no way defined her, or determined what she was going to do, or how she was going to think about the future. Her burdens were just another feature along her journey, and not the dominant feature either. That, I submit to you, is being tough minded.
The other Mom anecdote I would like to share is a particularly personal one to me and to Marjorie. It not only speaks to Mom’s sense of humor, but also to her generosity, and to her remarkably earthy humanity.
This event took place on Thanksgiving in 1977. In fact it was Marjorie’s first Thanksgiving with our family. We had all gone to early Thanksgiving mass as a family that day, and while the rest of us scattered throughout the house when we returned home, Mom busied herself in the kitchen, preparing the feast we would all share later that afternoon.
Marjorie and I had retreated alone to a now infamous two seater couch in our finished basement on Weston Street that came to be known in my family as the M&M chair. We were young, we lived far from each other and we were deeply in love. We also had admirable chemistry, like Mom and Dad did. The apple did not fall far from the tree in that way.
After a while of sitting in the chair, keeping each other company as it were, Marjorie, being the sensible one, became aware of the passage of time, and the work Mom was doing in the kitchen.
“Enough”, Marjorie said. “I have to go help your mother.”
She got up, I’m sure in spite of my protests, walked up the cellar stairs to the main floor, and into my Mom’s kitchen. When Marjorie arrived there, Mom was bent over the open oven, basting the turkey.
Margie observed her for a few seconds, and then very innocently asked my Mother, undoubtedly trying to be helpful, “How long has the turkey been kissing?”
I’m not sure, but I think Margie meant to ask how long had the turkey had been cooking?
Wouldn’t we all love to be able to see Margie’s face after asking that question?
What is the most generous response you can imagine a future mother-in-law could make in such an awkward situation as that?
Here was an utterly charming, but still relatively new girlfriend, deeply chagrined at that point, at her first major holiday dinner with us, and with a blatant a “kissing-her-son” reference in the relatively straight-laced Gadue household, all packed into one small room, on one of the biggest and potentially most stressful holidays of the year.
Mom burst into such peals of spontaneous laughter at that question that she nearly collapsed.
She kept saying over and over again, “How long has the turkey been kissing?” while she fanned herself with her apron.
And with each utterance, she started giggling all over again. I think she forced us to open every door and window on the first floor since she could barely breathe.
It was like that scene in Mary Poppins with Uncle Albert and everyone having tea, floating just below the ceiling, unable to control their laughter.
Mom loved to laugh.
And she made everything better, everything okay.
When I think of Mom, I’m going to think of her in that moment. Utterly happy. Filled with joy. Strong and sure of herself and her place in the world. Making her new daughter feel welcome, not embarrassed. Being generous. It’s what she taught us every day of our lives.
The Lord will not be outdone in either kindness or generosity, but you have to try.
A. Mark Gadue
June 16, 2020
Colchester, VT