My Dear Sweet Mother - Eulogy by Jim Rosen

Thank you all for coming today to celebrate the life of my dear sweet mother. And for those of you tuning in online, we are sorry we could not all be together on this day as we gather to talk about my mom, share her stories, and say goodbye. 

Growing up, my brothers and I would often get asked this one particular question. People would say, "Do you have any brother and sisters?" And when one of us was asked, we would respond, "Yes, I have 3 brothers." And the response to our answer was always the same, "Oh your poor mother."

Certainly raising 4 boys is a challenge for any parent. Of course my mom had an extra challenge. Many of you know my younger brother John. You may have heard a lot of about John and his story from this very pulpit as we gathered over 6 years ago to say goodbye to him. For those who don't know the story, John was born with Spina-Bifida, a birth defect that that affects the growth and development of the spine in an unborn baby. When John was born, he immediately had surgery to repair his spine. Can you imagine how scary and shocking that must have been to my mom? A month later John would have shunt surgery, which involved installing a plastic tube, a shunt, which drained cerebral spinal fluid from the brain down into his stomach. This was only the beginning for John and my mom and dad. John had 24 surgeries by the time he was 12 years old and several more as time went on. For anyone who has had any type of surgery, you can imagine what an ordeal John went through. But I want you to pause and think of it from my Mom's perspective. Can you imagine it? 

I was too young to remember much about those earliest years but I am told by my mom's closet friends and family that Mom always handled the pressure and stress with grace. I do remember accompanying my mom and brother John to children's hospital for follow up visits. My mom seemed to treat it as a normal routine akin to driving your children to soccer practice. She would pack John and I in the car and we would drive to the old Children's Hospital in Washington DC. To me, it seemed like an maze of twists and turns on busy city streets. But she navigated with no map, no GPS, no smartphone. As I remember it, it all seemed very routine. That was because my mom carried on with a calm purposefulness that we undoubtedly picked up on. 

Somehow my mom managed to raise 4 boys with the added challenge of supporting John and his special needs. I can't imagine how she was able to get the grocery shopping done with us in tow and not have me burn the store down. 

She did have support and help. When my mom and dad moved from Arlington to Vienna in 1972, they left Faith Lutheran Church and joined Emanuel Lutheran Church. This building was not here but a church is not defined by buildings. A church is a community of people. My mom told me this story quite a long time ago. One day, Lou Gochenhour showed up at my mom's house. She knocked on the door and said, "I am from Emmanuel Lutheran Church and I am an ER nurse. Go get your things and go shopping. I will stay here and watch the boys." When my mom told me this story she said, "Well, I just shot out the door without a second thought." Then she laughed. She told many stories that way. She would tell the story and then laugh and smile. 

I want to share some more of these stories about my mom. My mom's father worked for Esso and traveled to many different places to oversee the building of new refineries. These overseas assignments took my mom and her parents to many different places which helped shape my mom's world view and her personality. When my Mom was 13 they moved to Belgium and my mom attended a French school there. She spoke no French and there were no other English speaking children attending the school. Mom said she cried that first night. But Mom picked up the language and even late in life was still able to speak French rather well. During her time at the school, there was an assignment where the students all had to get up and recite a poem in French of course. I can hear my mom telling this story. She said, "As I was sitting there waiting my turn, I was so scared that I prayed I would die. When it was my turn, I got up and read my poem and I didn't die. And when I was done, the whole class clapped, and I cried." 

As I mentioned, my Mom lived in many places, New Jersey, Baton Rouge, Berkley California, Belgium, Rome, Paris, Ireland. While living in Rome at 17, she spent plenty of time on the back of scooters with boyfriends, exploring the city and having a good time. After living in Rome, she returned to Cranford. It was the middle of the school year and the high school was not sure what classes to place her in. One class she ended up in was a Spanish class. After a major exam, the teacher called her up after class to talk to her about the exam. The teacher said, "Elinor, you answered all the questions in Italian." And my mom said, "I didn't know I spoke Italian." Then the professor said, "Well, I speak Italian and you passed." Again, after my mom would tell this story, she would laugh and smile. 

Not all the stories she told were funny. And I think this next story is important because it shows how traveling and spending time with other cultures can create lasting memories and help shape one's world view. 

Here is how my Mom told this story. She said, "They teach you about World War II in school but they don't really teach you about it. When I was living in Belgium, the girls in my school told me about how the Nazis would shoot elementary school children on their way to school. Isn't that just awful? How can anyone do something like that?" Indeed, I think everyone can agree how awful that is. Talking to girls who had gone through those experiences really drove home the depth of cruelty that so many suffered during the war. My mom was talking directly to primary sources and it hit home and made a big impression on her. I think this experience helped my mom look more outwards towards the plight of others and helped make her a considerate person. Later in life, I remember Mom often saying, "You just don't know what people are going through." I think that is a good lesson for us all. You just really don't know what other people are going through. 

Both my mom and dad were generous people who gave an important gift; their time. Mom volunteered with CHO and was active in the church with all sorts of volunteer duties. I can remember when I was young, I used to drive with my mom while she delivered Meals on Wheels to people who could not get out to get their own meals. We picked up the hot meals from an industrial kitchen at Fairfax hospital. Then we would drive all around the area delivering the meals to various households. Most of the recipients of these meals were older Americans. Thinking about it now, I appreciate even more the importance of making sure our older family members have hardy meals available to them. 

For those of you who might not have known, my mom was very interested in what was going on around her. One of my mom's earliest friends was Nancy Horan. The way I heard it, when my Mom came over to visit Nancy, she would tell all. When mom first met Nancy when they were 10 and 11 years old, she said, "I am Elinor Rosen and my mother is older than my father and my mother only has 8 dollars." Not only did Mom like to know what was going on all around her but she liked to report it to anyone who would listen. Because of that trait, Nancy's father nicknamed her "The Orange Avenue Gazette." 

This curiosity about what was going on around her continued her whole life. Much like the character Gladys Kravitz in the TV show Bewitched, Mom was always keeping a watchful eye on the neighborhood even in the wee hours of the morning. She was a light sleeper and as I am sure Erik and his friends could attest, if you were talking in the driveway with your friends late at night, she might appear on the front porch in her night gown with her arms crossed and eyes slightly squinting and tell you to shhhhhh. And this was not because you were keeping her up. She just didn't want you to disturb the neighbors or wake anyone else in the family. She was thoughtful that way. 

Later in life, she was curious about all the living creatures that made their way into her back yard. She would tell us about how a whole family of deer visited the yard every day. And she was fascinated by the foxes that lived in her back yard. She would say, "Mr. and Mrs. Fox visited again today." Part of her daily routine was walking to the back windows to look for Mr. and Mrs. Fox. 

Even a week or so before she passed, she was still curious about what was going on around her. When Erik and I were with her in the emergency room, the treatment they were giving her which was simply intravenous fluids, started to make her feel better and get some of her strength back. At one point, there was some commotion in the ER that drew her attention. We assured it was just something going on in another area of the ER and nothing to worry about. She said, "You know I like to know what is going on." And then she hunched her shoulders and smiled and laughed like she always did. It was the first time in a while that we had seen her back to her normal self, and at the time, it was a drop of sunshine and seemed like an encouraging sign of things to come. I thought that perhaps she was on the road to recovery. Of course that ended up not being the case but seeing my Mom smile and laugh was comforting. 

One thing I will always remember about my mom was her silliness that I think rubbed off on me. When we were young, my mom would come in to wake us up for the day. Instead of just coming in and telling us to get up, she would often sing a little song or recite a line or two of something silly. I can distinctly remember her coming into my room and in a sing-song voice saying "Uppy uppy little puppy!" And then she would smile and laugh. 

Even in her later years, Mom was still funny. One day not too long ago, Erik was discussing plans to sell her house and have her move in with him. A big 5 bedroom house was no longer really logical. Erik was across the room speaking with other family members about some of his ideas and discussing the timeline. He spoke in hushed tones, trying not to get my mom too worked up about the details of what was going to be a big change in her life. Mom's hearing was quite good even towards the end of her life. And despite speaking quietly on the other side of the living room, Mom understood we were talking about her and making plans. So what did she do? She put her hand up to her hear and made a funny stage gesture with a wry smile as if to say, "I can hear you."

In addition to my mom being funny, sweet, and considerate of others, she was also an empathetic person. I think all of us want to be heard and listened to. We want to feel like what we say matters. My mom was a very active listener. She was empathetic. You could tell when you were talking to her that she was listening intently and she internalized what you were saying. I think that is one of the things that made her a good preschool teacher. Even at 3 and 4 years old, people want to be heard and listened to. Mom did that with people of all ages and all walks of life.

Indeed as Tom mentioned in my mom's obituary, Mom was the person to confide in. You could call her at anytime of the day to discuss whatever you wanted. I used to call her often just to chat and tell her what was going on. In fact, just two days ago, Missy and I booked a trip to NYC for our anniversary to see a Broadway show. I had this urge to call my Mom and tell her all about it. She would have enjoyed the news as she went to Broadway shows as a teenager. Her first show was Peter Pan. The urge to call her came more than once. Despite me knowing she is no longer with us, the desire to call and tell share with her still crops up. I think others have expressed similar feelings. 

After my father and my brother passed away, I made it a point of telling my mom how I loved her. I would say to her I love you mom. And she would smile and her face would light up and she would say I love you too, so much. Of course, I knew that my mother loved me. And I think she knew that I loved her. But saying it out loud and having that mutual exchange was very special and I'm so glad that I was able to experience that.

Earlier, I told you about how when we were growing up and people asked us if we had any siblings, we would say yes I have three brothers. And the answer was always, oh your poor mother. In the week leading up to my mom's passing, we told my mom that a couple of times. We said oh yeah people used to always say 'oh you're poor mother'. And mom would gently shake her head, smile and say, "oh they just don't know how lucky I am". Thinking about her saying that makes me feel sad but at the same time good. I often think I wish I could have done more for my mom. But it is nice to know she felt loved by us all. "They just don't know how lucky I am."

And now I want to speak directly to you Mom. Mom. You modeled good humor, silliness, and thoughtfulness. You cared about others and cared FOR others your entire life. You were generous and giving and you had quite a wicked ping pong serve. I will miss being able to pick up the phone anytime of the day to call and chat. Our chats on the phone were always such a great way to escape the stresses of a busy day. We love you Mom and we are going to miss you so much. May you rest in peace.