R.I.P., Aunt Mary

My Aunt Mary passed away on Tuesday, February 23. I was asked to give a tribute at her funeral Mass on Thursday. Here it is.

It’s a privilege for me to give a eulogy today about my Aunt Mary. I am proud to have known her, I regret not taking the time to get to know her better, and yet I am a better person for having known her as well as I did.

What, exactly, is a eulogy? Well, the word comes from the Latin “eulogia,” which means holy bread. Eulogia was the blessed bread given to the congregation at the end of the liturgy. So a eulogy is supposed to provide some spiritual nourishment.

That’s a tall order – and something I’m not equipped to deliver.

Instead, I’d like to simply talk about why I loved Aunt Mary.

To begin with, Aunt Mary was a character. She was a hoot. She brought joy, and mirth, and laughter to just about everyone and to any situation, and had a glint of mischief in her eyes.

If you’ve ever seen the old Douglass family home movies, you’ve probably seen Aunt Mary sitting outside with her mother-in-law, Grandmother Pauline and Mary Francis, her father-in-law’s sister, the three of them holding those foot-and-a-half-long cigarette holders elegantly between their fingers, elbows on the table, wrists cocked just so, like in the movies. I don’t know if it was done to look glamorous, or as a joke, but the image of her and the other ladies with those things, chatting it up and laughing it up, about what we’ll never know, always makes me smile.

Of course, there was a lot more to Aunt Mary than being fun-loving. She was a giver. She gave of herself by caring deeply about those around her.

Whenever she saw me, she always made me feel as if I were special. Whether as a kid in Hungerford riding my bike up to Brice Road for a visit; or when our families would gather at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house on Claggett Drive for cookouts and badminton, or pancake breakfasts, or those god-awful soup beans; or dinners at the Cozy Inn; or later at those epic Christmas Eve celebrations the girls put on at Mary and Jim’s, she always asked about what she knew was important to me. She had a special gift to make me feel special, as if she had a special connection to me. Of course, that’s how she made everyone feel.

Where did that ability of Aunt Mary’s come from? She took the time to stop, to pay attention, and to respond.

There’s a story in the Bible – in Luke's gospel -- about Jesus healing the blind man. Jesus was on his way to Jericho to minister. The blind man calls out to Jesus, asking for mercy. Jesus stops and asks him what he wants; the blind man says he wants to recover his sight, and Jesus obliges.

Much is made about the blind man’s faith, but to me, the power of the story is that Jesus stopped, he paid attention, and he responded. That’s how miracles happen – when people stop and take the time to care about others. And that’s what Aunt Mary did, all the time.

Finally, Aunt Mary was the embodiment of love.

She was a rock of loyalty, and generous with her love. She accepted everyone, and loved unconditionally, without judgment. But I don’t have to tell any of you that. We all know how much she loved us.

Victor Hugo, in his novel, Les Miserables, wrote that “to love another person is to see the face of God.” I believe that Aunt Mary, through her love, has indeed seen the face of God. And I believe that through Mary’s love for us, so have we.