RIP Ellen Douglass

My mom, Ellen Douglass, passed away Thanksgiving morning at the age of 88. Here's her eulogy:

I'd like to share with you some memories about my mom to try to convey what made her special to me and others. But first I’ll tell you a little about her early life.

Ellen Blanche Egleson was born in 1931 in the depths of the Great Depression, in the heart of Appalachia, and was the only child of her parents, who owned a small farm. She loved farm work and spending time on the farms of her nearby relatives. Her father played the fiddle and guitar at dances and her uncle was a trained musician who taught at the local college. Mom started piano lessons from her uncle at the age of four and continued until she married at age 17 and played the piano and organ until arthritis took away her ability to play. Chopin was her favorite.

Her family sold the farm and moved to the Washington, D.C. area at the outset of World War II when her dad got a job at the torpedo factory in Alexandria, Virginia. They lived in a temporary housing development called Chincopin Village along with the other wartime workers. I’m wearing cufflinks of little torpedo replicas that Grandpa Earl made at work. Ellen was fond of skipping school and taking the bus into D.C. to window shop and enjoy the bustle of the city.

She met her future husband Paul, or Bud as he was known, in Chincopin Village. Dad’s father had also moved from West Virginia for a job at the torpedo factory.

After Mom and Dad got married, my dad finished his service in the Navy and got his engineering degree. They started their family and eventually settled in Rockville, in a neighborhood perfect for raising kids – with woods, parks, a community pool, ballfields, schools and even downtown within walking distance.

Mom loved her dogs, classical music, baseball, big jewelry, going on cruises, reading murder mysteries (whodunits as she called them), and working crossword puzzles.

She decorated cakes with those paper funnels filled with icing and her collection of metal tips with different-shaped openings to produce the desired effect. My brother John recently reminded me of some of our birthday cakes – a baseball glove, a boat with Lifesavers for the portholes. She loved to make doll cakes, with beautiful, intricate icing dresses, for our cousins and later for my daughters.

Mom was a challenger of convention. Why roast the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven when you could simply slam it in the microwave for a few minutes? And for dessert, why make the apple pie with apples when you could fill it with Ritz crackers instead? Mock Apple Pie – you can look it up.

And by the way, not real Ritz crackers but the off-brand knock-offs. I think they were Ratz crackers. She was big on inferior-quality no-name products. It was a really big deal when she finally broke down and bought me my first pair of real Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers – Chucks. I can still remember the excitement I felt, the amazing smell when I opened the box, and the joy when I was able to throw out my old pair of Chicks.

Of course, she loved John, Donna and me, her grandchildren and their spouses, and her great-grandchildren. But the love of her life was Bud.

She adored Dad and he loved her deeply -- you could see it in the way they looked at each other, how they kissed goodbye in the mornings before he would leave for work, how they would hold hands when they walked together. They found they loved to travel and went on dozens of cruises, my dad the gregarious one making friends with everyone they came in contact with and my mom the willing accomplice. I say accomplice, but she was the behind-the-scenes mastermind, suggesting each adventure, getting him excited for it, making all the arrangements, then chronicling their journey in photo albums. Lots of photo albums.

They loved babysitting our kids when they were small. My mom would somehow get them to the subway stop near White Flint Mall and they would spend the day sightseeing in Washington, DC. She and dad would take them to the Dollar Store and give them each a few bucks to buy whatever they wanted.

Mom used to tell me the importance of having a partner with whom to take on the world. I think she meant to help get through life’s hardships. She and my dad had their share of hardship, as we all do, but they managed them together with grace, quiet strength, positivity, and kindness.

Mom never fully recovered from losing my dad five years ago – that was her most difficult challenge. Still, she maintained those core attributes of grace, quiet strength, and positivity to the end.

Our son Jack and his wife Erin have a couple female toy American Eskimo dogs, Klondike and Sundae. Klondike is sweet and friendly (once she gets to know and remember you), and kind. Sundae, on the other hand, is, well, not so much. Mom definitely was a Klondike.

I’m not sure I ever heard Mom complain. Even when you could tell her back was aching or her knee was acting up, when you asked how she was doing, she would say she was fine, and would give you that big, hundred-watt smile, and turn the question back to you: What are you up to? How’s Donna? How are the little ones?

So many of the staff here at Riderwood have come up to me to offer their condolences, and have noted that Miss Ellen was a delight, was always smiling, was a favorite of theirs.

Donna and I recently saw “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood,” the movie about Fred Rogers and the redemption of a troubled journalist assigned to write an article about him. That movie, the Esquire magazine article it’s based on, and countless other stories, interviews and documentaries, highlight Rogers’ guiding principle: Be kind.

Fred Rogers was what today would be called an “influencer.” Through his TV show he had an audience of millions – children and their parents. He chose to influence them to be kind.

Mom didn’t have a TV audience or a powerful job. She did administrative work, at the Pentagon early on, later for the church in Rockville and at the Model Basin where Dad worked, but mainly she stayed home to raise my brother and me. She wasn’t famous or a social activist, preferring to keep her views mostly to herself. She didn’t have streets or hospital wings named after her, although she was generous to her church and would donate a little something to any organization that bothered to send her an appeal in the mail.

Yet, she did have an impact on this world. That’s shown by everyone who is here today. She managed to touch the lives of everyone she met – her beloved family, friends, the staff here at Riderwood. I see it in the kindness and goodness of my children, of whom I am proud beyond all else, and I am certain that to some extent they learned that virtue from her example.

Mom passed away early Thanksgiving morning. Donna and I had planned to go up to New Jersey to be with her family and return the following day to stay close to Mom. After we got the phone call, we decided to go ahead as planned; there was nothing to be done until the next day. So we went to Thanksgiving dinner hosted by her brother Larry and his wife Patricia and were embraced by Donna’s family.

After dinner, in a tradition started by Donna several years ago, we went around the tables (there were 26 of us) stating something we were thankful for. When Donna’s turn came, she spoke about the privilege of seeing the circle of life – how we can see the physical traits and personalities of those who have come before us in our children and our children’s children.

It’s so true, and not just in the nature, genetic inheritance sense, but in the nurture sense as well. We have one ancestor’s eyes, another’s smile, another’s hair (or lack thereof). But through the examples of our forebears we also take on their passions, priorities, outlooks on life.

These were Mom’s gifts to us, and that is her legacy. She taught us how to act with grace and quiet strength, even in challenging times, and to always be positive, cheerful, and above all else, kind.

We live in a time where kindness is often crowded out by our lesser traits. But we can all be influencers, we can all have a positive impact on this world, by embodying the characteristics that Mom lived by. We may not have the opportunities to be as impactful as Mr. Rogers, but we can all choose to be a Klondike, or an Ellen.