Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay my respects to Mary Rita Downing Gendron. Mary passed away on Wednesday, September 14, 2005, at the age of 84. Mary was born in Lowell on December 24, 1920, the daughter of John and Rose Purcell Downing.…
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay my respects to Mary Rita Downing Gendron. Mary passed away on Wednesday, September 14, 2005, at the age of 84. Mary was born in Lowell on December 24, 1920, the daughter of John and Rose Purcell Downing. For 60 years, she was the beloved wife of the late Arthur W. Gendron, a former Lowell firefighter.
Mrs. Gendron is survived by three daughters and two sons, Geraldine R. McSwiggin and her husband Jack of Dracut, William A. Gendron and his wife Paula Skrekas, Patricia A. Tobin and her husband Kevin, Christine G. Florence and her husband William, and Stephen J. Gendron and his wife Katherine Kijanka, all of Lowell, as well as a son-in-law Bruce G. Johnson, also of Lowell.
She is also survived by four sisters-in-law, and three brothers-in- law, Barbara McSweeney Downing, formerly of Lowell, Leo and Terry Gendron, Francis and Jane Gendron, both of Lowell, and Gerald and Terry Gendron of Salem, NH.
She was the mother of the late Mary R. Gendron Johnson, sister of the late John W. Downing, Harold Downing, Christine Downing Lisien, Gertrude and Madeline Downing, and the sister-in-law of the late Elizabeth Armstrong Downing, Walter Lisien, Gladys Gendron Lowell, Leighton, Leonard and Raymond Gendron.
Mrs. Gendron leaves 20 grandchildren, Meredith Johnson Wall, Kirsten Johnson, Katie McSwiggin Cochran, Laurie McSwiggin Tirado, Maureen and John McSwiggin, Daniel, Tricia and Kristina Tobin, William, Maggie and Patrick Florence, Kathleen, Elena, William, Paul, Stephen, Matthew, Michael and Christopher Gendron, 3 great-grand-children, Julia and Hannah Cochran and Alex Tirado, and many nieces and nephews.
I ask unanimous consent to enter into the Congressional Record the eloquent words that Steven Gendron, Mary's son, wrote and delivered at his Mother's funeral.
It is an honor for me to stand here today and share the
collective reflections of my brother and sisters, Gerry,
Billy, Patty, Chrissie and me, about the life of my Mom. I
have to tell you, that everyone of us wanted to do this, but,
I'm the baby, and I usually get my way.
I stopped into a photo store a couple days ago to get
copies of some pictures that we wanted to display at the wake
and funeral. I explained to the saleswoman what I wanted, and
I didn't notice an old acquaintance of mine standing at the
counter just a few feet away. When the sales lady stepped
away, the old friend surprised me by saying ``Are you having
a celebration Steve?'' ``Oh Hi,'' I replied, ``No, actually,
my Mom passed away yesterday and we just wanted to display
some pictures at the wake.'' Now the woman felt bad and said,
``oh, I'm sorry to hear that.'' The sales lady returned and I
finished my business, and as I walked out of the store, the
old friend said, ``Steve, you know, it will be a celebration
. . . a celebration of her life.'' I was touched by the
comment and I said, ``you're right, it will be a
celebration.''
So, we're happy to see all of you here today, to help us
celebrate the life of a woman we all loved.
And Mary loved to celebrate. She loved to dance, and she
loved to sing. We can all remember her singing around the
house all the time. I have a vivid memory of her when I was
about 6 years old, one of those memories that is so clear
it's like a little video clip in you're mind. She's walking
across the kitchen, while I'm eating breakfast, snapping her
fingers and singing, ``Nothing could be finer, than to be in
Carolina, in the morning''. I don't think she'd ever been to
Carolina, except maybe for a stopover on the drive down to
Florida, but she liked the song, singing it made her happy,
and it made us happy too.
And she loved to be with her friends. Back in the old days
there were the Bon Ton Girls, a group of high school friends
that would hang together and go to dances. I saw a few of the
Bon Ton Girls last night, and one of them told me how they
would run their own fundraisers, to rent a place at the beach
during the summer. Kay McCabe can give you more details on
that little group if you're interested.
And then there was the ``Club,'' the group of Gendron
sisters-in-law, and a few honorary sisters-in-law, that would
get together on Saturday evenings when the boys were off
playing cards. We can remember them meeting in the
``parlor'', or front room, of our house on A Street. They'd
bring their knitting, they'd sit, they'd chat and laugh up a
storm.
And then later in life there was the Clark Rd. knitting
group that would get together for much the same type of thing
on a regular basis.
Mom was completely, and totally dedicated to her family.
She could teach our politicians a few things about family
values. And she probably learned those from her own close
family growing up. Her brother Johnny was like a father to
her, and Uncle John and Aunt Sis were like grandparents to
us. She adored her sister Tina, and her brother Harold meant
the world to her.
In our family, she was our foundation; always in the
background--always there to support us. Growing up my brother
and sisters and I never really worried about anything. There
was no problem that seemed too big, no hurdle that seemed
too high, nothing we couldn't accomplish. Because our
foundation was strong--Mom was always there to support and
encourage us.
Mom taught us many things. She taught us about love and
commitment through her relationship with my father. For 60
years most everybody knew her as half of either Mary &
Arthur, Ma & Dad or Nana & Grampy. It was a true lifelong
love story. She waited for him while he fought the Nazis, and
when he returned there was no turning back. Oh, don't get me
wrong, they had trying moments like any couple, but in the
end they cared more about each other than they did
themselves. And there was never any question that they would
be together to the end.
Mary was truly a professional wife and mother. She had all
the qualifications:
Cooking: Mary would best be termed an Irish Cook. There was
never a recipe book in our house, yet there was always a stew
or spaghetti in the big silver pot on the stove, and if a few
extra people showed up, well a can of soup and a bottle of
ketchup could stretch it a long way.
And you know, Arthur was one of those guys who expected
dinner to be on the table and hot when he arrived home from
work. In the morning, coffee was to be percolated, never that
instant stuff. Well, Billy tells the story of how one morning
he caught Mom reaching deep into the cabinet for a bottle of
Taster's Choice. She gave him a wink and a ``Shhh'' as she
poured it into the coffee pot. That morning, and every
morning, Arthur thought the coffee was delicious. I wonder
how many times it really was fresh brewed.
Sewing: Mom's sewing machine was always humming, but her
sewing skills mirrored her cooking skills. She was no
seamstress but had functional sewing skills. She was good at
modifying what she had, Gerry remembers her hemming and
altering everything, and it wasn't uncommon for this year's
new dress to be an updated version of last year's.
Ironing: You haven't worn a shirt until you've worn one
ironed by Mary Gendron. Never a wrinkle. She even put starch
in your underwear. Except there was the time that she burned
an iron-sized hole into Chrissie's bridesmaid dress, 2 days
before Patty's wedding. Fortunately her functional sewing
skills kicked in and she patched it up, and nobody knew the
difference.
Home Decorating: With the change of seasons Mom would make
new curtains, rearrange the furniture or paint the room. It
used to drive my Father crazy because she'd usually end up
painting the windows shut.
Shopping: Mom was the ultimate bargain hunter. She loved
nothing more to spend the days with Mrs. Barrows or one of
her other ``chums'', as she would call them, out sifting
through the bins in search of a good deal. She was always
in search of something nice for her kids or grandkids at a
price that fit her budget.
Typing: My mother was actually an accomplished secretary.
She could type like the wind and she was an excellent
speller. She never obtained a college degree, but based on
the number of college papers she proofread and typed, we
figure she's earned at least six.
Mom was so proud of her kids and her grandkids. She'd beam
when she told you that we were all college educated and
successful in our careers. And her pride only increased as
our own families began to blossom. She treated her daughters
and sons-in-law as if they were her own, and she always made
time for each of her 20 grandchildren and 3 great-
grandchildren, making each one of them feel special.
As you all know, for the last 10 years or so, my mother has
been a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. It is a terrible
disease that my father once termed a ``living death''. At
first,
the symptoms she exhibited are those that most people are
familiar with, such as forgetfulness and disorientation. But
as the symptoms become more debilitating, she became harder
and harder to care for. Thank God for my Dad, who truly rose
to the occasion, keeping her at home much longer than would
normally have been possible. But ultimately, we were forced
to provide professional care for her.
This is when we found Life Care Center of the Merrimack
Valley. I have to tell you, our first impression of the place
was not good. In fact, it was horrible. Mom's transition was
painful. She fought every step of the way. There were many
tears. But slowly, Mom and the rest of us began to grow
accustomed to her new environment.
Slowly, we began to learn about the later stages of this
disease and how to cope with it. We learned that Mom and the
other residents of the unit, while trapped inside their own
bodies, could give you a glimpse of their personalities if
you worked at it. Slowly, all of us, children, spouses and
grandchildren, learned not to be afraid of these patients,
but instead to embrace them and try to make their lives just
a little more pleasant. In doing so, we all made new friends.
We can't say enough about the caregivers at Life Care. They
treat each resident with respect and dignity, while somehow
maintaining their sense of humor. They are truly doing God's
work on earth. Mom had found a new family there, and so had
we.
So, in the final years of her life, nearly helpless, and
unable to communicate, Mom still had something else to teach
us. This time she taught us about compassion.
And do you know, that even in her challenged condition, she
could spell almost any word you asked, she could recite the
Lord's Prayer in its entirety, and she could still sing. She
could sing When Irish Eyes are Smiling from beginning to end,
Let me call you Sweetheart and yes, ``Nothing could be Finer
than to be in Carolina in the Morning.'' I guess some
memories never fade.
In the end, Mary became as comfortable at Life Care as
anyone could in her condition. She became known around the
nursing home as Mary, the girl who liked to dance. The last
time I saw her, just a week ago, my son Mike and I walked her
up and down the halls of the nursing home. At least 15
employees stopped us along the way and gave her a big hello,
and some did a little dance with her. Mary gave them all a
smile, and it prompted Mike to say, ``Boy Dad, Nana's really
popular.'' In fact, one of the nurses told me last night that
Mary, was.
In closing, I have to say how proud I am to be a part of
this family. During both Mom and Dad's illness, everybody
stepped up to the plate. Thank God Chrissie chose to pursue
the medical profession, she was always the first phone call,
and always there to put the medical jargon in laymans terms.
We truly valued her advice. And Gerry is just always there.
Whatever you need, whatever you want, Gerry will get it for
you, even if it means great inconvenience to her own family.
Billy was the father-figure, always there for the heavy
lifting, and to take care of the business end of things. And
Patty was the principal, the peacemaker, always keeping the
communication lines open, and keeping us sane. As Chrissie
put it, everybody contributed, and nobody wimped out. I think
Mom and Dad are proud of us today.
When you leave today, if you should think about Ma, or
Mary, or Nana in the future, we hope you don't think about
the woman afflicted with Alzheimer's Disease. We hope you
think about the woman who enjoyed the simple things in life,
a woman content to be the quiet foundation of the family, a
woman who would sing while serving breakfast, and the woman
who may well have left us with words from the song that my
sisters chose for the back of the program today:
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
Whenever one door closes, I hope that one more opens.
Promise me that you'll give faith the fighting chance.
And if you get the chance to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance.