"Mother" by Bill

Ninety-three years is a long time to be alive, and yet my mother managed to wring the best out of every wakeful minute - and she didn't sleep much. I can't remember a single time when she went to bed before me, and she'd always be up with breakfast on the table when I came down in the morning. She had the kind of energy that never dissipated; it was always there, close to the surface. As kids we saw it in social settings - in receptions she'd organize for the Episcopal Church or Dad's Class of '35 reunions. But I remember it most in the annual Christmas eve parties she and Dad would throw when "we kids" were all assembled back home. If we talked too long with one person she'd haul us off with the command, "Circulate!" The greatest fun was the gossip around the kitchen table at the end of the evening. If Dad's fish-house punch had done its trick, there was much to recount.

I have a lot to thank her for besides how to be sociable. She got me out in the garden at 125 Cherry Valley Road, in Garden City, chasing crab-grass and weeding the garden. I was not big on mowing, but digging dirt led me to archaeology. Later, when I took to the woods in Chappaqua, burned down the big blue spruce, or tested rockets in the basement I got stern looks and words, but never condemnation. She was the perfect Mom.

More than Dad, it was Mother who encouraged me to set my eyes on distant horizons. Dad taught me to sail, how to build things and be academic. But even though he was a valedictorian chemist, my rocket-fuel experiments were not appreciated. Unlike Dad, Mother was there all the time and later in life was the one most interested in my comings and goings, my science, and my career. She had a great sense about how to work with people, and we all benefited from that.

She was not especially interested in traveling or exotic places; the home was the center of her world, and her principal implements of authority were pruning shears, which she wielded ruthlessly -- and the telephone. We used to time her conversations to see how long she'd go before pausing for a response. The remarkable thing was that no one ever seemed to mind.

It wasn't until we got older that we realized what a generous spirit she had, and how devoted a friend she was to so many people, mostly women, although she also had many close male friends. Here the metric was the Christmas card box-so full it took days of communal reading sessions to get through it!

She wasn't much for helping me with homework, but she always remembered to make me snow pudding with custard sauce when I returned from school or a summer away. She could make a mean Cape Cod chowder, and I'll never forget her lobster salads and those funny-shaped pinto beans with milk sauce we'd have on the Fourth of July.

Dad called her the Dragon Lady in honor of her mock ferociousness, and named a boat after her; but she was anything but dragon-like. She loved to dance, to dress up in outrageous costumes, to mime and 'act out'. She had a theatrical sense and a commanding bearing. She was tall, beautiful, stood out, and had natural grace. She loved her family and her many friends. She loved her years at Kendal because of all the new friends and activities it provided after her infamous 'Charleston' knee began to restrict her beloved gardening and community work.

She died with few regrets, leaving us all stronger and wiser and full of mountains of memories. The final week was nothing short of miraculous. The ripples of our lives returned to her at the center of our big family pond, paused momentarily, and then spread out again for new horizons. She is missed but is already legendary.

Bill Fitzhugh
20 March 2009