I was about 8 years old and am not sure what was going on, but I do remember the palpable sense of fear I felt when I realized that I would not always have my mother. I can remember tearfully running to her to ask when the end would come. She laughed, tossing her head back in the lighthearted way that always told me I had nothing to worry about. “I promise”, she said, “that won’t happen for a long, long time.” I would hug her with all my might, relieved in the knowledge that everything would be all right.
When you’re a child, you hear what you want to hear. You can easily convince yourself that a “long, long time” is synonymous with “never”. I learned last month that it’s not. A “long, long time” is a finite period and it had elapsed. There’s a song called “What a Difference a Day Makes” and that was certainly true for me on May 5th. On May 4th I was focused on important matters like making sure that I taped the Stanley Cup finals and whether I cared if Donald Trump ran for President. Twenty-four hours later my whole world turned upside down. Despite all the wonderful care of those around her, my mother died on Thursday morning at 10 a.m.
On Friday, therefore, I found myself sitting in front of a computer screen for what seemed like hours trying to decide how to start this. Where do you start to write about the person who had the greatest impact on your life? How do you describe the wonderful woman who was the touchstone for every important decision you’ve ever made? What was it about Jean Zrike that allowed her to play such a central role in the lives of so many people? The answer, I think, is very simple yet so profound: “She was always there”. When I fell off my bike, scraped my knee and thought I would die, she was there to miraculously heal the wound. When I got my one and only hit in an entire season of little league baseball, she was there to praise me as if I were the next Mickey Mantle. When I was relentlessly taunted by my grammar school classmates, she was there to rebuild my shattered confidence. She was there to share my joy when I was accepted to college, when the girl of my dreams accepted my proposal of marriage and when my children were born. And she was there to calm my fear and give me hope when I was diagnosed with MS. She was there not only at every pivotal moment in my life, she was there for her other 3 children, for her nieces and nephews who lost their mothers much too early and for her many friends. My mother had a way of comforting you that was unique. Somehow she made what seemed like the most daunting problems shrink to insignificance when compared to the exciting opportunities yet to come.
It’s hard to believe now, but in the Leave It to Beaver world of the 1950’s, we came home from school every day for lunch. My mother would always be there with a sandwich, a hot bowl of soup and a willing ear. Somehow, she made even the most mundane events of the morning seem to be of monumental importance. I couldn’t wait to come home each day to show her a gold star I was awarded for Spelling or to regale her with the latest indignity visited upon my class by Sister Rosarita.
My Mother played so many different roles and she played them so well. I mentioned how she was always there for us in the best June Cleever style. She could just as easily don her finest and emerge as the most stunning corporate wife, outshining anyone on Mad Men. She was often compared to Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor. Looking at the beautiful young woman in her engagement photo, it’s clear that this comparison is not an exaggeration.
We all remember a different Jean Zrike. For her childhood friends, she was “Jeannie,” the bobby sockser who swooned over Frank Sinatra. Even as her memory began to fail her, she could recite every word of “Love and Marriage.” Because her last name began with “ZA”, she told her friends that her dream was to someday marry someone whose name would bring her higher in alphabetical listings. Little did she know that in a few years she would fall so deeply in love with my father that she was willing to drop even further in the alphabet. He loved her with depth that you only see in the 1940's movies that she adored. To hum she was “darling” or “honey.” She would stand by his side with loving support for 6 decades. Even in the throws of her illness, who can forget how her face lit up when he entered a room?
The role for which her children and grandchildren will remember her most, however, was as a role model. In her relationship with her mother, she taught us how to treat a parent. Her close bond with her sisters and brother taught us how to be a sibling. Her 62-year romance with my father showed us what a marriage should be. And, of course, we saw each day what good parenting is all about. Most importantly, by her faith in God she taught us that spirituality should be an important part of one’s life. My Mother was a kind and compassionate human being who believed that the Way of the Cross should be a way of life. Oh, and I really wish I had her sense of humor. I was 10 years old before I realized that Fang was not my father’s name! (For those who do not understand this historical reference, I would suggest checking out Phyllis Diller’s listing in Wikipedia.)
When I looked at my Mother’s casket, my first impulse was to think about what had been taken from me - the warm smile, the comforting touch, and the reassuring words spoken in a voice that hugged me like a warm blanket. Further reflection, however, made me realize that I should be grateful for what she left all of us – wonderful memories and a legacy which will live for generations. My Mother said many times that her fervent dream was that her family would stay close and that each of us would always be there for one another. The best way I can honor her memory is to ensure that I make her dream a reality. In doing that, I can fulfill her promise that “everything will be alright” for generations to come.
