About Lucille
From Mary Rose:
My mother had a gracious way of greeting people with an expectation of being delighted by what she’d find, and more often than not, she was. When her hearing was failing and she wasn’t sure what someone had said, she would assume it was kind, complimentary (about her family), or funny. She was known to say, "I wish I heard that!" with a loving laugh. I learned growing up that her openness was the product of wisdom. She was a teacher and an avid reader and listener, eager to gain a deeper understanding about what makes us who we are. Her interests were vast, and whenever I shared something I’d learned or discovered, she was eager to hear it, full of delight and encouragement.
Lucille enjoyed playing cards and was a skilled bridge player who laughed easily and heartily during family games and gatherings. She also loved music, and when her hearing was unimpaired, she played the piano for many years and sang in the church choir. I have vivid memories of her escaping to her personal sanctuary at the piano, sometimes singing while playing, and at Christmas time with our dad and the rest of us joining in.
After Paul's death in 2004, Lucille gradually moved from the family home in Clifton Park, New York to Sacramento. She was very involved in the Hart Senior Center bridge group and Life History class, and during her ten years in Sacramento made many dear friends who also loved her warm and friendly nature. Even after two hip replacements and other physical impairments, and in spite of being fatigued by leukemia in her last few months, she continued to walk a mile every day until three weeks before she died. During the last months on our walks, she would often say, "I've been so lucky, so blessed with all of you. I've had a good life." My hope is that she knew that how blessed we were, that we were the lucky ones.
From Elaine:
There are insights I received from Mom that I still treasure. Whenever I cook or work on laundry I think of her explanation of the chemistry involved and tips she shared. "Many hands make light work" was her slogan for Christmas baking when she hired us as assistants, providing spending money for gifts. When she showed us how to make onion skin eggs for Easter, she talked about her mother's artistic talent, and the old tradition of using everything. In response to my complaint about a teacher's unkindness: "Nuns are supposed to be holy!" She explained, "They join because they want to become holy, not because they are." She was grateful she hadn't entered the convent because she became a better person as a mother. She evolved bit by bit from being a rule-abiding catholic girl, grateful to a kindhearted priest who eased fasting restrictions for her circumstance, to leaving church teachings behind. When her dear generous brother-in-law brother died, she let go of the doctrine that his mortal sin of alcoholism ("gluttony") would damn him. She told me that Dad's missionary cousin, Father John, stopped converting Muslims to Catholicism because it would tear a family apart. She felt free to stop going to church after she was no longer needed to take Dad there. She was finished with organized religion - her lasting belief was in Good Works. A gem I thanked her for near the end of her life, was teaching me when I was little to comfort myself to sleep by pulling a blanket over my shoulder, mimicking her hug. She laughed and said, "I must have been smarter then."
When I was four, I was in a store with Mom, about eye level to the cashier's conveyor belt. I realized that when the cashier picked up each item, she entered the cost in the register and then put the item in a bag. I had heard my parent's concern about expenses, so I picked up a package of safety pins before the cashier saw it, took it outside in my hand, and then proudly showed Mom, "You didn't have to pay for this." She looked startled and sad. She explained that if people didn't pay the store that had bought the pins, then there wouldn't be any place for us to get pins. We walked back into the store, and she said to the cashier, "She didn't understand, and we need to pay for these." The cashier smiled, Mom paid, and I learned much more than why not to shoplift, but how interconnected a community is.
From Emma Powell:
Lucille was my grandmother, but since I had two grandmothers, I (as well as other grandchildren) called her Oma. Oma was a bright and lighthearted soul. As she got older, her memory started to fade, so she would often tell me the same stories and ask me the same questions. But I never got tired of talking to her because her reactions – to me, and to the world around us – were so genuinely appreciative. It was always refreshing to talk to her, even if we continued to have the same conversations. I spent a few months helping Oma edit and organize her memoirs on the computer. In reading about her life, I learned a lot about her. I felt a special connection with her because I noticed a lot of things that we had in common. Like me, she was optimistic, easily entertained, and always made the best out of every situation. She had a great sense of humor and was very active, even in the last years of her life. She had an innocent heart, always ready to believe the best of anybody. Her spirit could easily be described by the Bible's definition of love in 1 Corinthians: patient, kind, humble, and hopeful, never envious or boastful. That being said, she had a feisty sense of humor - when we would go on walks together, I remember her sharing with me her thought that sometimes firemen turned on their sirens just to go for joyrides around the neighborhood when there really was no fire. When I think of Oma, I think of a person who saw the best in me and was wise enough to focus on the positive aspects of my life even when there weren't that many. I am relieved to know that she saw me get my life together and secure a future for myself while she was still alive. I look forward to seeing her again, reunited with her loved ones and free from pain and suffering, in heaven.