I’ve missed some blog entries. We’ve been dealing with the loss of my mother and the tasks associated with preparing a memorial service. Below is the eulogy I delivered at her service today.
Consuelo Mae Foulk Egerton is a … mother … mother-in-law … grandmother … great grandmother … friend and … volunteer. But it’d be difficult to label her any one thing … she really is the sum of her parts.
The definition of Consuelo is the act of consoling; giving relief in affliction, the act of reassuring; restoring someone's confidence, the comfort you feel when consoled in times of disappointment … an apt description of our Connie.
Mom used to tell me that her mother would say, “Consuelo Mae, you are the bane of my existence.” I think I have an understanding of that statement. It was probably her strong will and independent spirit that provoked Grandma.
Though, it’s difficult to imagine her being the bane of anyone’s existence – a certain Harvest Fair clown notwithstanding. It seems as if every person who had the opportunity to interact with Mom would preface most conversations with something along the lines of, “She’s such a nice lady.”
There’s a retired gentleman from Delaware, Harry Foulk, who has been researching the history of Mom’s side of the family. When I informed him of Mom’s passing he wrote, “I will never forget talking to some of the old timers up in Maine that used to eat an awful lot of ice cream just so they could have an excuse to visit with your mother. They all thought she was so wonderful.”
She had quite a network of Granville friends. During the day it seemed as if her phone rang nonstop. We probably knew more about the happenings in Granville then most of her residents.
She attended every ballgame, concert and play and always had words of encouragement … no matter the outcome.
She was active in the Ladies Aid and the PTA. For a number of years she was the church treasurer, taught Sunday school and assembled the monthly church bulletin. She was instrumental in developing the kindergarten program in Granville. She was one of the first people to ride the Granville ambulance and she was a member of the committee that raised the money to rebuild Noble hospital in the late 1950s. She spent weekend days at Westover greeting soldiers returning from the first Gulf War. She donated blood on a regular basis and rang the bell outside the grocery store at Christmas. Into her early 80s she volunteered with SHINE and helped the elderly, her words, with their insurance issues.
She had an adventurous spirit. In her 50s she decided she wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle. Stu, Tim and I set her up on Stu’s dirt bike. Stu showed her how to manipulate the clutch, handbrake, throttle, footbrake and gear shift. She coulda used more instruction … she popped the clutch; her feet went up in the air as if she were riding a rodeo bull and the motorcycle careened down the field in a straight line. Stu and I gave chase and caught her just as she crashed into the trees surrounding the field. We forgot to teach her how to turn. Undaunted, she mounted the bike again and completed a couple passes around the field.
She did have a sense of humor. She had to … raising 5 house apes. She could take a ribbing as well as dole it out.
Every winter one, or all of us, would tease her about skiing out her bedroom window at Deer Isle. Of course she just meant the snow drifts were high enough to ski out; but we never let facts get in the way.
Mom was really hard of hearing. When I needed to tell her something I learned to stand in front of her and make certain she was looking at me before I spoke. On this one occasion, I did just that. I don’t remember the content but I told her what I needed to and waited for her reply. When she didn’t answer I repeated my statement … still no acknowledgement. So a repeated it a second time … with a bit more volume. On the fourth iteration I cranked the volume to a ten and enunciated every word … every syllable. She just stared. I was about to make another attempt when she said, “I heard you the first time.” “Then why didn’t you answer me?” “I didn’t think it was anything I wanted to hear.”
Forty five years ago, give or take a year or two, Dad was on one of his many business trips to the West Coast and Mom was flying out for visit. Betty Pendleton drove Mom to Bradley and I went with them because it was an opportunity to go to the airport. We stayed until Mom exited the door from the gate area to board the plane. I was crying as she disappeared from sight and Betty wrapped her arm around my shoulder and said, “It’s okay to miss your mother; she’s a great lady.”
Well … we miss you Mom … you are a great lady!
