First of all, you must understand that Al’s Mom, Agnes, was an amazing woman.  Al’s Dad died when Al was five years old, of lung cancer.   Ag was left with four children under the age of 12.   Her story is a story of courage, hard work, and only God knows how many tears that no one ever saw.  Each of her offspring – three boys and one girl  – were educated to college level and beyond and are among the finest people I know on this earth. 

I don’t even want to venture how difficult it must have been.  Nowadays “single” moms are everywhere, but in those days she must have felt terribly alone at times.  She was surrounded by supportive people in her parish, the fathers always made sure the boys were included in their circle.  But still.  All I know was she was a strong woman.   I know that she treated each one of her children’s spouses with love and respect, without judgement.  If we were good enough for her children, we were good enough for her.   I could not have asked for a better mother-in-law. 

Well.  She was unflappable.  My boys could make all sorts of racket, get into all sorts of frays, and she would just laugh.  She taught me that things are just things, that if the boys break something it wasn’t the end of the world.  She had the same non-judgemental attitude about her grandchildren that she had for her inlaws.  I still struggled with their endless tiger cub antics, but she definitely gave me some perspective – before she passed away prematurely and suddenly at age 75.   One minute here.  The next she was gone.  We were 2000 miles away when she went into surgery and she did not survive the mitral valve replacement.  We were still reeling from my Dad’s passing a year earlier, just as suddenly.  One minute here.  The next, gone. 

With heavy, heavy hearts we packed up the boys and headed to St. Louis.  My sons were ages 7 1/2, 4 1/2  and 3.   Another August, another funeral procession to the Midwest for our young family.   Al was the saddest I have ever seen him.  His siblings were the same.  I love them all so much it was devastating to see them in pain, those four who adored their Mother and struggled with her and supported her as she supported them.   Of course we had laughs, as all funerals eventually break the tension by remembering the funny things about a person that could drive you crazy.  I have written in my journal that I always wanted to remember Andy at the wake, going back time and again to touch her, to look at her, his white blond hair like an angel’s under the funeral home spotlights.  When it was time for the last viewing, little Jeff stood there and we heard his tiny three year old voice ask: “Are they going to close the treasure box?”  Indeed, we were saying final goodbyes to a treasure.

It was August in St. Louis, very hot and very humid.  The church was a long drive from the funeral home, the cemetery a long drive from the church.    The little guys were all dressed up in suits and ties, and considering the whirlwind nature of a funeral trip, with their parents in a difficult emotional state, they were doing pretty well.   We had a limo – I believe it was Al and his brother John and I, and the three boys.  I was sitting in the front seat enjoying the “alone time,” so I don’t know exactly what went down. 

Then I heard Joe and Andy get into it in the back.   Andy had learned to defend himself pretty well in a fight with his big brother, but I don’t think he really intended  to give Joe a nosebleed.  I could hear Al and Uncle John breaking it up, and Joe swearing to – shall I say – make sure Andy could personally escort his grandmother into eternity as soon as they got out of the car.

I don’t know if Al and Uncle John didn’t remember being brothers together, because they obviously didn’t have a game plan for when the car stopped, but when I stepped out of the front of the limo this is all I saw: the back door of the limo opened and Al, crouching, stepped out of the car.  Before he could fully straighten up, what appeared to be a cartoon rumble rolled out of the car – a blur of  of red hair, blond hair, arms and legs rotating at alarming speed, neckties and suitcoats flying in all directions.  I could not believe my eyes.  Al and John pulled them off each other as soon as they could, but not before I just started to laugh and shake my head under the hot St. Louis sun.   It was a scene that Ag would have loved.  Had she “been there” she would have laughed and honestly I felt like she was giving me one last message before we laid her to rest.   “Shake it off, Mary, it’s my funeral, and I love them unconditionally.  You should too…”