Eulogy

My eulogy for Nona on Tuesday, 11 December 2007:

Thank you for being here.  We are gathered today to commemorate — and to celebrate — the life of Lydia Louise Reginatto Vial, my grandmother.  I’m not going to go into a biographical recitation of my Nona’s life — her big family; her long marriage to Mario, my Nono; her job, her golfing … those were all part of her, but to do justice to those memories would take a lifetime.  And I’m sure Nona would say that the facts of her life weren’t all that special … though she certainly was.

It was not her past, but her presence that always struck me about Nona.  She always seemed to me to be an elegant woman, erect in carriage, well-spoken (though of humble roots).  I remember her hair – salt and paper for many years then — well, colored, until, at last, she let it return to a beautiful silvery-white — and, like silver, she was both polished and practical.

I remember her, too, as a tall woman — it certainly seemed that way to me, as a child.  Tall and erect.  Fiercely no-nonsense, sometimes stern, but always loving.  Practical, pragmatic, but always with warmth and caring.

She was also a woman of great faith, and piety.  But it was just — her.  She didn’t wear her faith on her sleeve to show off, or use it as a club to show she was better than other people.  It was just her.

And as a part of her, it showed itself in what she did.  She was always there, to guide and to love, but also to help, to lend a hand, to support, with actions, not just words.  She was always there for people – for family, for friends, for everyone around her.  As the second child — and only daughter — among five brothers, she grew up with a special calling to nurture, caretake, help others, a calling she made part of her entire life.  “The soul is awakened through service,” Erica Jong said, and there’s no doubt that in her service to others, her soul was fully awake.

And that, in turn, was reflected in her hard-working nature.  Nona was someone who worked hard, and she taught everyone around her the dignity of work — something you did because you had to, sure, but which you made your own, and which you did well, with quiet pride and under an obligation not only to others, but to yourself to do your best.  She taught me the value of service to others, both on the job and in my own life.

I’m not good at reciting lots of memories, I’m afraid.  What I remember most about Nona are little things.  I can remember her smile, the way it filled her whole face.  I can remember her fussing around the house, or the table, or the kitchen, making things just so.  “Now, David –” I can hear her say. Or, on those occasions when she was a little bit mifffed, “Well, Hector …”

I owe a lot to Nona.  I owe her for my own mom, of course — someone who inherited so many of Nona’s good qualities: a fierce independence, a sense of humor, a commitment to service — and of whom I know Nona was proud.  I owe her for the care and love she gave my brother and me.  And I owe her just for being herself.

She was a good woman.  A good sister.  A good aunt.  A good wife.  She was a good mother.  A good grandmother.  A good great-grandmother.  We will all miss her – but I also know we will be reunited with her in time.  And I look forward to that day very much.

Thank you.