susan d abello

My family has received many cards in the last few months, expressing sympathy for the loss of our mother. In those cards were countless adjectives used to describe our Helen. Classic, elegant, intelligent and adventurous, curious, kind, game-for-anything, and fun. Thoughtful, caring, capable, gracious, generous and humble. And then there is my favorite, the quote from my sister’s family, “Helen was legend!”

All of this is true, and those who were close to her know that to be so. But for me, she was my mom, the center of everything since the day I was born, but then in later years, she was my best girlfriend, my plus-one for luncheons and plays, shopping, bible study and travel…my sister-in-law, Marggie called us,” Like Minded Companions”. And that we were. 

We were next door neighbors when we lived here in Ct, and that being so, she still called every evening at dinner time. Edgardo thought it was a conspiracy to save me from doing the dishes because it happened without fail. During those phone calls I would spill my heart out to her about politics, faith, kids and life. I could count on her. Her advice, if offered, was always based in common sense. She was solid in her faith, and in her ability to see through emotions to get to the real issue at hand. She could always discern the “right thing to do.”  

Helen was a woman of great character and even when I was too young to know what character was, I had the intuition to suspect that my mother was blessed with wisdom and goodness. I remember feeling intense love for her on different occasions in my life. One of them was when I was very small and she would let me climb up on the sofa with her and tuck myself between her and the cushions, careful not to push her off, but only wanting to be near her. I thought all children must feel this love and pride for their mothers…but as I grew, I learned that it just wasn’t true…not everyone did feel that way…I began to suspect that not everyone had a mother like mine. Then in high school, when I was maybe 15 and she stood before my siblings and me and told us our father was dying of cancer…the way she stood in the doorway, strong but fragile…it was the first time I feared there was something that might break her, something that might break all of us. But in the end, she soldiered through and never once talked about her feelings, her grief, with us kids. She showed us her sorrow but didn’t use it for pity, and she also showed us her strength and we all used that as an example of how to cope ourselves. 

Another time I remember being overwhelmed with a recognition that I loved my mother so profoundly was when, like my father before her, my sister was living with, and eventually dying from, cancer. Mom didn’t make the situation about herself. She did what she could to give my sister and John and the girls, what they needed and she made herself available. She suffered her greatest loss and she stood back and mourned quietly. I remember seeing my mother not as a mom, but as another woman for the first time. I was by then, a mother of four. I couldn’t imagine what she had felt while her precious daughter lost her battle. I couldn’t imagine not screaming, or lying down to die myself…and there she was, being helpful, being strong for her family. It was again, a lesson for all of us. There were more instances of realizing how deeply I loved her. Like in the months before her death, when I waited on my father’s now empty side of the bed while my mother napped…she didn’t know I was there until she opened her eyes, and upon seeing me, her face broke into the sweetest expression of love and joy …it was heart-breakingly beautiful to be loved so deeply. She just wanted company in the end. Perhaps by then she had begun to understand what Pres had felt when he was asking her to lie down with him and “practice” how they would go to heaven together. (You’ve probably all heard that story!) My mom never asked us to “practice” with her, but she did appreciate the company along her journey. In the end, I held her hand and she crossed over to where I can’t join her for some time I suppose. She died like she lived, with dignity, facing the unknown with strength and grace. 

Dignity

Strength

Grace

Three more adjectives, my own contribution to the never-ending list that describes our sweet Helen.