Farewell to a Wonderful Woman

I have been asked to share the text of the eulogy I wrote and delivered at Mum's funeral today. There were many comments afterwards. Whether my listeners were my siblings, Mum's grandchildren, my cousins or neighbours of my parents each told me that I had captured the essence of my mother for them. As each of them knew Mum in a different way, I thought that it was interesting that they could extract their own recollections from my words.

I am honoured, on behalf of my brothers and sisters, to pay tribute today to my mother Enid Therese O’Rourke. We are all grateful to see so many family and friends gathered to say farewell to a woman, who in her 91 years of life, touched so many. She was strong of spirit and gentle in nature. She had great expectations of all of us but without pressure. But her pride in our accomplishments was enough to motivate us to persist and succeed.

Some of you know that for much of this year I have been on an extended driving holiday in the southern states. In that time I occasionally saw a wonderful phenomenon that was unfamiliar to me – the sunrise! When I heard that Mum had had a stroke, I was in Adelaide and drove home over the next four days. Not only did I see the sunrise on those days but I was conscious of the long shadows cast by the early morning and late afternoon sun as I drove home. Reflecting on these shadows, I thought of how many lives had been touched by the shadow of my mother.

Mum was born Enid Therese Hardy in Mackay in 1920. In those days her morning shadow fell forward on her parents Annie Roderick and James Hardy and her four sisters and two brothers, all of whom have passed on except Aunty Claire who would have loved to be here today. Enid spent all her growing-up years in Mackay and worked there as a young adult.

It was there at a dance at the Catholic Club that she met John Toomey O’Rourke. They had a two year engagement because her father refused to let her marry an unemployed farmer at the end of the depression. She was asked to wait till she was 21 –and in those days kids were more likely to do as their parents asked! They made a handsome couple and I cherish a photo of them both in swimsuits from neck, not quite to knee but certainly with a short leg – yes Dad too! Apart from dancing, Mum played a bit of sport – vigoro at school and later tennis.

They started a family which eventually consisted of 13 children, all of whom are here today – including Margaret who has just staggered off a 36 hour trip from Canada. In the early years of their marriage Dad was in the armed forces and away for long periods of time, some of which she spent at Traveston with Dad’s family and I know Granny and Grandfather were very fond of her and Mum of them.

As the family grew, she moved to Nambour, to Caboolture for nearly ten years and then to Scarborough. Dad always said that they got married, had thirteen kids and Mum never worked again. Amazingly enough, she did find time for years to play social tennis and was in the Gerard Majella Mother’s group. It was not unusual for a young mother in the parish to arrive at home, overwhelmed by the demands of a new baby or a difficult child. After drawing on Mum’s considerable experience, the new Mum would wipe away her tears and know that she could cope, knowing also that the advice Mum gave was tried and true.

I guess the way we all turned out as adults was due in part to her attitude to life, her child raising philosophies - and her good strong tennis arm. Although we always said she couldn’t hit the side of a barn, her aim was good enough to fell Rod one day. He was obviously in strife and raced away down the back steps to escape Mum who just happened to have an empty jam tin in her hand. One good lob and he was down! She then had the embarrassment of taking him to the doctor for stitches in his head. If that happened now, she would have ended up in jail for child abuse. Or maybe not, because then someone would have had to look after her rambunctious brood. Would you wish that on anyone?

Someone once referred to her as a feisty little thing. There was certainly not much that she couldn’t turn her hand to. I remember her climbing up on to the roof to rescue me. I had decided to get up on the high tank stand – because the boys used to! I climbed up the wall below, shimmied up between the tanks onto the roof – and there I stayed, too frightened to come down. Mum got a ladder and followed me up. She managed to talk me back to the tank stand but I wouldn’t come any further, and there I sat for two hours till Dad came home. Meanwhile Mum calmly went back to the kitchen to prepare tea. We learned to be self-reliant - though we might not have been very bright.

That stage of her life was probably the noon, the midday of her life. Her shadow was focused on family. In fact, I am not sure she even had time to cast a shadow in those days. Or else she moved so fast and so constantly that the shadow didn’t have time to fall. She was always busy. She made most of our clothes, cooked and cleaned and, in the evening, for entertainment, she folded the washing. We used to say the rosary every night, and on wash days before we started the rosary, we each had to take one end of a sheet and fold it. We left all the little bits for her – dozens of undies and hundreds of socks to sort and fold. And you know she actually folded socks. I can show you how if anyone wants to do it. Myself, I just roll them into roughly matching pairs.

Every morning we scurried off to school after breakfast and arrived back at 12.30 for lunch. It was easier for her to set the table at home and have us back for lunch than to cut seven or eight or more lunches. Dad had a cut lunch, wrapped in a white linen serviette, every day of his working life. I am sure that whichever of my siblings was allocated the serviettes when Mum gave things away still starches and irons them for everyday use. I know it wasn’t me. I very generously allowed someone else to have them.

Meals were an important part of the day. There was always a tablecloth for every meal and cutlery set properly and we were reminded of our manners. As the crowd around the table grew, we also learned to sit and eat with our elbows close to our bodies, not stuck out to the side because there was always another small body close on each side. That was despite the specially made, extra long, red laminex table that always seemed able to squeeze in one more person.

Without ever having it spelled out exactly how to do it, we knew that we had to have a good education. If we had a question of any sort about education or a career we were referred to Uncle Ted. Between him and Mum and Dad, we were set on the right track. But as they say, you can be on the right track but if you don’t move you’ll get run over. We all settled into our careers with the requisite initial qualifications. The inspiration of our parents was most obvious in our continuing education. Almost all of us went on to get added qualifications usually with night study and distance education either specific to our work or to allow us to move forward. Tony estimates an additional fifteen degrees, diplomas, grad dips and masters qualifications as well as ongoing certification need within our careers. That was on top of the best education my parents could afford to give us, at considerable personal sacrifice.

Yet none of this ever seemed to be a problem. I rarely saw Mum hot under the collar. She was incredibly calm in most situations. I think some of our neighbours must have wondered how she remained sane and I’m sure some of them were surprised she didn’t want to murder us all at times. She insisted she never felt that way. (I really think she had a fairly flexible memory for some things!) I do know she was able to make the most of what we’d now refer to as‘Me Time’. She always had an afternoon rest and was able to lose herself in a book or a crossword or a jigsaw puzzle.

As well as our own tribe, there were constant visits from aunts and uncles and cousins. Aunts Pat, Rena and Moya are here today and a lot of cousins who were our partners in crime. Mum always had a cuppa on for the adults while we kids ran wild together – playing hidey in the linen cupboard and under beds and telling ghost stories in the dark. We did things when our cousins were there that we would never have done at any other time. Mum took it well – she probably realised that the cousins just let us astray! Yes her shadow fell on the wider family or maybe they moved closer into her shadow.

As we slowly but inevitably left home, Mum and Dad became even closer. Unless one of them was in hospital or something equally unusual they didn’t spend a day apart in 67 years until Dad had to go into a nursing home. We saw their love played out there on a daily basis as Mum spent most of the morning and all afternoon with Dad for nearly two years.

When he died in 2007, I think something died in Mum too. Her daily routine was shattered and, although the wider family continued to grow, the man at the core of her heart had moved on. From them she gradually faded away. She spent most of those four years without him, in care, here at St Joseph’s and then at Penola. The care she received in her twilight years was wonderful and it is lovely to see the Sisters and Penola staff accompanying Mum today on her last journey. I know her journey into the darkness of the night was made with the certainty of a new day dawning with her beloved John.

Friends and family here today and the many who have sent messages of condolence are all part of the history of Enid Therese Hardy O’Rourke. As a family we are very grateful to you all for being here today but most especially for being part of the life of our mother. You will remain in our hearts as I hope Mum remains in yours.

Her evening shadow had lengthened over the years to encompass her 13 children, 31 grandchildren and 30 great-grandchildren – and those in the future who won’t know her in person but will be influenced by the family values which she has passed on to three generations. Her shadow is the shadow of love and we continue to live in its shade as she rests now in peace.