Eulogy for Pat Martin, 12/26/1933 - 01/16/2016

Eulogy for Pat Martin

 

Sandy asked me if I would share a few thoughts about your mom and grandmother and I may not be able to give it justice, but feel especially honored to be among you all, celebrating and remembering this great woman, this great lady, Patricia Martin.

When I think of Pat, I think of her legacy, her character, her warmth and grace.  She knew love and loss, rooted for the little guy, enjoyed a simple life, enjoyed life’s simple pleasures. She looked ahead and not behind.  She lived life on her terms.  She helped so many people along the way and with a kind, gentle manner yet firm resolve.  I always felt especially welcomed, accepted and loved by her.   She welcomed both Sarah and me into the Furtado family and we are very grateful to be a part of it.

Look around.  You are her legacy.  You are her love in motion left behind.  Joe, Deb, Helen, Kevin and Sandy and all eleven grandchildren.  All of you and the enormous circle of people all of you touch, that’s Pat’s legacy.  You are musicians, healers, lovers and scrappers, dreamers and doers.   You and your kids and their kids and the line of people both before and after, this is our human destiny, as links in an endless chain.  You have the blood and bone of grit, an intelligent mind and wit, determination and perseverance as inheritors of this Greek lineage, from her blood.  You are Spartans. And your children’s inheritance is the tenacity of spirit you all possess in no short order, from Patricia Martin.

I wish there were a better way to describe it, because the words tenacious, tough, determined, stubborn….all apply, but sound too harsh.  She had such wisdom, such grace and her person as a woman; they don’t make feminine words to describe it.  Yes, she was tough, but with the kind of strength that can only come from being a mother.    She could be unyielding, like a rock.  She was as unbending and as determined as anyone ever was but in a way that you just knew, she’s not going to change.  She is not going to be influenced, cajoled or brought around.  It was her way, but she didn’t yell or get nasty or out of line.  You just could see it in her.  OK, Pat.  You’d have to just give it to her because there was no way you were going to convince her otherwise.  Her path was her own.

She was as, Cat Stevens said, a “hard-headed woman” with a heart of gold, who took great enjoyment from the simple pleasures in life.  A Dunkin Donuts coffee run.  Sitting quietly watching a beautiful sunset.  Time spent chatting about this and that, just being each others’company. Going to the beach, seeing her grandchildren, going to a movie.  Watching the world go by. Going out for a meal. Simple pleasures.  Going for a walk. Going for a ride.  She didn’t require or ask or expect grand things but was as just as happy to go to a fancy Boston hotel as she was to Shaw’s. 

She loved Lowell. Loved it!  She was so proud of the city of her birth.  Rooted here in this hard scrapple city, a city of endless hope and boundless rebirth, with its deep history and gritty flavor.  A tree grows in Lowell, breaking through the sidewalks climbing into the sunlight.  Saratoga Street.  Christian Hill.  South Lowell.  Wachusett Street. Beacon Street. Her home, her nest, the glove around her.  The smokestack lit in green Christmas tree lights.  The old days, the Cherry and Web, the Giant store, the factories and mills and the characters.  She knew it at its heyday and loved it for what it was and what it is and what it could be.

She was so loyal.  Her kids were her entire universe.  She totally and completely loved her family and was always there to cheer you on.  She noticed and reveled in each of your accomplishments and she couldn’t be prouder of any of you.  She celebrated life.  She celebrated each of you.  You are her treasures.  You are her diamonds, her pearls.  You are her gifts to the world.

She loved love.  She loved romantic love, brotherly / sisterly love, love between friends, love between the coffee cups.  Sometimes, when Joe and I would go out with her, I’d start the car, lean over toward him and say “A kiss for luck.”  We’d give a quick smooch and she never failed to smile.  If I just hugged him, she’d smile.  She loved love.

I never knew her when she was with the love of her life, Bob Martin, but have enjoyed watching her on old VHS tapes.  She really loved being Bob’s wife.  She reveled in it, you can clearly see it on these old tapes.  Everyone tells me how great a guy Bob was, and I know she is with her sweetheart now and that reunion is making two souls very happy.

I will always remember some things about her that will make me smile.  Her stride, her wonderful Pat stride.  Her wide open smile, the way she laughed.  Her pocketbook.  Her red lipstick, on even in the hospital bed.  The ways she rocked her body as she danced.   Johnny Cash.  The 60s Reunion Band.  Every time I get to the top of Christian hill, I will think of Pat.  Every time I cross the Merrimack River over any of Lowell’s bridges.  Every gift shop I ever go into.  A scratch ticket.  Crazily, tissues rolled up.  Going to Scola’s, Good Times, Shaw’s.   I will always, always remember her wrapped up in a coat selling hotdogs in front of Middlesex College with Joe’s hot dog cart on cool October lunchtimes, guarding the spot in her lawn chair while the maestro cooked them just to the right boiling point.

She didn’t have the easiest life, but you would not hear her complain.  She was always looking forward.  I wanted to hear about what it was like to work in the old mills, how her parents coped, what was the old Greek section of the city like.  How did she get through the hard times? What did she have to say about this or that?   I’d have to prod her on the past because she was always looking ahead. She’d talk about the next time Sandy and Chuck were playing out or where the next party would be, she looked ahead not behind.  It must have been hard for her, five kids and not a lot of money.  Getting by.  Dealing with her illness.  Still helping anyone she could because she felt their need was greater.  How hard would it have been to raise a teenage Joe? What could it have been like to raise these hellions in the 1960s when the world was coming unglued and she was trying to make you all understand and become good people.  The Jimi Hendrix express upstairs.  The girls who wanted to be free and out from restrictions.  Little ones, needing her attention and a husband that was a challenge.  How did she manage it?  How did she instill in all of you such a wonderful solid core?  She did it.

We were all so blessed to have her in our lives, to have experienced her kindness, her loyalty.  She was so giving.  She rooted for the underdog, the little guy.  She believed in helping those most in need, being there for the least among us.  We were so blessed.  Blessed for the gift of her, the experience of her.  She took us all in and we won’t forget.

As Ray Davies wrote in the song, Days:

Thank you for the days,
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me.
I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.

I bless the light,
I bless the light that shines on you believe me.
And though you're gone,
You're with me every single day, believe me.

Blessed and grateful.

You know, when I first met Joe it was not long after I had lost my own mother to cancer.  We went on our first date to the Jade East for Chinese food.  Joe wore a sweatshirt that said in big letters, “GOLF AND SEX”.   I said, ”You like to golf?”  He said, “Oh, that was my step dad’s.”  Anyway, I told him I had lost my mother recently and he said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.  Your mother, that’s your best friend.”  I started to tear up, because he was right and not all the men I had met really got that it was so hard for me and understood what a loss that was to bear.  Now, here you all are and you all lost your best friend, too.  I know how painful it is, this loss.  But she’s right here. (heart)  She’s right here.  (head) Not far at all.

When she was letting go, her body, her poor broken body.  I leaned in and whispered to her, God IS Love, Pat.  Go to Love.   Go to God.

When Sarah was just a little girl, maybe 4 or 5, she told me one time, that my grandmother had a good God house.  What she meant was that God was love and she somehow connected that our love meant our bodies housed love, housed God.

Your mother and grandmother had a very good God house.  Now, she is home and in reunion with lovers, parents, siblings and with God.  She is not far, and she is at peace.  Her life’s legacy is rich and her spirit is with God, who is Love.  So we should be happy, even though we are sad to see her go and will miss her.  We will be there with her someday.  Let’s remember, this is a temporary place and just as she looked forward so should we.  We are her hands, now, her legacy.  We hold her dear and remember the good times, the funny moments, the giant heart.  We are her life’s work.

I am going to leave you with a poem. It’s called, I’m Free – author unknown.

 

I'm Free

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free,
I'm following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard his call,
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day,

To laugh, to love, to work, to play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I've found that peace at the close of the day.

If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My Life's been full, I savoured much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch,

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.