Mary Rocheford Mulheran, Matriarch

As I said in my Facebook post, I lack the words, but per usual, I'm going to fight through my inevitable shortcomings. My last living grandparent, Mary Rocheford Mulheran, received the sacrament of the sick (last rights) this evening from Father Bob Schwartz. Grandma celebrated her 92nd birthday in July of this year, and the bluntest way to describe her is likely both the most and least appropriate; she kicks ass.

She may quibble with the lack of social decorum tied to that terse description, but I have a hard time summoning a more apropos description of the revered matriarch of the Mulheran rabble. Born in 1920, she has lived through some of the greatest and leanest years in the brief history of our land, experiencing the lows of the depression mixed with the stunning achievements of the "greatest generation" and the onslaught of technological advancement that evolves by the week, day, and hour, if not minute and second. She has endured the crushing pain of losing both a son (my namesake, Paul David) and a husband, as well as a grandchild, siblings, and most (if not all) of her friends. Through such immeasurable pain and strife, she has remained the vibrant heartbeat of our extended family.

If you spoke with all of those who were close to Grandma, especially those in my immediate family, you'd be treated to an infinite number of varying stories that all found their way back to the essence of my dear Grandma. She was stylish. Charming. Witty. A fantastic golfer (I think she could probably take me in match play if we teed 'em up tomorrow). Immensely thoughtful and generous in every facet of both words. God, how do I even begin to tell you how great she was? I suppose the clearest way is that she's secured herself a helluva place (and I suppose that terminology is ironic) with our Maker up there in the great beyond.

As Grandma has made her way through her early 90's, conversations have veered into more difficult territory. She often repeats herself, and asks the same questions several times within a short conversation. This great lady with a sharp mind has little to no short term memory, and will carry on a circular conversation with you if you don't steer her in varied directions. Despite that, she remains a wealth of information, and an endless source of ties to my un-studied ancestry. I find comfort in her stories of her sister making clothes for her (Grandma will always be a better dresser than me, regrardless of how snazzy I think I look. And I think she'd like that I used the word "snazzy".), tales of her incorrigible baby brother, Paul, and other scattered memories painted across the landscape of a life worth more than I could possibly accomplish in five lifetimes. As her sharp wit begins to fail her, the ties to both a recent and distant past tell the enduring story of a life spent building a meaningful and lasting legacy.

I'm visiting Grandma tomorrow, which I guess is now today. I'm scared that I'll break down and sob in front of her, or that I won't know what to say, do, think, feel...but mostly, I'm overjoyed that she gets to reunite with Grandpa Joe, Uncle Paul, and with God. I suck at dealing with death and loss, but as a dear friend reminded me tonight, she's with me and the rest of our family wherever we go, and through all that we do in our lives. Beyond, that, I'm looking forward to holding her hand, telling her stories, listening to her tell stories to me, and catching a glimpse of that wry, knowing smile that I'll never forget.

I love you, Grandma.