My middle brother, Dave, wove together this remembrance of family and friends returning to Madison a few months ago to honor Dad’s memory in a heartfelt Celebration of Life:

On June 11, about 40 family members and friends gathered at my parents’ spiritual home, St. Margaret’s Catholic Church in Madison, Connecticut. Dad had passed away in April of the previous year, before the risks COVID posed had diminished significantly, and this had limited the number of people who attended his funeral.

My siblings and I wanted to give Dad the grander sendoff that he deserved, so we decided to hold a memorial Mass and Celebration of Life for him that November. That was optimistic of us! The Omicron wave was in full swing in the fall, so we rescheduled.

A telling moment took place as the Mass was about to start.

As coordinator of the event, I had delegated my wife Marie-Susanne Langille and my son, Gordon, to take care of setup in the church since I was needed in the parish hall. At about five minutes to ten, Marie-Susanne was getting nervous since only about five people were in the pews. She stuck her head out the door – and there in the parking lot were a couple of dozen family members catching up with each other.

No question that both my departed parents would have approved!

It was heartening that so many relatives contributed to the Mass. My cousin Beth O’Brien sang hymns. Scripture readings and responsorial passages were read by Gordon, Marie-Susanne, my daughter Becky, and my brother Harry’s wife, Linda Woods. My cousin Marie Cassidy Colbert composed and read the eulogy, a beautifully-rendered portrait of Dad that interwove his life story, interests, and personality with the moral and religious principles of his Catholic faith.

The parish hall, where we gathered following the Mass, was graced by two poster-sized photocollages of Mom and Dad that my sister-in-law Barbara Gill-Vayo put together.

Harry and I started the proceedings by playing “Returning,” a piece I composed in Dad’s memory:

I told the guests that I like titles with multiple meanings: all of us were returning to pay tribute to Dad; after death, our bodies return to the earth; and many of us believe also that our spirits return to God or merge with the universal consciousness from which they came. Harry played hammered dulcimer, an instrument he has made his own (jigs and reels to Beatles songs) and on which he regularly performs for hospice patients in his work as a healing musician. I played keyboard harmonica, which looks like a slightly oversized version of the melodica many of us played in grammar school.

Lunch followed, and then relatives and friends took turns at the microphone giving their appreciations of Dad.

Both the oldest and the youngest speakers made big impressions on us.

Jane Regan Pulaski, an octogenarian cousin of Mom’s, told us about the new boy from Lowell, Massachusetts, who moved into their New Haven neighborhood and enrolled in their Catholic school. Harold bowed to his teachers before speaking (further detailed in this story) and otherwise showed himself the soul of politeness, and he and Jane’s cousin Joan were soon smitten with each other.

Shea Davison, the 11-year-old daughter of my cousin Claire Cassidy Davison and her husband, Tim, told us that she only met Dad when she was a baby and therefore didn’t remember him, but that the outpouring of love and appreciation she’d been hearing from others made clear to her that he was a very special and beloved person.

Becky spoke of going into labor with her third son, Nate, less than a month after Dad left us; she found herself becoming frightened of having a difficult labor but then had a sudden vision of Mom and Dad, sitting in rocking chairs in Heaven and watching over her, telling her everything would be fine.

She calmed, and one push later, Nate was in the world.

Harry started his reminiscences by singing a verse of “Sh-Boom,” one of Dad’s favorite songs from his younger years. Dad’s financial advisor Bob Panza spoke of his meetings with my father, which were life lessons for him as much as they were fiscal lessons for Dad.

I recounted the time when I was home from college, composing, and Dad walked up and asked,

“Are you saying something or being clever with notes?”

… that’s a question every composer should take seriously.

There were many people we would have loved to have with us but whom COVID, other health troubles, and the deaths of loved ones kept away. But a couple of family members whom I hadn’t expected to attend were able to come after all, and that helped balance the scales.

Afterward, in the parking lot, my cousin Muff (Jean) Cull called me over, looking like a dealer in hot merchandise, to show me some things in the trunk of her car. As the last Lowellite from Dad’s side of the family, Muff had ended up with many things from the homes of her departed grandparents, parents and aunts. To make a long story short, Becky and Gordon will now each have a painting by their great-grandfather to hang in their homes.

Eulogy for an Uncle, by Marie Cassidy Colbert

Uncle Hap contained multitudes. He radiated curiosity, enthusiasm, kindness, intellect, and competence. As a student at Providence College and an executive with General Electric, he worked hard to build a successful career … not in the pursuit of status and material wealth but to support the family he loved and the causes he valued. Hap was disciplined and hard nosed enough to thrive in the business world but he chose gentleness and artistic sensibilities in his life partner, fostered individuality and authenticity in his children, and nurtured a vibrant faith life. He was outwardly gregarious while also having a deep interior life. He was a role model for embracing the fullness of life.

I love the story Paula wrote on her blog about how as a four-year-old, little Harold took it upon himself to walk to downtown Utica to visit his father at work at Frasier’s department store. A kind older gentleman saw him wandering alone, inquired where he was headed, took him by the hand, and made sure he arrived safely. He was so impressed with young Harold that he wrote a letter to Harold’s father saying, “he gave me a lot of happiness and pleasure the short time it took to walk to Frasier’s.”

Even at age four, Hap had a remarkable gift in making others feel joy in his company.

… I certainly felt that as his niece. He had a gift for being fully present to and giving his undivided attention to the person he was conversing with. When I think of hospitality, I think of Aunt Joan and Uncle Hap and their house in Fairfield. The family parties they held there and the times they hosted my sister Claire and I there during summer break.

Walking into their house was like being enveloped in warmth, peace, and joy. They created such a feeling of welcome and serenity with a fire in the hearth, delicious food and lovely linens on the table. Somehow they managed to prepare everything in advance so that they could devote their full attention to their guests.

Pondering this brings to mind the Bible passage – Luke 10:38-42 – in which Jesus goes to the home of Martha and Mary:

³⁸ As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. ³⁹ She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

⁴¹ “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—or indeed only one.^[a] Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

Jesus was not telling Martha that she had made the wrong choice … of course, preparing a meal and feeding your guests is an act of generosity and service, a virtue in itself. But delighting in the presence of others and seeking to find God at work in them is where God’s grace thrives and what God yearns for us to do.  This virtue of hospitality is expressed in Matthew 10:40 this way:

⁴⁰ “Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.”

Joan and Hap cultivated a harmonious balance of these virtues.

I so appreciate how when I was a young person, Uncle Hap would show sincere interest in asking what I was up to and encouragement for my plans. It means so much when an adult other than your parents believes in you. When I was deciding to move from Boston to Chicago, he totally got why Chicago appealed to me, he said Boston was perfect for college students but Chicago offered a wider horizon to explore.

Probably unbeknownst to him, Uncle Hap planted the seeds of what would become a lifelong hobby for my sister Claire.

During our summer visits, we observed how he made a routine of going for a jog after returning home from work. It was a curious thing because in the 1980s, we hardly saw anyone jogging except the high school track team. When Claire asked Aunt Joan why he jogged, she said it was to unwind after work and clear his mind.

We loved hanging out in their study in the Fairfield house with its cozy furnishings, book-lined shelves, and picture window looking onto the sloping front yard, tall trees, and low stone wall. Claire recently told me that one book of Hap’s had stood out to her in the study’s bookcase. It had a red cover with a photo of a runner’s strong legs in motion. It was the iconic Complete Book of Running by Jim Fixx. A book that helped start the movement of people of all ages jogging for health and wellbeing. Claire did cross country and track in high school, has run multiple marathons, and routinely goes out for 5+ mile runs several times a week.

As I reflect on Uncle Hap’s life, the thing that most impresses me is that he had the superb judgment and taste to make the most important decision of his life in 8^th grade.

When most kids were probably goofing off, he spotted the lovely Joan Cassidy and knew he wanted to hitch his wagon to hers.

Their devotion to each other started in grade school and continued over 70 years through college, military service, raising a family, multiple job relocations, rocky periods, happy periods, and finally a long stretch of caregiving. Hap loved Joan with his whole being. He embodied the love of Christ in how he cared for Joan through her struggle with Parkinson’s.

In closing, I’d like to read my favorite poem of Joan’s, that I think portrays the beauty of a relationship in each person is fully known, accepted, and loved as Hap and Joan had with each other.

The Lord to Lazarus

Your home is my oasis
the pillow of your friendship brings me peace
you who ask nothing of me
offer your welcome like a flowing stream

they forget I am a man
I weary I thirst I am lonely
but not in your house Lazarus
not in the flower of your friendship
you make me laugh    I make you weep
and it is all the same
we two can sit together     talk all night
or say no word
you bring me rest     renew my life
I tell you I’m afraid Lazarus
and you are brave for me
when I am worn your strength revives me

tell no one this my friend
but one day I will bring you back to life
as you have raised me daily with your own

~ joan vayo, April 16, 1992
_____________________

Thank you to my brother Dave for planning Dad’s Celebration of Life and writing this post. Thanks also to cousin Marie for presenting such a heartfelt eulogy, to sister-in-law Linda for taking photos that day, and to all who attended whether in person or in spirit.

To quote Dad, “The Lord’s been so good to me, it’s disgusting!“

“The Lord to Lazarus” © 1992 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.
“Returning” © 2022 David Vayo. All rights reserved.

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