Mary Fitzpatrick, RIP

Yesterday I attended the funeral mass for Mary Fitzpatrick, nee Mary Finnegan. Mary suffered one of the worst blows imaginable on December 21, 1971, when her husband Jack was murdered in cold blood while standing in line at Higbees with three of his children as they waited to see Santa Claus. Mary, seven months pregnant with her fifth child, was shopping nearby with her oldest daughter Sharon when the tragedy happened. The real story of Mary's life was not the murder, as spectacular as it was. It was her triumph over tragedy as she recovered from this blow and went on to raise five wonderful children--bringing together her large extended family, friends, and the community of Euclid, Ohio. Mary died on March 19th in her Euclid home, surrounded by her family.

I will talk about the beautiful funeral at another time. But for now I want to share a poem I wrote about Mary about a week or so before her death:

No Whining: Mary Fitzpatrick

Who has been stronger than you, Mary,
Who has suffered more?

And through it all, there’s no whining, no self-pity—
A lesson learned from your Irish mother.

When your husband Jack was murdered
Right there in Higbees, waiting with three of the kids,
Waiting to see Santa Claus,

And you, pregnant with Tommy, shopping nearby
With Sharon, your oldest daughter—

The stunning viciousness that life can turn!
I remember the awful keening at the funeral at St. William’s,
The astonished family burying Jack at All Souls on Christmas Eve.

And then you healed,
helped by family and friends.
Al and Catherine practically gave you their house on Eastbrook.
And baby Tommy was born, named after his uncle, fallen in Vietnam.

You raise five children by yourself—with the help of a village,
Some heroes who will never be named, a loving family,
The Irish-American Club of Euclid.

You form the St. William’s Bereavement Ministry—
Who has known more about bereavement? Who has learned more about Grace?
You dance on Wednesday night with dear friends at the Irish-American Club—

You create a wonderful life from the terrible ashes.

Now, in your illness, you still smile, you still don’t whine,
You still witness to the Victory and Grace
and the Victory

Of love.