[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 17]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 22756-22757]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                      TRIBUTE TO MARY RITA GENDRON

                                 ______
                                 

                         HON. MARTIN T. MEEHAN

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                        Friday, October 7, 2005

  Mr. MEEHAN. Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay my respects to Mary Rita 
Downing Gendron. Mary passed away on Wednesday, September 14, 2005, at 
the age of 84. Mary was born in Lowell on December 24, 1920, the 
daughter of John and Rose Purcell Downing. For 60 years, she was the 
beloved wife of the late Arthur W. Gendron, a former Lowell 
firefighter.
  Mrs. Gendron is survived by three daughters and two sons, Geraldine 
R. McSwiggin and her husband Jack of Dracut, William A. Gendron and his 
wife Paula Skrekas, Patricia A. Tobin and her husband Kevin, Christine 
G. Florence and her husband William, and Stephen J. Gendron and his 
wife Katherine Kijanka, all of Lowell, as well as a son-in-law Bruce G. 
Johnson, also of Lowell.
  She is also survived by four sisters-in-law, and three brothers-in-
law, Barbara McSweeney Downing, formerly of Lowell, Leo and Terry 
Gendron, Francis and Jane Gendron, both of Lowell, and Gerald and Terry 
Gendron of Salem, NH.
  She was the mother of the late Mary R. Gendron Johnson, sister of the 
late John W. Downing, Harold Downing, Christine Downing Lisien, 
Gertrude and Madeline Downing, and the sister-in-law of the late 
Elizabeth Armstrong Downing, Walter Lisien, Gladys Gendron Lowell, 
Leighton, Leonard and Raymond Gendron.
  Mrs. Gendron leaves 20 grandchildren, Meredith Johnson Wall, Kirsten 
Johnson, Katie McSwiggin Cochran, Laurie McSwiggin Tirado, Maureen and 
John McSwiggin, Daniel, Tricia and Kristina Tobin, William, Maggie and 
Patrick Florence, Kathleen, Elena, William, Paul, Stephen, Matthew, 
Michael and Christopher Gendron, 3 great-grand-children, Julia and 
Hannah Cochran and Alex Tirado, and many nieces and nephews.
  I ask unanimous consent to enter into the Congressional Record the 
eloquent words that Steven Gendron, Mary's son, wrote and delivered at 
his Mother's funeral.

       It is an honor for me to stand here today and share the 
     collective reflections of my brother and sisters, Gerry, 
     Billy, Patty, Chrissie and me, about the life of my Mom. I 
     have to tell you, that everyone of us wanted to do this, but, 
     I'm the baby, and I usually get my way.
       I stopped into a photo store a couple days ago to get 
     copies of some pictures that we wanted to display at the wake 
     and funeral. I explained to the saleswoman what I wanted, and 
     I didn't notice an old acquaintance of mine standing at the 
     counter just a few feet away. When the sales lady stepped 
     away, the old friend surprised me by saying ``Are you having 
     a celebration Steve?'' ``Oh Hi,'' I replied, ``No, actually, 
     my Mom passed away yesterday and we just wanted to display 
     some pictures at the wake.'' Now the woman felt bad and said, 
     ``oh, I'm sorry to hear that.'' The sales lady returned and I 
     finished my business, and as I walked out of the store, the 
     old friend said, ``Steve, you know, it will be a celebration 
     . . . a celebration of her life.'' I was touched by the 
     comment and I said, ``you're right, it will be a 
     celebration.''
       So, we're happy to see all of you here today, to help us 
     celebrate the life of a woman we all loved.
       And Mary loved to celebrate. She loved to dance, and she 
     loved to sing. We can all remember her singing around the 
     house all the time. I have a vivid memory of her when I was 
     about 6 years old, one of those memories that is so clear 
     it's like a little video clip in you're mind. She's walking 
     across the kitchen, while I'm eating breakfast, snapping her 
     fingers and singing, ``Nothing could be finer,

[[Page 22757]]

     than to be in Carolina, in the morning''. I don't think she'd 
     ever been to Carolina, except maybe for a stopover on the 
     drive down to Florida, but she liked the song, singing it 
     made her happy, and it made us happy too.
       And she loved to be with her friends. Back in the old days 
     there were the Bon Ton Girls, a group of high school friends 
     that would hang together and go to dances. I saw a few of the 
     Bon Ton Girls last night, and one of them told me how they 
     would run their own fundraisers, to rent a place at the beach 
     during the summer. Kay McCabe can give you more details on 
     that little group if you're interested.
       And then there was the ``Club,'' the group of Gendron 
     sisters-in-law, and a few honorary sisters-in-law, that would 
     get together on Saturday evenings when the boys were off 
     playing cards. We can remember them meeting in the 
     ``parlor'', or front room, of our house on A Street. They'd 
     bring their knitting, they'd sit, they'd chat and laugh up a 
     storm.
       And then later in life there was the Clark Rd. knitting 
     group that would get together for much the same type of thing 
     on a regular basis.
       Mom was completely, and totally dedicated to her family. 
     She could teach our politicians a few things about family 
     values. And she probably learned those from her own close 
     family growing up. Her brother Johnny was like a father to 
     her, and Uncle John and Aunt Sis were like grandparents to 
     us. She adored her sister Tina, and her brother Harold meant 
     the world to her.
       In our family, she was our foundation; always in the 
     background--always there to support us. Growing up my brother 
     and sisters and I never really worried about anything. There 
     was no problem that seemed too big, no hurdle that seemed too 
     high, nothing we couldn't accomplish. Because our foundation 
     was strong--Mom was always there to support and encourage us.
       Mom taught us many things. She taught us about love and 
     commitment through her relationship with my father. For 60 
     years most everybody knew her as half of either Mary & 
     Arthur, Ma & Dad or Nana & Grampy. It was a true lifelong 
     love story. She waited for him while he fought the Nazis, and 
     when he returned there was no turning back. Oh, don't get me 
     wrong, they had trying moments like any couple, but in the 
     end they cared more about each other than they did 
     themselves. And there was never any question that they would 
     be together to the end.
       Mary was truly a professional wife and mother. She had all 
     the qualifications:
       Cooking: Mary would best be termed an Irish Cook. There was 
     never a recipe book in our house, yet there was always a stew 
     or spaghetti in the big silver pot on the stove, and if a few 
     extra people showed up, well a can of soup and a bottle of 
     ketchup could stretch it a long way.
       And you know, Arthur was one of those guys who expected 
     dinner to be on the table and hot when he arrived home from 
     work. In the morning, coffee was to be percolated, never that 
     instant stuff. Well, Billy tells the story of how one morning 
     he caught Mom reaching deep into the cabinet for a bottle of 
     Taster's Choice. She gave him a wink and a ``Shhh'' as she 
     poured it into the coffee pot. That morning, and every 
     morning, Arthur thought the coffee was delicious. I wonder 
     how many times it really was fresh brewed.
       Sewing: Mom's sewing machine was always humming, but her 
     sewing skills mirrored her cooking skills. She was no 
     seamstress but had functional sewing skills. She was good at 
     modifying what she had, Gerry remembers her hemming and 
     altering everything, and it wasn't uncommon for this year's 
     new dress to be an updated version of last year's.
       Ironing: You haven't worn a shirt until you've worn one 
     ironed by Mary Gendron. Never a wrinkle. She even put starch 
     in your underwear. Except there was the time that she burned 
     an iron-sized hole into Chrissie's bridesmaid dress, 2 days 
     before Patty's wedding. Fortunately her functional sewing 
     skills kicked in and she patched it up, and nobody knew the 
     difference.
       Home Decorating: With the change of seasons Mom would make 
     new curtains, rearrange the furniture or paint the room. It 
     used to drive my Father crazy because she'd usually end up 
     painting the windows shut.
       Shopping: Mom was the ultimate bargain hunter. She loved 
     nothing more to spend the days with Mrs. Barrows or one of 
     her other ``chums'', as she would call them, out sifting 
     through the bins in search of a good deal. She was always in 
     search of something nice for her kids or grandkids at a price 
     that fit her budget.
       Typing: My mother was actually an accomplished secretary. 
     She could type like the wind and she was an excellent 
     speller. She never obtained a college degree, but based on 
     the number of college papers she proofread and typed, we 
     figure she's earned at least six.
       Mom was so proud of her kids and her grandkids. She'd beam 
     when she told you that we were all college educated and 
     successful in our careers. And her pride only increased as 
     our own families began to blossom. She treated her daughters 
     and sons-in-law as if they were her own, and she always made 
     time for each of her 20 grandchildren and 3 great-
     grandchildren, making each one of them feel special.
       As you all know, for the last 10 years or so, my mother has 
     been a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. It is a terrible 
     disease that my father once termed a ``living death''. At 
     first, the symptoms she exhibited are those that most people 
     are familiar with, such as forgetfulness and disorientation. 
     But as the symptoms become more debilitating, she became 
     harder and harder to care for. Thank God for my Dad, who 
     truly rose to the occasion, keeping her at home much longer 
     than would normally have been possible. But ultimately, we 
     were forced to provide professional care for her.
       This is when we found Life Care Center of the Merrimack 
     Valley. I have to tell you, our first impression of the place 
     was not good. In fact, it was horrible. Mom's transition was 
     painful. She fought every step of the way. There were many 
     tears. But slowly, Mom and the rest of us began to grow 
     accustomed to her new environment.
       Slowly, we began to learn about the later stages of this 
     disease and how to cope with it. We learned that Mom and the 
     other residents of the unit, while trapped inside their own 
     bodies, could give you a glimpse of their personalities if 
     you worked at it. Slowly, all of us, children, spouses and 
     grandchildren, learned not to be afraid of these patients, 
     but instead to embrace them and try to make their lives just 
     a little more pleasant. In doing so, we all made new friends. 
     We can't say enough about the caregivers at Life Care. They 
     treat each resident with respect and dignity, while somehow 
     maintaining their sense of humor. They are truly doing God's 
     work on earth. Mom had found a new family there, and so had 
     we.
       So, in the final years of her life, nearly helpless, and 
     unable to communicate, Mom still had something else to teach 
     us. This time she taught us about compassion.
       And do you know, that even in her challenged condition, she 
     could spell almost any word you asked, she could recite the 
     Lord's Prayer in its entirety, and she could still sing. She 
     could sing When Irish Eyes are Smiling from beginning to end, 
     Let me call you Sweetheart and yes, ``Nothing could be Finer 
     than to be in Carolina in the Morning.'' I guess some 
     memories never fade.
       In the end, Mary became as comfortable at Life Care as 
     anyone could in her condition. She became known around the 
     nursing home as Mary, the girl who liked to dance. The last 
     time I saw her, just a week ago, my son Mike and I walked her 
     up and down the halls of the nursing home. At least 15 
     employees stopped us along the way and gave her a big hello, 
     and some did a little dance with her. Mary gave them all a 
     smile, and it prompted Mike to say, ``Boy Dad, Nana's really 
     popular.'' In fact, one of the nurses told me last night that 
     Mary, was.
       In closing, I have to say how proud I am to be a part of 
     this family. During both Mom and Dad's illness, everybody 
     stepped up to the plate. Thank God Chrissie chose to pursue 
     the medical profession, she was always the first phone call, 
     and always there to put the medical jargon in laymans terms. 
     We truly valued her advice. And Gerry is just always there. 
     Whatever you need, whatever you want, Gerry will get it for 
     you, even if it means great inconvenience to her own family. 
     Billy was the father-figure, always there for the heavy 
     lifting, and to take care of the business end of things. And 
     Patty was the principal, the peacemaker, always keeping the 
     communication lines open, and keeping us sane. As Chrissie 
     put it, everybody contributed, and nobody wimped out. I think 
     Mom and Dad are proud of us today.
       When you leave today, if you should think about Ma, or 
     Mary, or Nana in the future, we hope you don't think about 
     the woman afflicted with Alzheimer's Disease. We hope you 
     think about the woman who enjoyed the simple things in life, 
     a woman content to be the quiet foundation of the family, a 
     woman who would sing while serving breakfast, and the woman 
     who may well have left us with words from the song that my 
     sisters chose for the back of the program today:

     I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
     Whenever one door closes, I hope that one more opens.
     Promise me that you'll give faith the fighting chance.
     And if you get the chance to sit it out or dance.
     I hope you dance.

                          ____________________