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A Tribute to Lillian Howard

Eulogy by Therese Boucher on Oct. 18, 1994

It's hard work to say god bye and let go. Isn't it. The last

several times I visited Aunt Lillie, I would say, "Good Bye."

and she would say, "Good bye, Therese." Then when I would

see her again in a few months she would say, "I can't under-

stand why I'm not upstairs yet." But today we have finally

come to the last "Good Bye - Good Bye to a gentle woman,

like Mary."

Good bye to a woman who had a gentle touch with a pie crust. Good bye to a woman who was gentle and thoughtful enough to send birthday cards, to write letters, and to buy little children outfits for their first day of school.Good bye to a woman gentle enough to bury her sister with her own brand new crystal beads because, as she said, "Nothing is too good for my sister after all she has done for me."Good bye to a woman gentle and patient enough to take care of desperately ill people like Mrs. Roy and Aunt Hattie.

Good bye to a woman so gentle that when she wore a ghoulish costume to a family Halloween

party no one suspected that it was her. Everyone

was surprised. But it's no surprise, because gentle does not mean weak. Aunt Lillie knew how to face the ugliness, the problems, and the troubles in

herself and in all of us. She was not weak. She

was strong enough to raise a child alone. She was

strong enough to straighten out two teenage girls

when she herself was an elderly woman.

She was strong enough to admonish me to learn to drive. When I was studying for a new career at 33, she told me I should also take driving lessons. Aunt Lillie asked, "Will you sign up for classes if I pay for them? " And she did just that.

She was strong enough to laugh when I visited and asked how she was. Her answer was punctuated by soft giggles, "I can't see. I can't hear. I can't walk. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself; but other than that I'm fine."

I used to wonder how she could be so gentle and so strong. One day I

found a clue. There was a shot glass, actually it was Aunt Hattie's shot

glass, on the glass table by her chair. When I asked her what it was for,

I discovered the source of her strength. She kept a nickel in the glass to

remind herself to pray a decade of the rosary for any one of us who was

in trouble. It you were in big trouble there was a quarter to remind her to

pray a whole rosary for you. Aunt Lillie knew the power and the strength

and the gentleness of God's love for us. Do you know that same power?

It's there for the asking.

I know another secret about her strength and gentleness. A few years ago when I was praying for Aunt Lillie, I had a dream. I saw her walking slowly alongside a fence with labored and pain-filled steps. She was so tired that she stopped to rest and to look up at what was on the other side of the fence. There she saw a bright golden light. As she looked at the warm, dazzling light all her aches and pains melted away, until she was able to climb over the fence and get closer. When she did, the light turned into Jesus, and she ran toward him laughing. She ran toward the light and the fire and the power that is God's love.

My daughter Catherine Lillian asked me a question at the wake last night. She wanted to know if Aunt Lillie had on purple shoes to match her dress, or black shoes. I knew the answer from my dream. "Katie, she has no shoes on. She doesn't need them to run to Jesus."

Consider family photo prayers

Bringing our Grandchildren to God

The simple power of Louise’s calling remains in other ways. That same Lillian, who carried cookies home in her apron, also carries on the ministry of Aunt. She grew up to befriend her sisters’ and brothers’ children too. When my mother had her sixth child at age forty, Aunt Lillie simply moved in to help. Then came Lillie’s grandnieces and nephews like me, whether I needed a new sweater or a scolding.

Visiting Aunt Lillie is a tradition for so many of us. The worn-out welcome mat with the plastic daisy on it would tell you that. So would the 110 cards she received for her 90th birthday. Lillian exercises her ministry from a two-room apartment that is simple yet filled with hospitality. Two square pillows sit like bookends on her flowered couch; holding a place for visitors like me. The brass tea kettle stands ready for the task of providing refreshments on a moment’s notice.

One day I noticed a curious, yet crucial part of her calling. A glass reading table held only a rosary and a shot glass filled with coins. What for? I waited for the right moment to ask my question.

In her attention to each of us, Aunt Lillie had cultivated the rare art of listening to things that really mattered. When I bring the children along for a visit, Aunt Lillie finds the time and energy to speak with each of them personally, arthritis or no arthritis. She gets far beyond the usual “my, how you have grown” and into drawing out their wildest dreams, their hidden talents. All this is accomplished from an old turquoise armchair.

“I’ve written a story about a boy who explores the inside of a church,” I tell her. “His questions and his curious hands area the best part. I brought you a copy to add to your collection.” You see, Aunt Lillie has a collection of newspaper clippings, photos, and paraphernalia marking events in our lives. Her appreciation has made her a family historian of sorts. She once gave me a tiny, yellowed Hallmark card. It pictured a teddy bear at a microphone saying, An announcement of great importance…” When I opened the card I realized it was my own birth notice from 38 years ago.

Now was my chance to be curious. “What’s the shot glass for?” I asked.

“Oh that,” she laughed, slowly fingering the clear crystal as if to unveil her latest treasure. “I found it among Aunt Hattie’s things. And you know, it’s just what I need.” She interrupted herself with a few more soft giggles, emptying the glass into her wrinkled hand.

“I don’t want to forget anyone when I say my prayers at noon time. This penny means one Our Father, one Hail Mary, and one Glory Be for Carol. This penny is for Blanche across the hall. This one is for your grandmother. The nickels are for rosaries. One for Claire. One for you. One for Sheila… We haven’t heard from her for almost eight months now… And any way, now I won’t forget. You have to play tricks on yourself when you get to be my age, you know.”

“What a good idea.” Now I knew the source of her particular care, her ministry as aunt, friend, and grandmother. In all these roles, Aunt Lillie places us in God’s care. Stiffened fingers and failing eyesight only challenge her to find new ways to pray for us. No wonder each of us could feel uniquely affirmed.

“You’re the only one that knows my secret,” she cautioned. “I even had Carol and Art bring me my glass in the hospital last year. But I didn’t tell them why.”

“I won’t tell either,” I promised.

I went away from my visit with more than satisfaction for my curiosity. I felt loved in a new way. When I returned a few months later, I noticed the shot glass in its place on the end table next to Aunt Lillie’s high-backed armchair. All was in order. Only now the glass held nickes and quarters. Was this the price of inflation, I quipped?