Catherine and Vincent Begley
Twenty-four years ago today (May 16) my mother died in her sleep. She and my father were up for my son Jeremy’s First Communion. (My birth mother was also with us). It is only fitting that I take this opportunity to remember Margaret Catherine Begley (1915-1987).
Recently I came across a pack of letters my mother had written to me during my freshman year at Marist (1966-1967). My mother was a very simple woman as you’ll see from one of the letters she wrote me.
Monday
April 12
11:30 a.m.
Dear Vincent,
Well, all quiet on the home front. Dad went to see Grandma. I hope you arrived home on time. It seems the weekend just flies.
I got a spurt of energy this morning and I started spring cleaning. I cleaned out my closet. In doing so I located the missing green pants. I think I’ll start your closet next. There is a lot of things I have to get rid of that are too small for you.
Dad’s excuse for yesterday was Penn Station was so cold that the ticket agents had to drink brandy to keep warm (that’s a new line even for him!).
Mrs. G just called. She is to going into Brooklyn to see her sister who is very sick. They don’t expect her to last too long. She’s been in the hospital for about two weeks.
Well dear boy, I think that about winds it up. There is not much new since last night.
With love,
Mom
note: The new line my mother wrote had to do with the fact that my father was known to…drink a little.
A decade later after my father died, I came across the calendar date book he has the year my mother died. Note the item I circled in red.
Twenty-four years ago I delivered the following eulogy for my mother:
SHE WAS A SIMPLE WOMAN
DELIVERED AT ST. WILLIAM THE ABBOT CHURCH
SEAFORD, NEW YORK
MAY 20, 1987
If there’s any truth to the expression, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”, you’ll understand why anyone associated with the Begleys will attempt to get the last word in.
That’s why I’d like to say a few words about my mother.
My mother never won the New York Lottery. She never played the Stock Market. Never vacationed at Club Med. Never shopped at Bloomies.
My mother cut coupons, she didn’t cut deals. She felt far more comfortable in a dress off the rack from J.C. Penney, than she ever would have felt in a dress by Halston or Perry Ellis.
My mother was never featured in People Magazine or Cosmo. She never made headlines in the New York Times. In fact, the only time her name appeared with any prominence in any newspaper, was the day before yesterday when her death was announced in Newsday.
In the scheme of world politics and international influence, my mother never rated a footnote because my mother was a simple woman. And in this fast-paced, high-tech world we live in, a simple person is about as rare as finding a Jewish Deli in Libya or Lebanon.
Yes, my mother was a simple person. She didn’t know a floppy disc from a floppy hat. To her a “byte” was something you took out of an apple. And if you couldn’t make a good batch of cookies with micro chips, what good were they anyway.
My mother was leg of lamb dinners with Nancy and Joe Sweeney. My mother was a summer vacation at Sag Harbor with Berna, Bill, little Berna, Barbara, and little Billy, not to mention the many “rat races” we had with the Hannas at Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.
My mother was sitting out in the driveway with Mr. and Mrs. G on a hot summer evening. My mother was going over to Audrey’s to have her hair done.
My mother was known as Catherine, Kay, Mrs. B and Mrs. Beggie to Diane and Ginny Renz. She was Nanny to Michael, Danny, Meg, Anna, Jennifer, Jeremy, Nicholas and the little holy terror, Kieran. My mother was St. Catherine and MDMF (Mother dearest mother fairest) to my father.
My mother was playing host to Olga and Dick, Sallie and Bill, and a host of house guests over the years.
My mother commiserated with the other Begley wives, Aunt Mary and Aunt Katheryn, wondering why they were so “lucky” to get stuck with the Begley boys.
My mother was the quiet lady on the block with the Cronemeyers, the Gobbis, the Flocks, the Bishops, the Renzs, the Friels, the Gardalis, the Rohns, the Bensons, and the Cruises.
My mother was pot luck suppers and card games with her new-found friends, Marti, Faith, Goldi, Fay and the other people from the “center”.
My mother was nightly Scrabble games with my father. And even though he did cheat a little by making up words, my mother would make the most of it by adding an “s” to those made-up words.
My mother might not have had the education or the notoriety of an Eleanor Roosevelt or a Mother Thersesa, but that didn’t mean she was without influence or that she didn’t make a difference in other people’s lives.
She did. And not by words of wisdom, but simply by being Catherine.When people sought her out, she didn’t have answers, but she did have an abundance of compassion. And she was always there. She was the anchor in a storm.
She was the best of mothers. She was the perfect Edith for my father, the original Archie Bunker.
My mother was a woman who relished her role as a grandmother. She let her grandchildren comb her hair, paint her nails, and put make-up on her face.
One time, after Jennifer got finished applying her touch to my mother, my mother’s hair looked like Elsa Manchester as the Bride of Frankenstein. Her nails looked like they belonged on Cyndi Lauper. And she had more make-up on than the clowns from Ringling Brothers Circus.
But, that was my mother. The same woman who would spend hours coloring with her grandchildren. (In fact, I think she had a secret desire to be crowned the Crayola Queen.)
More often than not, when she’d color with the kids, she’d be still coloring away at the kitchen tables long after the kids had departed to other rooms in the house.
I walked in on her once and went over to her as she was coloring in Porky Pig’s new convertible. I said to her, “Nice job, Nanny, you’re even staying inside the lines.”
That was my mother. One of the dearest and sweetest women to ever grace the face of this earth. She was a simple woman who might not have understood the Gospel teachings, but she lived them.
She took the Lord’s words to heart when he reminded us all that “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but to lose his immortal soul.”
My mother’s soul was never compromised because she was truly one of God’s children. And as Jesus told us in one of his beatitudes, “Blessed are the children of God, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven”.
And most certainly, my mother entered the Kingdom of heaven the moment she left this earth.
At this time, if there’s anything that I might ask you, it’s this: Maybe not today, but perhaps tomorrow, the next day, next week or next month, I’d like you to do one unexpected act of kindness for someone.
It doesn’t have to be a big thing. It might be holding a door open for a stranger, saying a kind word to a neighbor or friend, or giving a long overdue compliment to a family member.
Whatever it is, keep it simple, but make a conscious effort to do it without expecting anything in return.
And if you can do that unexpected kindness and say to yourself, “I did that for Catherine”, I know that my father will thank you, my sister Patty and her husband Jack will thank you, my wife Patty and I will thank you, and it goes without saying…my mother will thank you.
One year ago today, May 16, 2010…my grandson, Andrew Vincent Begley was born.
May 16. A very important day in my life on the YBR. Happy Birthday, Andrew! (We’re all thinking of you Nanny)
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