A mom leaves behind her best

The Boston Herald

July 29, 1998

When I asked the priest to pray for Beth's mother and he said, "What's her name?" I answered, "Mrs. O'Connor."

Her first name, Mary, didn't come to me until hours later because, it's "my mother" that Beth always calls her.

"My mother's on the other line. Can I call you back?"

"My mother and father are here. My mother's staying a few days. "

"The twins are with my mother."

Beth's mother was a huge part of Beth's life. But in most ways, I didn't really know her. We exchanged hellos and how-are-yous and had many a party conversation over cake in Beth's kitchen and hugged and even posed together for a few pictures.

Yet she remained for me simply Beth's mother, a cheery voice on the phone, the pretty woman with the bright smile who was at every christening, birthday party, First Communion, the shining star of so many of Beth's stories.

I realize that Mrs. O'Connor, who died unexpectedly Saturday, was a daughter, wife, mother of five, grandmother of 13, a good neighbor and good friend, and meant more to more people than I can imagine. But for me she was always my friend's mother.

If you can know someone through someone else, if the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree and the child is in some way part of the mother, then Mary O'Connor must have been a loving, giving, incredibly selfless lady.

For Beth is, and her mother raised her. I used to think that Beth was dropped from the sky, an angel flying too close to the ground, she is that good.

But she must have been taught to be good. She must have learned goodness at her mother's knee.

So what alchemy was there? What combination of things - prayers, promises kept, stories told and read - led to the growth of a woman who, though a mother of five herself and old enough to realize the harm the world can do, still retains a child's innocent soul?

Where did you get her? I wish I had asked Mrs. O'Connor. How did you raise such a good, caring person? Was she always this way?

About 15 years ago, Beth found a telephone book, which belonged to a Very Important Person. I wanted to open it and copy all the numbers. But Beth said: "No, you don't want to do that. That wouldn't be right." And without even peeking, she mailed the book back to its owner and said to me, "I know you would have done the same thing."

But I wouldn't have.

I wish I had asked Mrs. O'Connor if Beth had ever talked about kids at school and been mean when someone was mean to her.

A good friend hurt her a long time ago and continues to hurt her still, with her silence. But Beth has never said an unkind word about her, and if someone else says something, she puts a stop to it. "She must think she has her reasons. She didn't mean to hurt me," she'll say and change the subject.

"My mother needs an operation," Beth said a month ago.

"My mother wants me to stay with her," she said last week.

Beth stayed with her day and night at the hospital. "You're a good daughter," her mother said.

"You're a good mother," Beth said.

We are what we learn. Beth learned from her mother. Mrs. O'Connor had four other children, but I don't know them except to say hello. Many people will remember Mary O'Connor for many things.

I'll remember her always as a woman who graced the world with her presence, who died too soon, but who left the best part of her behind.