This summer, on my mother’s birthday, we held a memorial service honoring and celebrating her life. This is the eulogy I delivered.
I’ve long felt that my mother was born at least a decade early. As the Baby Boomers dominated popular culture, more than once I heard her remark, ruefully, that she was part of what was called The Silent Generation.
The Silent Generation.
Could there possibly be a less applicable label for Mary Braden? She was most definitely NOT the silent type. If Mom had an opinion, it was likely a strong one, and if you were nearby, you were likely to hear it.
And if she didn’t have an opinion on a particular subject, well, it was hardly worth considering!
But being part of that generation, and coming of age in the era in which she did, Mom did what was expected of her at the time. She left college, got married, had four children in five years and dutifully filled the role of army wife, moving the household multiple times across the ocean and around the country.
That was how she spent her 20s … and much of her 30s.
(I don’t even remember my 20s — which is really how it should be.)
I’ll never forget the day she drove me down to college in Charlottesville. We explored the campus together and had lunch. She was SO excited for me. I mean, it was weird. I was excited, but she was SUPER excited. Definitely more excited than I was.
I imagine part of that was due to the deeper appreciation for these moments that naturally comes with the wisdom of age. But also it likely stemmed from the fact that she didn’t get to have that experience herself. She was all too quickly thrust into the responsibility of marriage, family, children. Of putting everyone else’s interests before her own.
Thankfully, she got what was really a second chance at life, starting at the University of Texas where she eventually finished out her bachelor’s degree.
The college campus environment circa 1970 clearly awakened — or maybe reawakened — in her a lifelong passion for politics and public policy.
And in the next few years, three key events and circumstances came together to open the door to her “second act” in life:
- First, my father was stationed in the Washington area, giving her proximity to the political scene.
- Second, I, the youngest of the four children, was reaching “latchkey kid” age;
- Finally, her marriage to our father ended, which while painful to everyone involved, was probably also the right thing for everyone involved.
In many ways, she was set free. I picture her at that time in the mid-70s as one of her favorite television heroes, whom she sometimes resembled in fashion and style: Mary Richards, stopping in the middle of a downtown street to marvel at the energy and excitement around her, triumphantly tossing her hat into the air.
Or perhaps into the ring.
In the words of the Mary Tyler Moore theme song, she was, truly, going to make it after all.
And indeed she did. We are proud of all she accomplished, rising from opening mail for a member of Congress to the top echelon of the civil service. And I love the fact that she had this second chance and lived, quite probably, “her best life” at work and at play in the ‘70s and ‘80s DC scene.
And I know all of us children are grateful for her second marriage and near-20-year relationship with Ed, who was wonderful — for her, for everyone — and who left us, far, far too soon.
So while her career and life were broad and sweeping, what sticks in my memories the most are the small moments from my childhood.
Walking to school, reading together … and talking. Lots of talking. In the mornings I’d sit on the bathroom counter while she put on her makeup and did her hair and we’d discuss school, current events, politics. Everything.
I remember one time we were preparing to fly back to Texas to see family and I asked her if she was going to bring a book. She said, “Yes … why, are you planning to talk the whole time?” She laughed. “I bet you could!” she said.
These moments remind me of something I’ve learned from spending time with my own children, Teddy and Lily, 7 and 5-years-old. What impresses them the most is not the big things — the celebrations, the vacations, the treats — but the small things. Simply paying attention to them, spending time with them.
Obviously my path has been quite different from my mother’s. I just got married 10 years ago. And though we are not the kind of family to easily share our feelings I understand from what her friends have said that she was proud of how my life and career turned out.
And I could also intuit that when Karen and I announced a few years ago, at this stage of our lives, that we would be having children … she was no doubt shocked.
But ultimately grateful (as are we, of course).
She delighted in spending time with her latest grandkids. And I know in particular she was impressed with Lily’s early fashion sense … coupled with an exceptionally strong will, which clearly runs in the family.
And this is off-theme, forgive me, but I can’t mention one without the other: Teddy, Gram greatly admired your thoughtfulness, curiosity and incredible linguistic ability!
But on Lily’s wall is a plaque with these words: “Always remember you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.”
I can think of no greater tribute to Mary Braden’s legacy than our commitment to raise her grandchild Lily in the mold of her Gram, her grandma Lorna, her Aunt Barbara and her mother Karen: to be a strong, bold, independent woman with a world of opportunity before her, just waiting to be seized.
