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May is that time of the year where eyes still water and noses still run. Almost gone are the steep fluctuations in temperature, where what can become green surely does, and the tulips can feel relief, no longer in fear of a deep-freeze demise. May brings many happy moments… the end of school for many, First Communions, baseball season in full swing, weddings.

And … a special Sunday to honor our mothers.

I find it significant that this day occurs in the time of increasing warmth and sunshine. Motherhood, by its very essence, is loving warmth. There are probably few mothers who, upon giving birth, did not gaze upon the newly-born being and feel that emotion. Time and circumstance may strain that feeling, but at the moment of entry into the unknown world, it must be there.

I have had the great good fortune to have known a wonderful bunch of such women. Our grandmothers and aunts, my incredible mother-in-law Joan, my generous and amazing wife Jill, our fantastic daughters Jamie, Katie and Mary Pat, our wonderful sisters and sisters-in-law. All of them, who wear the mantle of motherhood with great grace and élan.

Luck and blessing saw to it that I had a great mother. Her acts of unselfish love during my youth were simple, yet profound. Clean clothes, breakfast every day, dinner every night, a hug and kiss when sad… a stern look when I crossed the line.

She was the penultimate woman of the Greatest Generation, surviving the Depression years and the Second World War, marrying and raising a family in a solid middle-class neighborhood in what might have been the most prosperous time of our nation’s history.

She didn’t work after having her first child (me!), never really cared to learn to drive, (well, Dad was her teacher, so…), made her way through the ‘60’s, saw her sons leave in the next two decades and hung on until her mid-eighties. She ‘had a full

life,’ as she would often say in those later years. A good man for a husband, three sons who each married very well, (no doubt in answer to her many Rosarys), and a later life of grandchildren and comfortable companionship in a safe and nurturing environment.

Hers was a simple life, but that is what she wanted. She had a great club of ‘girls’ with whom she attended Sts. Peter and Paul School in Soulard, and met with regularly for many years. She and Dad were able to enjoy the retirement years with friends from church, bus trips and travel.

She loved her three sons and their families fiercely and warmly. She was so proud of all of them. Suffered with them in their travails, rejoiced with them in their joys. She passed on to us her deep and abiding Catholic faith, prayerful devotions, and hope in the future.

And, she loved to sing … and to whistle.

It is no small irony that one of our grandchildren who carries her name, Evelyn, seems to so far be the only one who knows how to whistle.

In a lovely way, my mom, Evelyn Marie, lives on. In memory, in love, and in the sweet joyful melody of that whistle.