Remembering Grandma Mitzi -- A Woman for Others

This past weekend I had the great blessing of attending a memorial service for my late Grandma, Mitzi Esposito, who died this summer. During the service I shared the following reflections.

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A 17 year old Kevin (my dad) comes home far after curfew. He opens the door of the house quietly hoping to come in undetected. He steps in, the living room is dark. Hope rises that he might just pull it off. He turns the knob and sets the bolt silently and proceeds stealthily across the room. But after a few steps he stopped. All at once he noticed the red pulse of a cigarette being puffed by a silent sentry.

“Kip, are you on drugs?”

“Uh, no, mom.”

Mitz certainly knew how to make an entrance.

I love that story, but I wasn’t there for that one. The most memorable -- dare I say scarring -- entrance of hers that I remember came when I was an awkward, pubescent 7th grader. Our family was building a fence around our big backyard that summer and we had a work day -- mom and dad recruited all sorts of friends, neighbors, and a bunch of the family came -- including Mitzi and Ralph. Well, we were all outside working on different parts of the fence when Mitz made her entrance -- donning some shorts and a sports bra. Jennifer’s reaction was how we were all feeling. In the moment I was horrified, but in hindsight it was just a classic illustration of how confident and comfortable Mitz was in her own skin.

I am so eager to hear all of the incredible memories that everyone will share in our time together. She was so uniquely wonderful and impacted all of us so powerfully. One of the things that I loved so much about her was that she had a unique relationship with each of us cousins (and with her children and sons and daughters-in-law too). When I was in Florida with my parents a week before she passed, she and I had two really beautiful conversations. One, which was very personal, but the other she just kept reiterating how very, very proud she was of all of us and how much she loved each of us -- Dawn, Erin, Jennifer, me, Beth, Sean, Emily, Sarah, Morgan, Miles and Ella.  It was such a beautiful testament to who she was that all of us made our way down to see her this year and spent time with her.

In these past few months I’ve been reflecting on what made Grandma Mitzi so special. And, at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, I think in her simple and delightful way Grandma Mitzi taught us the meaning of life.

There’s an amazing little book called Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl, who was a Jewish psychologist who survived the Holocaust at Auschwitz. It’s a hard book, but an incredible book. The basic gist of it is that we thrive as human beings when there is something or someone outside of us that gives our lives purpose, meaning and value. Frankl said that we often search for meaning within ourselves through striving to collect possessions, accomplishments, or experiences. He calls this approach ‘self-actualization’. He says that acquiring deep meaning in this way is impossible -- even with yachts, international awards or world-class experiences. On the contrary, deep meaning is only possible through what he calls self-transcendence -- giving of yourself more and more completely until your own will, your own preferences and ultimately your own life is given as a gift for the good and for the sake of others. He says, paradoxically, that to get the one thing we’re all most deeply desirous of (a deep sense of purpose) we have to give ourselves away.

She is one of the handful of people in my life who was truly universally loved and esteemed.  But what was it about her that made that so? We could point to her smile; which was as winsome and gracious as any I’ve known. We could point to her fun and youthful personality -- she was so good-natured and fun-loving and had the most authentic and beautiful laugh. But much deeper than either of those things: I think it was her earnest, deep and selfless love. As much as anyone I’ve ever known she truly lived for other people. To use Frankl’s language, she truly sought to transcended herself by living for other people -- pouring herself out  in untold acts of generosity for her family and community.

In addition to the generosity I wanted to highlight something that I think is more unique and even more important. More deeply than anything else that she valued, Mitz valued people. People for their own sake. Especially her family -- her huge and wonderful family and her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.

I experienced this most in the way she was present to me when we were having a conversation. I always felt so affirmed and valued by her -- as a little boy, as an awkward teen, as a young adult and man. She took incredibly genuine interest in what was going on in my life -- the people, the events, the accomplishments and the challenges.

There’s a quote about the late Catholic Pope John Paul II that when he was with you you felt like in that moment you and he were the only two people in the world. He was notorious for being hours late to important meetings or social functions because a family or a sick person needed him. That’s how I always felt with Grandma. When we were talking -- even in the midst of a big family party -- that was all that mattered to her in that moment.

I’m sure we can all think of many examples of conversations with her. Here are just a handful that come to mind:

●      My mom told me this yesterday: She and my dad had moved back from college and Mitz invited her to just come over to spend some time with her. So my mom went over one morning to be with her. They talked and ate breakfast and had a wonderful time together. Come to find out -- Mitz had had a job interview scheduled that morning and when it was clear that my mom needed her, she blew it off without even mentioning it.

●      The first time my wife Stephanie ever met her, Mitz took her by the hand and led her to a sofa, sat her down and said, “Darling tell me everything.” And even though there were thirty other people there that she would have loved to talk to, Mitz sat and talked to her and got to know her for 20 minutes. That meant the world to Stephanie in feeling welcomed and a part of the family.

●      The last was the last time I saw her. My Mom and Dad and I were super blessed to get to go down and spend a few days with her a week before she died. Each of the two days we were with her, we got to each spend ten or fifteen minutes with her on our own. In those times, she shared each of her favorite moments with us, the things she was most proud of, and her hopes for us. It was like something out of a movie.

When it comes to selflessly engaging and truly encountering other people, she set the bar. Most of us are guilty of not really listening all that well. More often than not we are distracted and taken up with other things. When we do listen, we simply gauge what other people are saying against our own lived experience and prejudices. Perhaps as much as anyone I’ve ever met, Mitz genuinely wanted to know other people.

This talent of hers was the foundation and bedrock of our family. We are the only family that I know that has liberals and conservatives, Catholics, protestants and otherwise that actually enjoys spending time together. By her personal grace and sheer force of good will she paved the way to truly encounter each other as human beings; capable of being in relationship with each other -- affirming the good and being patient with faults. It’s sad, but I’ve had to learn that in our deeply divisive society, this is INCREDIBLY rare. I love my family -- each and every member. Our family has been unique in this way— and I sincerely pray that’s that’s always the case.

I truly miss her a great deal already and the thought of not seeing her again (in this life at least) makes me sick. But in this moment, more than anything I’m grateful. Grateful for the matriarch that she was to our family and grateful for the mentor that she was to me. And, I hope with the grace of God to live out her example every day of my life.