(I began writing this on October 22, 2023, when my mother entered hospice care.)
First, my heartfelt thanks to all of you who have come here to pay your respects to my Mother, Sheila Theresa Blom. I know most of you know this, but just in case we haven’t met, I am her son, Paul Blom – some of you know me a P.J. I will warn you that in doing this eulogy, I might get what I like to call my own “personal passing shower” or two while I speak to you – and I suspect some of you might be in that same boat with me. Should that happen, and it might not, because it has been three and a half weeks – bear with me. I figure that’s why we’re all here – to mourn AND to heal.
My mother was Catholic, and earlier this year I became a baptized Christian – so I thought I’d begin with the Lord’s Prayer:
Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory, Forever and ever. Amen.
Also, quoting Matthew 5:4 (chapter 5, verse 4) from the Bible- “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
Mom would have been so happy to see you all here today, and perhaps she is seeing us this morning. She has, in a way, had a hand in not just bringing her world together, but my world as well as I have reunited with so many of you in her absence these past two years.
Ultimately, this was a day I hoped would never come, because when it did – I would become an orphan. But eventually, we all lose against Father Time in the battle to stay in this world – it’s just a matter of when we go. While this day comes with great personal sorrow to myself and to all of us still here on Terra firma who knew my Mom, I am also beyond happy for my Mom that she is together with my Dad again. She is also reunited with my maternal “Nana” and “Papa”, Ann and Peter McGinn, who each came to this country from their native Ireland looking for a better life. Nana, Papa, and my mother all passed from the same illness – the terrible disease that is Alzheimer’s – though in my Mom’s case, that turned into another wretched condition, Dementia.
I often think of life as three acts – the first act is the time both of your birth parents are alive. The second act is when you lose one of your two parents, and the third act is when both of them are gone. Some of us have pages from these “acts” torn from our books. Some go from the first to the third, and some start from the second act or even the third. Some go through life not knowing what “act” they’re on, for one reason or another. And, all of these acts can have different lengths to them.
My Mom was born August 6, 1949, growing up in The Bronx, New York, and she would be part of a family with three other sisters and two brothers – one of whom, Peter, passed away in San Francisco in 1991, though most of us didn’t know about this until 2007.
She had a love of sports as a youngster, playing on her high school basketball team, St. Barnabas, back when the sport didn’t mimic men’s basketball as it does now, but was a six-a-side game – two nearly simultaneous three-against-three games with offensive and defensive platoons more commonly used in gridiron football. My Mom once sank an improbable basket from three-quarters of the court away, something that’s a rather rare event that you could go scores of basketball games without seeing. But as she was on the defensive platoon, and under the rules of the time – a score made by a defensive player didn’t count.
Mom often told me that the saddest day of her childhood was November 22, 1963 – the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. She often told me of the profound sadness of that day, going to a New York City Catholic school and the sudden mourning of the America’s first Catholic President. And oddly enough, she passed away ten days before the 60th anniversary of that event. But perhaps now, she at least knows what happened that day if there is a truth different from what we have been told.
After graduating in 1967, my Mom worked for a Japanese company (the name of which escapes me, sorry) that had an office in the Empire State Building. Think about that a moment – this was a generation after World War II when general tensions between the two nations must have been a bit frayed. But my Mom being who she was saw the “big picture” and didn’t let whatever bias that might have existed at that time sway her.
She soon fell in love with a gentleman named Paul Blom (not a Senior yet), an employee at a local A&P supermarket in her area. After marriage they too sought a better life just like Nana and Papa did – so they moved to the flourishing West Coast of Florida in 1970. Their holiday season of that year must have been good, because I came into the world on September 6, 1971. My Mom frequently told me that she wanted to name me Daniel – but I wound up getting my Dad’s exact name, with a junior on the end.
For some time in the ’70s, my Mom and Dad each worked for the same Publix Super Market store at Indian Rocks Shopping Center in Largo – not too far from where they lived a few blocks away from Anona Elementary School. They would more often than not each work different shifts, so I would come with one of my parents to work – and the other would take me home. Later, I would attend Anona not too far away from Publix – and on one Kindergarten day, I had the honor of introducing my classmates to my Dad. Or was it my Mom? I honestly don’t remember which one of them it was.
Eventually, a new decade dawned, and by the early 80s, my Mom moved on from Publix to the Largo Medical Center to eventually become a dietician – her occupation for most of the rest of her life. She also worked in that capacity for Freedom Square in Seminole, Bon Secour Maria Manor, and Bayside Rehab, both in St. Petersburg, She also lived in Marietta, Georgia, and Charlotte, North Carolina – and while in Charlotte, she worked for a local school cafeteria for Mecklenburg County Schools, and I worked with her at a company some of you may have heard of: Walmart.
I wound up being the “constant star” in her life when my Dad passed away on January 28, 1991. Beginning sometime in the 80s and perhaps inspired by the “Golden Girls” sitcom, Mom would often tease me that in her world, the three of us were a Yiddish family who never left New York in a sitcom of her own. I was the young “Harvey” – my Dad was “Murray”, and my Mom was “Estelle.” When my Mom wanted to talk sense into me humorously – she’d say to me – HAR-VEEEE!
Now Estelle and Murray are together again, waiting for Harvey to patiently live out the rest of his life.
I lived most of my life with what I now know to be some form of autism or some form of an anxiety disorder – and most of us didn’t know what an anxiety disorder was until recently. It’s something I’m still figuring out. In her later years, my Mom cared less about what was wrong with me, and depended on me to do more and more for her – and never wanted me to leave her side. With a few exceptions, Mom and I were together for four days shy of 50 years.
After a fall at her home on September 2, 2021, my Mom began to slip away. Sentences became phrases, phrases became words, and words became sounds. Her ability to walk diminished, and in her latter months, she was bound to a wheelchair, and then bound to a bed.
But even as the sunset came in those last two years of her life, she fought bravely, surviving three falls, two bouts of COVID in 2021 and 2023, an episode of severe dehydration in late September of this year, and pulling her feeding tube out in late October, also of this year. I can’t begin to tell you all how proud I am of her – she fought the good fight, showing the grace and courage that was ever present in her over 74 years in this World. As my Uncle Syl told me recently – she was a kind and gentle soul.
The last conversation we had was in July in Tampa. I told her one day who I was because I didn’t know if she was aware. She said back to me, “I know.”
Her last words to me were on the afternoon of November 2nd during my next to-last visit with her. Those were:: I love you.
Shortly before that, and after consulting my relatives, I made the sad decision to sign Do Not Resuscitate papers that would avoid serious injury and give her a better trip to heaven. I figured it was the last best thing I could do to help her, and I loved her too much not to help her.
Now, she is freed of the pain she was once in. One of my new friends where I now live in Leesburg told me after she passed that he was sorry for my loss but thrilled for her gain – meaning the ability to be in Heaven and be with God.
I get that 74 years old is a little too early to leave the world we know based on the known averages and statistics of our time. But on the day my mother passed, I went to Google to figure out how long in terms of days my mother had lived. The answer was: 27,127 days, and was on the second day of her 3,876th week when she left us.
Let me also let you in on something I haven’t revealed to anyone. If I’m by myself and I’m watching an event on TV or hear it on the radio that begins with the national anthem – I use that time to wave at my Dad – and now my Mom as well in heaven. It’s my own personal tradition – because the last time I think Dad heard the anthem was an event I went to and saw live, the 1991 Super Bowl.
I leave you with this:
My Mom’s childhood hero was Brooklyn then Los Angeles Dodger Duke Snider – the Duke in the “Willie, Mickey and The Duke” song Terry Cashman sang about baseball of the 1950s in the early 1980s. Another long-time Dodger who worked behind a microphone began his career the same season Duke did and lasted for many more decades – his name was Vincent Edward Scully – whom most just called Vin. He passed away during the 2022 baseball season at the age of 94. Upon his passing, someone unearthed this quote of his that goes as follows:
“Don’t be sad that it’s over.- smile because it happened.”
Rest in peace, Mom. As the song goes that was so popular during World War II – we’ll meet again. But unlike what the song says, I kind of know where, but I just don’t know when.
Thank You.
A Slice Of Big Pauly 