Mary D. Magnano had plenty of heart, but she was not sentimental. She
could be direct and critical, but she was not mean. You knew that she loved
you – in her own way – but like a crafty politician, she might claim
“plausible deniability” if you suspected that she had just given you a
compliment! It is not easy to speak of her without using paradox. She
communicated much in little; she was present even in her absence.
As a force of nature, Mary D. resembled what the physicists call dark matter
or the black holes of the universe. These forces of nature make up more than
90% of the mass of the universe, but they are not easily seen because they do
not radiate or emit electromagnetic radiation like light or radio waves. Dark
matter can only be detected indirectly by the distribution of galaxies and the
bending of light in the vicinity of their gravitational pull.
Mary D drew many people to herself, but it was not for obvious or
sentimental reasons.
I think she would have understood very well the candor and the toughness of
St. Paul, who knew that he was at peace with God, who based his hope on
deep faith in the Lord, and who took everything else in stride – even his
afflictions that led to endurance, to proven character, and to a hope that does
not disappoint. And while I never heard her say the words, I assume that
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when troubles came, she just told herself to suck it up – or words that were
equally unsentimental.
Her love was not meant to be obvious, but it could be inferred. You just had
to know the signs and connect the dots. She may not have said much at a
family occasion, for example, but there was no denying that she had showed
up – that she was fully present – and that she wanted to party – even when
she bruised her ankle dancing at Ben and Effie’s wedding.
Mary D. was present to her family and to all of us like the yeast in a batch of
dough that Jesus spoke of in one of his parables. You cannot easily see the
yeast in itself, but you can easily see the effect of the yeast in the rising of
the dough. And that was the effect of Mary D on her family and friends. She
was herself a parable of how the Kingdom of God is at work in the world,
and like a parable she was surprising, paradoxical, and communicated much
in little.
There was, however, one clue to her heart that was obvious to everyone –
and that was her love and respect for her husband Angelo, who returned her
love in kind. True to character, she would not speak of her affection often or
at length, choosing to protect it from scrutiny and comment and stoking the
fire of love in private, where it clearly provided steady warmth at the heart
of the home. Mary D and Angelo were a team who shared a life’s project of
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making out of one couple and eight very different children a home and a
family who were committed to one another. The picture that she kept by her
bedside says it best: She and Angelo were sailing in the same boat – and it
gave them strength for the voyage ahead when they divided the labor and
pulled together on the oars.
I think she and Angelo would have endorsed the words of an Irish song
about marriage as a voyage of risk and adventure:
“With no maps to guide us, we steered our own course
We rode out the storms when the winds were gale force
Sat out the doldrums with patience and hope
Working together, we learned how to cope.
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
In troubled waters, it keeps us afloat.
When we started the voyage, it was just me and you;
now, gathered `round us, we have our own crew.”
All of us have had some share in the adventure of that voyage, and we are
here today because to Mary D. all were welcome. Mary D befriended the
spouses of her children and numerous friends of the family, including two
archbishops and, at the same time, the entire crew of a cruise ship and the
staff of Horizon House, who wept as she was taken from her room. She
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loved the sisters of the Holy Names and even thought of joining them in her
youth. Her love was discriminating but broadly encompassing.
At her death, Mary D steadily diminished in strength after she had decided
that it was time to die, and as she emitted fewer and fewer signs of life, a
strange thing happened. Like the gravitational pull of unseen, dark matter,
she drew to herself all eight of her children – who arranged themselves
around her bedside - from near and from far away – like so many stars or
galaxies. And, to use another image, she showed herself in her last hours like
a precious diamond, shining in all eight of its facets.
In the end, Mary D. did say something from the heart in the words of a will
that she had written in her own hand about a year ago. To each of her
children she gave something precious, explaining its history and
significance. She made clear that her ashes were to be buried with Angelo –
once again joining him in the same boat. And then she left as a legacy the
following instructions for continuing the great good of family life: “Please,”
she wrote, “have a wonderful family dinner – wherever you choose – and
have fun!! My love to all of you, share it with each other and take good care
of one another. That will be your gift to Dad and me.”
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And then she signed it Mom and – it must be said – she drew a heart with an
arrow through it, with signs that say “hugs and kisses.” She may not have
been sentimental, but she clearly had a heart.
And as Angelo would have said, “Her children rise up and praise her; her
husband, too, extols her: Many are the women of proven worth, [Mary D.]
but you have excelled them all.”
Rev. Stephen Rowan
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