Eulogy of Virginia E. Cunningham
We have lost a dear friend, a wife, a mother and the company of a great Saint. This world is a darker place without her presence.
In a military cemetery for fallen U.S. soldiers in France there stands a statue of a great stone eagle overlooking the honored dead. Inscribed on its base are these words: “Time will not dim the glory of their deeds.”
And so it is with Mom: time indeed will not dim the glory of her deeds. She gave life to what is so plainly stated in the book of James who said “Demonstrate your faith to me without works and I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.”
After having time and cause to reflect on the many great works wrought by her hands, it has become more and more evident that this beautiful lady, with a slight build and a gentle spirit was much more than a delicate flower in God’s garden.
Inside this woman lay a strength of spirit that would rival that of any hero of war. If a person is measured not by their physical stature or social standing, but rather, by the size of their heart, and the quality of their character, then this was not just a Holy woman, but a giant of a person.
With each trial in life too often we do not build character, but simply are exposed for our lack of character. This was not so with Mom. With each and every trial- a disabled brother, marriage, child rearing, exchange students, an auto accident
with a train and multiple bouts with a heartless cancer- she displayed an extraordinary faith, grace and courage:
Faith that her loving God would grant her special care and mercy, if not in this life, then certainly in the next.
Grace to never complain-not to herself, us or her nurses, and to always be thankful for the life God had given her. Without exception she was always the nurses favorite patient.
Courage that she could “do all things through Christ” who strengthened her.
Her courage was a true courage; not born of a false bravado or the need to look big in front of others, but out of a true love and concern for those around her. This was on full display in her last days, as I honestly believe she grieved more for
those watching her suffer than for her own situation.
To her husband, children, family and God she was the epitome of the US Marine Corp. motto, “Semper Fidelis,” “Always Faithful.”
In a society dominated by self-Interest, selfie photos, self magazine, self-image, self-pity, self, self and more self, Mom was the antithesis, the antidote to self. Her selfishness consisted of self-giving, self-control, and a self-effacing sense of
humor.
Holy Scripture tells us to “love one another.” But who is “another”? To some “another” is the totality of humanity. All too often though, those who love all of humanity neglect those closest to them. Again, not so with Mom. While good
natured and gracious to all, there was definitely a hierarchy to her affection.
Family was not merely a collection of relatives; family was her first love, and her life’s work. Her commitment to family first was much like the Lord’s hierarchal love of Israel, who at the great commissioning instructed the Apostles to “Go first to the lost sheep on the house of Israel.” No one in our family ever wanted for affection from her, as she gave of her very heart and time without constraint.
There are markers along her life that point to her strength of character and steady, relentless love of others.
Two years her senior, her brother Richard Isaacson was born with severe hydrocephalus and cross eyed. During his first years he writhed and cried out in pain as his Mother Marie patiently paced the floor and rocked him night after night, day after day.
This example from her mother Marie, and Mom’s own love for her brother formed in her strong desires to nurture and protect all of us. But more than that, she developed that rarest virtue, empathy.
True empathy doesn’t just feel bad for the other, it actually shares in the suffering of a friend. Many in our family have experienced the terrible sorrow and disappointment that comes with a miscarriage, still birth and even the premature
death of a child.
It is perhaps providential that today marks the 10 anniversary of the stillbirth of Elsa’s and my son Michael. When we found out the awful truth that our son would be born nearly full term without the breath of life, Dad and Mom drove late into the night to be with us in the hospital. When they arrived, Elsa had given birth. In the hospital rocking chair Mom rocked our deceased son with the greatest of tenderness, praying by herself that God would bring him back to life; but it would not be so.
As a way of remembering our son, we purchased that rocking chair from the hospital as a memoir. Little did I realize that ten years later, I would treasure it even more, as it has now been occupied by not one, but two saints simultaneously.
Before her passing, Mom gathered all her jewelry and quietly divided it into four boxes for my three sisters and my wife. Some pieces were beautiful and costly. Some pieces were lumpy and not quite as pretty. These were comprised primarily
of things cobbled together by each of us while in our youth. It was emblematic of Mom’s character that she placed equal value on expensive diamonds and lumpy creations made by the hands of kindergarteners.
Remarkably, she remembered the person who had given each of the many pieces, and what the occasion was. To Mom it was truly the thought that counted, and not the value of the gift.
We felt her love for us was so tireless that, as Joanne recounted, we felt bad when Dad had to take us all to the movies, and Mom had to stay home alone. Later on, as parents ourselves, we better understood of the dynamics of that
situation.
Diane recounted how, even after Mom’s brutal surgeries, which changed the look of her face, her deep affection was much more visible in the beauty of her expressive eyes, as if she willed them to compensate for what the surgeon’s knife had taken from her. Diane also voiced what we all had experienced: that she loved her children and grandchildren with an even deeper, more abiding love. The earliest memory I have in my own life, is running from her in the deep pasture grass of summer, tumbling and laughing, anticipating the joy of being caught up in
her loving arms.
Teresa recounted how Mom was the picture of dignity and grace among the decades of holiday meals she prepared for the throngs of family, and that she often listened quietly and contently to the conversations at table, while she cleaned the dishes and cared for us all. She need only be in the presence of those she loved to be happy.
From their first date more than 55 years ago, my Father has had the privilege of Mom’s companionship. They met on a blind date with friends, in which Dad filled the all-important roll of possessing a car. It did not take my Father long to see he
had unearthed a treasure, and he clung to her with a deep affection for more than half a century. This included caring for her intimately over these past few years as her primary caregiver and nurse. It was a particularly heroic effort for my
Father, as by nature he is not a nurturer, but he forced himself to be so, as her goodness and their love for each other demanded no less.
Amid the turmoil and suffering of her last days, from the confines of her bed she still unrelentingly concerned herself with the welfare of others. “Is Dad eating?” “Have you been getting enough sleep?” were her questions.
One of the most heartwarming examples of this was one night when my sisters were up with her during one of her terrible coughing spells. Mom asked what time it was. “Three in the morning” came the answer. “Great Scott!” she said. “You girls need to get some sleep!” Remarkably Mom drifted back off to sleep in seconds. My sisters, quite amazed at this, looked at each other in the dim light, curiously asking “do you think she is faking?” At this, Mom’s eyes popped open with a guilty smile! She had indeed been playing opossum.
Her presence had a purity to it that was overwhelmingly influential- like the tide that raises all boats, she raised the behavior, thoughts and language of all in her company. Her presence would cause the saltiest sailor to give up his swearing, and the roughest logger to swallow his tobacco. All knew they were not just in the presence of a female; they were in the company of a lady.
Some of Mom’s favorite decorations were the many ornamental Lighthouses she collected. She had a love for them, though we as a family had no special connection to the sea. As I have taken leave of the past 39 years with her, it is
clear that the lighthouse is a perfect picture of what she is to all of us- a sturdy, shining beacon on a stormy sea, signaling to all a safe and peaceful harbor where they can moor their weary soul and find refuge.
Pray for us, Mother, to be more like you; good natured, grateful, gentle and loving. Pray for us to be made worthy of the promises of Christ. Help us to continue the gentle work of your hands, that your goodness may form us, like you, to be more like the King of Kings.
It is with total confidence that I say Mom has seen the risen Lord, in all His splendor; that as Heaven’s morning broke, she discovered that she is more herself today than at any time in her earthly pilgrimage; that the foreign enemy of cancer, that was never a part of her person, has been cast off forever. And perhaps she awoke to the assuring words of our Lord from the book of Isaiah: “Awake, Awake! Put on your strength O Zion; Put on your glorious garments. Shake off the dust, loose the bonds from your neck, O captive daughter Zion!”
The book of Sirach says, “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter, he who finds one finds a treasure. A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance their worth.” We as a family spent 75 years in the company of an abundant wealth that all the vaults on the earth could not hold. She was like a hidden spring one finds in the desert- a life giving treasure that refreshes the soul.
Virginia Esther Cunningham, you will always be our dear friend, wife, mother and Saint and you remain forever “Semper Fidelis,” “Always Faithful.”
Your loving Son,
Matt
Arrangements under the direction of Mills & Mills Funeral Home and Memorial Park, Tumwater, WA.
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