Catherine Lavin Collins Leonard

My Grandmother Leonard was the oldest of 8 children and came from a 100% Irish Catholic family we affectionately call the Collins Clan. She married James Leonard and had my dad in 1940 and another son Brian in 1946. My grandfather Leonard passed away from complications of pneumonia in 1948. Grandma went to work in the city to support her family. She sent my Uncle Brian to live with her parents in Wilkes Barre, PA and lived in the Oranges in NJ with my dad. She commuted every day into NYC and worked as a secretary. She never remarried -- dad implies that he would scare of any suitors (issues for therapist I am sure) and she found her solice at the Jersey Shore.

In 2004, my Grandmother Leonard (I called her Grandma-ma)turned 90. My dad arranged for a party to celebrate and also created a book for her full of memories and pictures he collected from the family. Yesterday he sent me a copy of what he wrote for the book. I love it - every word. Not just for the memories and stories but for the words with which he concludes the entry. My Grandma-ma passed away February 2007 and my father has not been the same. I think the following explains why:

Memories of Mom

I remember a little boy in a sailor suit with this beautiful woman. The little boy thought the necklace was real jewels.

I remember going to Brooklyn Navy Yard Hospital to see my new cousin. They would not let in the room so I left the waiting area and snuck outside. I then found my way to the window to Aunt Gloria’s room much to their surprise.

I remember Mom trying to console me when I cut through my brand new confirmation suit while trying to remove the tags. Of course, it was the night before the ceremony and no way to repair it properly.

I remember the night I put my wrist through a door window trying to get in the laundry room. It was time to add the bleach to the wash. I walked back to the apartment streaming blood with the jar of Clorox in the other hand. Uncle Bob yelled “Get to the kitchen sink - you are tracking blood on the rug.” We went down the street to the doctor’s. While the doctor was cleaning up the wound, Mom had me practice my Latin. I just become an altar boy. The doctor hit something and it hurt. I then cussed in Italian and Mom said that’s not altar boy Latin.

I remember my friend’s wolf whistling at Mom from the park when I was walking her to confession. They didn’t believe it was my Mother until she verified it. They thought it was some hot babe I had met.

I remember when Mom found a cigarette in my scout uniform after returning from a camping trip. She said something like, “what is this?” I gave a smart ass answer and she hit me on the shoulder. I laughed at her since it did not hurt. She then said, “stand here.” She went and got a wooden hanger and hit me on the collar bone which drove me to the floor. I never laughed at her hitting me after that.

I remember some of the guy’s whistling at my eagle ceremony because Mom’s skirt kept climbing up and showing her slip as she walked up on stage. She was not aware of it until later.

I remember meeting her when she got back from Rome and we all went to early Mass at St. Pat’s with the bottles of wine clinking all the way down the aisle.

I often wondered how she weathered some of the ill winds fate has directed her way. I now know it is because of her faith and her family. I can remember when she used to say her prayers in the bathroom because she could have a light on to read her novenas. That way the light would not disturb Brian and me. The was no door on the bedroom.

I can remember her being so sick she could not get out of bed but she did get up and go to Sunday Mass. The only time I remember her not making it to Mass was after major dental surgery. Her face was so swollen she could not open her eyes. Uncle Bob called the doctor.

As for the Collins family, I am sure one bathroom and eight children help the “bonding”. The Big Depression and World War II had to bring the family closer. There was less to share but enough to go around. I remember Pop saying how lucky he was in that he had a job that paid $8.00 a week. Gram baking pies and bread, making relish and canning vegetables. As for the war, the “boys” were in it and that meant lots of prayers everyday.

I remember in later years at 326, the family praying the rosary after dinner. It seemed such a natural thing to do.

My memories are many but most of all was Mom’s love ever present and enfolding. It warded off the monsters under the bed, guided during the growing years and sustained me during the years in Vietnam.

It is one of life’s drawbacks that you can never give love back in the same quantity as a Mother gives her child. I will be eternally grateful that God was so good to me by letting her be my Mom.