This is one of the most personal things I have ever written. It's also something I never wanted to write. We have a huge Irish Catholic family, 10 children. We, unexpectedly, lost my sister, Ellen, to breast cancer in January of 2014 after a recurrence found just a few months before. Ellen had been beating the disease since 2011. We lost my sister in January 2014 and my Mom in December. Mom lived to be 91 and survived losing our Dad, our brother Mark to cancer and our sister Ellen.
Even though I worked professionally as a journalist, Ellen and my mom always encouraged me to write. That's why I'm starting this blog, but I wanted to start it with our tributes to them. Mom's will follow in another post. It is all still just a little bit hard to believe and still all very new. I miss all of them every moment of every day. But, mostly, when our toddler daughter does something funny because I know they are among the ones who would have laughed the hardest and loved her the most.
Even though I worked professionally as a journalist, Ellen and my mom always encouraged me to write. That's why I'm starting this blog, but I wanted to start it with our tributes to them. Mom's will follow in another post. It is all still just a little bit hard to believe and still all very new. I miss all of them every moment of every day. But, mostly, when our toddler daughter does something funny because I know they are among the ones who would have laughed the hardest and loved her the most.
Editor’s note: There are two things you must know before reading this eulogy. My sister Ellen was a prolific curser, drinker and merry maker. More than that, she was an incredible person. This eulogy had to be made SFM (safe for mass).
I am 5’ 10” and have a voice that can penetrate steel, so the nickname you will read below has nothing to do with anything other than a term of endearment. I was obviously delivering this eulogy in person, but the joke is lost in translation not in person.
When Ellen was diagnosed with breast cancer I gave her a card with the two pictures below. The one on the left is 16-year-old Ellen holding me as a baby. The one on the right is me hugging Ellen at my wedding. The card read "Sometimes you hold me and sometimes I hold you, but we will always make it."
It was true, for awhile.
{A Tribute To Our Sister Ellen}
It's not really what you say, but how you say it.
My sister Ellen taught me that.
One day Ellen and I were on an adventure--finishing shopping for a bedspread and heading to the Botanical Gardens.
The fastest way was to cut through Valley Park. We were waiting at a stop light, undoubtedly talking, when a red pick up truck pulled up, rolled down the window and the man inside spit at Ellen's car and yelled something.
Ellen understood that is was about the political bumper sticker on her car.
Without much discussion between us, really only eye contact, we now knew the "perspective" of the three men inside the beaten up red pickup truck and we felt it was important they knew ours.
What we were saying was "we live in a free country with freedom of expression and a right to have an opinion without threat or derision."
But that's not how we said it. Not even close.
Honestly, I can't remember the words, but the how, which may have involved a short pursuit, had three grown constructions workers fleeing in their pickup down the outer road by Wet Willy's Water Park. After, we laughed and high fived. We continued on our way to the Botanical Gardens. Today was a day of cultural pursuits, after all.
Another time, Ellen was driving home alone from work at the airport and saw a driver tailgating and otherwise menacing an older woman. Ellen felt it her job to intervene. As much as I'm sure the driver was surprised at the intervention Ellen was more surprised to see the older woman was, in fact, our Mom. Whether it was Mom or a perfect stranger, Ellen would have swooped in as the protector and defender over and over again.
Though you might be able to fill a high school gymnasium with the people who incurred Ellen's wrath, you could fill Busch Stadium a hundred times over with the people who were the recipients of Ellen's love, kindness and joy. Trust me when I say, though, these were not mutually exclusive groups.
The blessed truth is that Ellen's actions spoke so much louder than her words.
If you put it in the terms people most commonly reach for, my beautiful sister with the colorful mouth was the most Christian person any of us knew and probably ever will. Ellen gave to each person she came in contact with more than most people do in a lifetime. More than that she honored them, she listened to them, she cared for them and she loved them genuinely.
And not in a small way.
Ellen's love is huge, prolific, kinetic, generous, unbound, all encompassing.
Are you o.k.? Do you need anything? Can I get you a drink? Do you need something to eat? Don't get up, I'll get it. Many times she didn't even ask these questions. She knew.
If you talk to people about Ellen, almost every description revolves around light. Ellen brightens up a room or lightens the mood.
Ellen not only lit up a room she shone and she made people shine in a way that, even after a brief encounter, many people believed it the beginning of a beautiful friendship. If you were lucky, it was.
A year and a half ago while doing the Komen Race for the Cure along with our t-shirts our team suited up in pink earrings, bracelets, pony tail holders, tiaras. Anything pink you could think of. Along the route, Ellen struck up a conversation with another survivor who complimented her earrings. "Here we go" I thought. Ellen just took off her earrings and handed them to the woman over some mild protest. In an attempt save my tiara and the rest of my pink gear, I tried to sink back into the crowd, but Ellen put her hand on my forearm to stop my escape and within a minutes my tiara was walking 20 feet in front of me on the head of Ellen’s new pal and fellow survivor. Ellen’s constant lesson was if you have more than you need, share it. I was just a 40-year-old woman trying to get away with wearing a tiara in public.
Most of all, Ellen's love was fun. Ellen not only applauded but encouraged outrageous, joyous behavior.
Our brother Jimmy reminded us of Ellen's reaction to the fact that days after Ellen bought herself a new Mustang with her earnings as a young flight attendant, Jimmy helped himself to Ellen's keys and made a copy. When Ellen would leave on long trips, Jimmy would get dropped off at the airport parking lot and take Ellen's car. When Ellen figured it out, her reaction was loud and angry. Did he really think she wouldn't notice the mounting miles, missing gas or moved seat? Jimmy says that for once in his life, he kept quiet. Ellen left Jim's room. She returned a short time later laughing, congratulating Jimmy on what was, really, a masterful plan with a few gaping holes.
Ellen, El, Ellie Belle, Ellen Ann--those were among the many names we called my loving sister who could pull into the driveway, her car loaded with baskets and bags and coolers with food and decorations and drinks and within minutes, transform a dull room into a raging party. As my brother Mike noted, if the other siblings weren't already cleaning or setting the table or icing down drinks when Ellen got there, the party wouldn't be the only thing raging.
Some how among my many nicknames in my family is Miss Mouse. I believe it is my petite nature and small voice.
It's something I always thought related to a phrase my Dad would say when I was little and you invoked the word "We" when you wanted something. “Dad, we need money to go to the store", "we need the car keys", "we need ice cream."
Because you were actually standing there alone, my dad would say, "Who is we? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?"
Over the years, I would often think of Ellen as my mouse and I was hers.
The “we,” my mouse who would stand patiently outside my doorway while I cried for an hour when Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran got married, the mouse who explained our parents weren't trying to cut my modeling career short by not allowing me to attend Barbizon modeling school--it's just that they were paying for other kids to go to actual school, the mouse who would swoop in when friends or boyfriends let me down, rubbing my head, buying me clothes and finally telling me to snap out of it.
And while looking back, these things may seem ridiculous, they were important--all encompassing--at the time. And Ellen recognized what them for what they really were. The death knell of my career as a supermodel married to an international rock star.
Later, I came to realize that Ellen was not the mouse, but she was the very fabric that made up the "pocket" the mouse was in. Inside the pocket is warm and snuggly. The pocket is beautifully decorated with the most comfortable couches and the softest blankets.The best snacks and copious amounts of wine, coffee, herbal tea and chocolate. Whatever speaks to and soothes your soul--the pocket just seemed to know. The pocket would let the joy rush in or keep the world at bay. The pocket is a place where you wake up and there are monkey pens or sparklers by your bed. Why? Because why not?!
In this world, inside the pocket you were safe, loved. You were also bossed around, but that was just part of the deal; the pocket is not magic after all. As an added bonus, the pocket will also tell you when your butt looks too big in an outfit.
The gaping hole that has been left in the hearts of our family and friends simply can't be explained. Don't get me started on the crime that has been committed in terms of the joy and shenanigans our daughter Vivian has been robbed of. I already had plans in place to try to *right* the subversion Aunt Ellen drew her into much like Ellen had done with all her nieces and nephews.
You simply cannot replace Ellen. I certainly won't try. As the youngest of the 10 children in our family, I don't care how you feel, I care how I feel and right now it's not great.
Of our whole family, my own husband, Eric may very well miss Ellen the most. Once during my own spectacular tantrum someone looked at Ellen and said, "You created her, Dr. Frankenstein"
Eric would love when we would come to St. Louis and I looked like a trapped squirrel, confused about which way to cross a road caught in between Ellen and my Mom telling me what to do. In the middle of my panic, trying to figure out which way to go, I would look over and think that I saw Eric with a small smile across his face. In any argument Ellen also usually took Eric's side. My creator kept me in check.
In her final weeks and months, fiercely independent Ellen had to be shepherded through doctors’ appointments. Her booming voice grew smaller, a whisper but she never lost her core...her Elleness.
One night being helped back into her room to go to bed my sister Mary bumped into the back of Ellen. Ellen looked back and said "Whoa, hey slow down sister this isn't Soul Train."
Ellen is--and we are--eternally grateful for the herculean effort from all of her family and friends. Ellen's family and friends stand in awe of her courage and strength.
The silence of the phone in these last few months has been deafening as Ellen calling or answering the phone became less and less frequent. I found myself running at the sound of a ring hoping the caller i.d. would say "Ellen Patton."
Instead, one day, it was just my alumni association. I stood staring at the phone thinking, "What if I pick it up and the person on the other end would be willing to talk to me for two and a half hours straight, occasionally cursing but mostly laughing.” Maybe they would be willing to tell me how awesome I am and that I am so funny I should write a book and that they are doing o.k. too in their new life.
It wasn't the life they imagined but they were powering through and we would make it--the both of us. We had a lot to be excited about with our new baby. They would talk so much that they wouldn't notice I had set down the phone to change out of my work clothes and was yelling "uh huh" into the phone from across the room. But, mostly we would just laugh at how funny and clever and how much smarter than everyone else we are.
If no one here can replace Ellen, I knew for sure that person couldn't.
The beginning of the end of any phone call with Ellen started like this:
One of us would say "I love you"
And the other would say "I love you more," building up to what may be an obvious conclusion---but was important to us.
Ellen would slip in another sentence reminding you to call Mom, or that someone's birthday was coming up. This thought and the ones that followed could last another 45 minutes or an hour. You could easily forget you started to end the conversation.
At the end of the call, Ellen or I would rush to say "I love you most" first.
Our beautiful sister with the generous heart, boundless soul, bottomless laugh and endless fun who cared perpetually for Mom and Dad did everything in her power to make sure we all knew that was true. Since this is the one time I am secure in getting in the last word, I will say "Ellie, we love you most!"
So if you made it this far I'll leave you with three life lessons I learned from Ellen.
1) Love people without limit and probably more than some deserve.
2) Give more than you have. You're capable of more than some people will ever be.
3) Have nothing in your house that, if struck by lightning, could come to life and kill you.
