Blame Today's Storm on Eileen Vodola

Our Lady of Sorrows in Montclair, NJ

There's a storm brewing on this hot, humid summer afternoon in New Jersey.

I'm just in from the garage, where I'm finally sorting through boxes and boxes of old papers I've saved.

I had intended to post here about "lessons I've learned" in the year since I left my longtime job at Verizon. Last year's post has been the most widely read on this blog, and in it I incidentally mentioned a woman named Eileen Vodola.

Upon further review, all the "lessons" I've jotted down since last July were aphorisms. So I gave up on drafting this post, joined my wife on a visit to Immaculate Cemetery in Montclair, then began sorting the mess in my garage.

The only life lesson I could pass on with any certainty until that point was: "I've got too much stuff!"

And then I found this...

Click here for a PDF version to read/download

This is a true life lesson, dated exactly 35 years ago today: a single-page, single-spaced typewritten copy of my Dad's eulogy for his best friend at work.

I know that Dad gave me this piece of paper 35 years ago precisely because he knew that I would keep it. I am my immigrant family's version of a Griot, the storyteller of an African tribe whose life's purpose is to pass on ancestral history. 

Yikes! That was a loud clap of thunder!

It's Dad telling me to get to the point.

Here's what he said in eulogizing his friend and co-worker, Eileen Ferrari Vodola:

This woman, who will always live in our memory, was indeed unique. As a daughter, as a niece, as 'Big Aunt Eileen,' as a co-worker, as a friend -- every life she touched was enriched by her understanding, by her compassion, and by her generosity.

To those who believe, as I do, that the soul is eternal and that death is merely the passing to a higher plane of existence, Eileen's spirit is here, she is with us now, and she is saying to us: 'Don't grieve for me, because I am free, I am at peace, and I will be waiting to greet you when it is your time to pass through the veil.'

As some of you know, Eileen was a very special friend to me, and we often spoke about the meaning of life and what was really important. And if Eileen's view of the purpose of her earthly existence could be summed up in a single thought, it would be this: to use wisely and well the gifts and talents God has given you, and to fulfill yourself in helping others.

On occasion, after I graduated from college, I shared a drink with Dad and Eileen in one or two midtown New York City bars. I can attest to the fact that they did indeed talk about the meaning of life after a day's work at the New York Telephone Building (now Salesforce Tower), where their offices overlooked Bryant Park.

Eileen was smart and sharply funny. Dad was smart and sloppily sentimental.

Eileen Vodola really was curious and helpful, and she left an indelible mark on many in her circle. I invoke her name here so it leaves an indelible mark on the Internet. I can find no photo of her online (and only one scant reference to her own marriage in 1957). She's not in any of the boxes in my garage, save for Dad's one typewritten page.

But I was in the church that day, 35 years ago. So I can also attest to the fact that Dad publicly professed his belief that the soul is eternal, and that death is merely the passing to a higher plane.

Anne Bunce Cullinane

Coincidentally, one year ago today, another smart and sharply funny woman died: my mother-in-law. My wife and I visited her grave this morning in Montclair. I had written about Anne Bunce Cullinane here last year too.

There's now a violent storm outside. Ominous clouds at 4 in the afternoon, with wind-driven rain and lightning.

It's Dad's spirit. He wants me to post this. He demands that his friend not be forgotten.

OK, Dad. Here goes.

I hope that you... and Eileen... and Anne... really are free and at peace.

I hope that, to honor your names, I will use wisely and well the gifts and talents God has given me, and that I will fulfill myself in helping others.

I hope that someday you will all be waiting to greet me.

Laurel Grove Cemetery, Totowa, April 2020