Her grandchildren called her Rita the Great. That title certainly fit my former mother-in-law.
Rita died in February at 101 years of age. Even decades before she celebrated her 100th birthday she was revered by many who knew her, even outside her huge family. What made this woman saint-like was her capacity for love.
She was the proverbial mother hen, gathering chicks under her welcoming wings; even some who were not of her own flock. (That would be me, among many others). And boy did she love babies! It became almost a rite of baby passage to bring the latest grandchild or great-grandchild to sit on Rita’s lap and soak up the blessings of her tender aura.
With Rita’s loving tenderness, she created a dynasty of warmth and compassion that spread out from her eleven children, through the grands and greats, branching out through nieces and nephews, and through friends of her children. All of them seemed to enjoy basking in this woman’s compassion and she always expressed a sincere interest in their lives.
Rita taught me how to cook for a crowd. My favorite personal story of her is the time she and husband Bill came to visit me and their son shortly after we were married. We lived in a tiny trailer in our college town. The day the in-laws and six of their kids still at home came by for dinner, I was so proud of myself for dragging out the wedding Corning ware and fixing a one-pound roast to feed ten people. I did not see her whispering to the kids that they would stop at McDonald’s on the way home, but she told me that story years later. I soon learned from her how to stretch meals by fixing several side dishes, which seemed to ensure that no one went home hungry.
She was a fabulous cook. She and her sister Mary catered weddings and banquets and Rita was a masterful cake baker and decorator. She claimed to not know how to bake a pie very well, so I chose that as my baking specialty and was able to contribute to family holiday gatherings.
Rita and her kids taught me how to garden, and how to can and freeze garden produce. Of course, all those lessons came with a generous serving of witty and wise conversation shared over hands busy shucking corn or snapping green beans.
In addition to being my cooking-for-a-crowd instructor, Rita became my spiritual guide. She served as my sponsor at my confirmation ceremony, and I chose St. Rita as my saint’s name to honor and thank her.
Despite the trials of bearing and raising 11 children, this woman still knew how to have a good time. She was all in anytime we wanted to spend a week at the timeshare we owned in the Ozarks. She loved to travel, almost as much as her husband. Every summer we loaded up at least two vehicles with food, luggage and kids and caravanned to Bone Lake, Wisconsin to vacation at her sister’s cabin, driving all night to get there so we wouldn’t waste any precious daylight hours of water sports, relaxing and visiting.
My in-laws even joined us in a return trip to South America after we had served in the Peace Corps in Brazil. They both gamely swam in the Amazon River and trekked up the steep hills of La Paz, Bolivia as we all battled altitude sickness. And Rita didn’t act too concerned the day we were to fly out of Cuzco, Peru and had to return to the airport due to mechanical issues with the plane. She was patient even in emergencies.
This woman was my best friend and my second mother. She was a paragon of virtue and a model of faith, patience, and wisdom. She was a role model for nearly every woman she encountered. I hope and pray, now that she is gone, that she will become one of my heavenly helpers… until we meet again in the realms of angels and saints.