Peggy Drach’s Eulogy
January 24, 2025
My earliest memories of Mom were her being an ever steady, reliable presence. a skirt to hide behind, a hand to hold, her gentle voice, and her big smile.
I was painfully shy, and I think somewhat exasperating to Mom, but she rarely scolded, or got very angry.
I always felt loved and comforted.
Perhaps by her quiet patience, and steady manner, she allowed me to find my own way, in my own time.
Mom believed in independence and self-reliance at a very young age, having grown up that way herself. She passed on to us, the importance of being able to take care of ourselves.
When I was starting school at Enslen, Mom and I walked the route from our Trinity home, across College, down Princeton, to the school. About a mile walk.
To cross College, Mom taught me to wait for car drivers to acknowledge me, make eye contact, stop to allow me to cross in the crosswalk.
At that tender age of five or six, I was now expected to walk that route to school.
Mom was confident in me, and I am sure I must have been too. I don’t remember being scared, or thinking I couldn’t do it.
Modesto was not that big then.
College Avenue did not have the traffic that it has now, but it was a main thoroughfare.
I have a memory of standing on the corner of College and Princeton, at the crosswalk, waiting for the occasional car to show up, so the driver could acknowledge me, stop and let me cross.
One after another, none stopped.
I started to tear up.
I am not sure how long I stood there before an older gentleman finally took pity on this, by now, sobbing child.
He stopped his car, looked me in the eye, smiled, and waved me across.
I took a big breath, crossed over, and was relieved and happy at my success.
When I arrived home, I told Mom of my dilemma, and Mom, in hearing of my problem, assured me it was ok to walk across when it was clear of cars, look both ways, and I had time to safely walk across. I did not have to wait.
No hugs, or words of comfort.
But, in her way, she solved the problem and she fully believed I could do it!
So, I believed in myself too.
That was my introduction to being an always attentive pedestrian, and I can say, I have been safely crossing streets from that day forward.
And I still, always, wait and watch for eye contact with the driver, before crossing in front of any cars.
It may have been the times we lived, having the freedom to simply go out and play in our neighborhood, with, what I remember, very little adult supervision. We were expected to entertain ourselves, and find something to do. We went exploring the neighborhood on bikes, or on foot.
We walked to the Bienvenu’s house, only a few short blocks away.
We Played outside games; jump rope, hopscotch, hula hoop, climbed trees, and whatever else without too many bad decisions. Card games and playing with our dolls, and stuffed animals filled our days.
Mom was reliably and without question, at home on our return.
We could count on her being there.
Home meant Mom.
Mom was the one I would seek out in case of any emergency or injury.
She always knew what to do.
She was the calm in the moment.
Our dog, Tina Bell, was hit by a car on Tully, while following us (as she often did) to the little corner Bi-Rite grocery store to buy our 25-cent candies.
I watched, horrified, as she limped off to hide under some bushes. I rushed home for Mom, who I knew, would know what to do.
I ran in the door, yelling for her to come quick, Tina Bell had been hit.
Mom grabbed a towel, followed me to Tina’s hiding place, knelt down, gently and carefully wrapped her up.
As I expected, Mom knew what to do.
Tina Bell went on to live many more years, and she too learned how to be a little safer when crossing those Modesto streets.
When we were sick with colds, or stomach bugs, Mom was such a steady comfort. there was nothing that some Vicks VapoRub, a cool compress on our forehead, some Hawaiian Punch, Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, or a spoonful of cherry cough syrup couldn’t fix!
Even when we didn’t feel well, she always made us feel better under her reassuring and capable hands.
I had the croup, when I was maybe four or five.
During attacks of chest tightness, she calmly carried me into the shower room, turned on the hot water to fill the room with steam. She would sit and hold me on her lap until my labored breathing subsided.
I was home alone with Dad once, when I started to have an episode. Dad did not know the shower routine, but I led and instructed him in what to do. I knew what to do, because Mom taught me.
Was it any wonder that being a nurse would be in my future?
I had the best teacher.
The one lapse in her otherwise sound care, was never anticipating my severe motion sickness on any car ride. Poor Dad and I spent many a harrowing trip up the windy mountain roads, he trying to find a safe place to pull over, while I tried to keep the inevitable from happening.
Mom told me, later, she thought I would outgrow it.
Well, she was wrong. I never did.
Mom’s capable caregiving continued, for many devoted years with Dad. She was always so capable and so strong.
I never doubted her abilities.
She always knew what to do.
As an adult, Mom came to be the person with whom I enjoyed spending time.
She was often who I would seek out for wise advice, reassurance, and understanding.
Just hearing her voice on the other end of the phone made everything better, and I usually came away with her words guiding me still.
We had heartfelt talks that I treasure. Fun times with great conversations, laughter, and genuinely just enjoying her company.
I have missed, and will always miss my mom, but am so thankful for a lifetime of sweet memories, and for her always knowing what to do.
Thank you, Mom. I love you.