Sarita wrote and delivered the definitive eulogy for her mum at last week’s funeral service in St. Raymond’s church, Downey, California. It was a beautiful service completely in fitting with Sally’s wishes and amazing to see so many friends and family coming together for the service and at the Crab Pot in Long Beach to remember her life with tears, laughter, flowers, seafood and pints.

Sarita did an unbelievable job putting it all together and coordinating the many offers of help from near and far. I learnt a few things about livestreaming video and wish I could have provided a better experience for all the folks who weren’t able to make it, however the footage, such as it is, is available here without any audio and recording a fixed, vertical-format position of the lectern.

Here’s a slideshow with some of our favourite Sally moments taken since the dawn of digital photography along with some pics from the family album.

Again, Sarita’s eulogy for Sally is the place to start but I’d like to proffer the following few paragraphs to mark her passing before this blog and my social media reverts to the usual pet pics and running routes.

Sally welcomed me into the family from the very start, and I will always be very grateful for that.

Sarita’s mum was born and raised in a coastal village in very rural Ireland, one of the eldest of eleven siblings with a childhood shaped by hard work, farm animals, fishing boats, and living off the land. She’d talk of days cutting and stacking peat, helping with the harvest, fetching water to make tea out in the rugged Donegal fields, foraging for pignuts with a spoon, and her Irish-Gaelic schooldays. Calculating the tip in restaurants, and maths in general still all happened in Gaelic for the rest of her days.  

As a young woman she took the boat to Brooklyn, where she worked in retirement home for elderly Germans, experiencing American food for the first time, and living with other Irish girls in a Catholic boarding house, till she bought a convertible and single-handedly drove cross-country to California.

She met Martin, ‘Quito’ to his friends, at a Catholic dance mixer event in L.A., their Golden Wedding Anniversary fell during the early pandemic so we celebrated over Zoom in 2020, Sally fixing herself her trademark Manhattan cocktail.

Daughters Sarita and Colleen were born in Hollywood and grew up in Downey, with frequent family visits to and from Ireland and Chile. When Sally didn’t have her hands full raising the girls she worked as an assistant at St. Emydius middle school.

I remember meeting the family for the first time at easter, 1999. I was welcomed, fed and made to completely at home despite being on the other side of the planet from my home, and that warm welcome lasted throughout the years. Sally and Martin came to visit us wherever we were living- Spain, Massachusetts, Santa Cruz, Mexico, Alameda, Oregon, Maine, New York, and helped us find and buy our first Utah home and often pitched in with our frequent moves. Visiting Downey was always a lowkey royal visit, especially around a Thanksgiving or Christmas. Sally loved Christmas, and everything that goes with it. From a Christmas tree that blew fake snow into the air every 10 minutes to the Polar Express train circling underneath, dozens of nativity figures, homemade decorations, stuffed yuletide toys, each playing electronic renditions of carols and songs and, at least one proper log fire in the hearth, even in the warm California winter.  

Sally was a natural story teller, I can’t do her justice here, but meals at California would last long into the evening with tales of life growing up in Kilcar, when electricity first came to their village, her youth in Brooklyn, and travels near and far. Then there’d be stories about Sarita and Colleen’s childhood adventures- stolen chocolate supply raids, their antics with the neighbours’ kids and pets, bear encounters in the mountains… and even to tales of the barrio which always sounded a little incongruous with Sally’s Irish accent and extensive Spanish vocabulary. She loved to cook huge meals, some of the biggest steaks I’ve ever witnessed, thanksgiving turkeys, elaborate side dishes and desserts. I have a decent working knowledge of kitchen basics in Gaelic thanks to being on Sally’s cooking team.

Sally loved nothing more than getting a carload of bargain flowers and plants from the nursery and filling their garden with beautifully-planned Californian crops, artichokes, tomatoes, oranges, lemons, birds of paradise, hydrangea, pansies, exotically-named rose bushes and keeping the hummingbird feeder full. She followed national and international politics with strong opinions on everything, thrived on reading, fiction, non-fiction, poetry, recipes, enjoyed playing games ( the ridiculously-competitive, impossible to master, Irish ‘25’, and daily games of Concentration with Martin after lunch). Sally looked after our furry friends throughout- our bunnies, dogs, and doted on her own little maddhu, Mallie.

Over the last few years, multiple serious health issues she’d been battling caught up with her and left her feeling quite tired and weak. Sally missed her freedom this last year, unable to leave the house much, walk far, and cook her traditional meals, but she still received visits from family and friends along with the occasional trip to Wilderness Park to see the birds and wildlife in the ponds, all while Martin excelled as a 24-hour carer, picking up late-in-life cooking skills along the way.  She was about to enter the next stage of her long life at an assisted living home minutes from Martin in Downey- Sarita and Martin visited her the night before the planned move from the hospital and she was lucid and comfortable and they had a positive, loving evening together reminiscing over moments from Sally’s long life and talking about the future. The next morning Sarita received the call that Sally had passed away in her sleep overnight.

Sally went out on her own terms, living quietly in her own home as long as possible despite regular offers to move to arguably better-equipped places, or involving professional carers. Arranging her own affairs, recording her wishes, keeping her medical team honest, ‘decluttering’, and relying as little as possible on external assistance beyond us and Martin as the months went by. We miss her dearly, the house seems so empty without her formidable presence, industry and routines but most of all, her laughter and softly-spoken stories and observations. We were lucky to have spent as long as we did in her company, and in so many places.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam