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October 2002
It is now one year since the death
and funeral of my beloved Henry. This time has been and continues to be
very painful. Henry died in an instant, a breath, on October 18, 2001,
while we were on a Panama Cruise, celebrating our 50 years of married love
and life.
It is so unbelievable for Henry to
be gone and for me to be alone. In my 72 years of life, I have never been
alone. Our home is so quiet and empty and I don’t know how to do the many
things that Henry did so well. Why didn’t I
learn from him how he made wonderful popcorn without burning it, how to
change the clocks for daylight saving time, add windshield-wiper fluid in
the van, or how to clean the storm windows?
I have thought back to when we met
and married and the highlights of our life together: the birth of each of
our children, Henry’s illnesses, the triumphs, tribulations and
celebrations of our children. Oh, where did fifty years go; it now seems
like a blur and I suddenly feel old. When one encounters what has
happened with Henry, one thinks of the mortality of oneself and perhaps
this is the time to tell my story.
*
Growing up in a large family, the
second youngest of twelve living children, and no father, was an
atmosphere of bustling activity. There was always food preparation,
cleaning, sewing, laundry, home repairs, canning, gardening, squabbles and
homework. The older children looked after the younger or the three
little ones (Art, Ralph and I).
John Paleczny, my father, born
October 18, 1881, and died in 1932 of silicosis. He had built three large
houses, two for income and the third, 123 Shanley St., for his large
family. He was a stone carver with Braun Monument. When he died, Mom
fought for and received compensation. With this income and the income from
the houses, she raised her family with dignity. Pa told her, don’t sell
the houses; the cow is milking.
I was Mom’s only baby to be born
at the newly-opened St. Mary’s Hospital. Sister Francesca told me that my
Christening was the biggest celebration in the family. People dropped in
all day and there was plenty of food available. Mike brought his friends
from St. Mary’s CYO. When Ralph was born, my father was sick in bed and
Mom nursed him in the den. She kept the children away in case he was
contagious. I have no recollection of my father but the Nuns told me that
he was very kind, patient and generous with the children. When he died,
Art was three years old, I was two years and Ralph was eight months.
Mom’s father was the schoolteacher
for their village in Maleniska,
Podkamen, Poland and she spoke seven languages fluently. She read the
daily newspaper cover-to-cover and listened to news broadcasts on the
radio with great concern, especially during the war years when Tom, Joe
and Henry served in the RCAF. Mom was business-minded and an organizer;
each child had a mission and never questioned her
judgement. I often thought: if I had a
father, I would have another point of view, but when I passed my teen
years I realized that Mom was always right.
Mom always encouraged us; we could
not just join an organization; we had to be President! She pushed us to
excel in education, sports and social life within the Church. When one of
my brothers or sisters was going out, Mom would say, “where are you
going – take Rita”. I was shy and she knew that I needed to see what
was beyond church and school. (They usually objected but that is how I got
to start skiing and play badminton.) My older brothers would give me a
quarter on payday for ironing their shirts. Each week Amelia
left a quarter on the front desk for piano lesson. However, she gave up
after I repeatedly skipped class. What I wanted was to take art lessons
but there were none available within our cultural and church life (which
was all I knew).
Occasionally, on a Sunday
afternoon, the three little ones walked with Mom to Brunswick Ave.
to visit the families of her brother Joe Kunda and cousin Mike Psutka
(neighbours). The
adults played cards and had beer and pretzels and the children were given
watered-down beer and pretzels. That may be why I have hated beer all of
my life.
On the first Sunday of each month,
we drove to the Motherhouse in Waterdown to visit Sister Francesca. We
waited in a large parlour with a piano. Mischievous Ralph kept trying to
sneak a few bangs on the piano and Mom insisted that we sit quietly on the
big chairs and wait. When Sister arrived, tall and gracious in her habit,
we had to be very polite and as quiet as possible.
Ralph and I were a team. He always
got into trouble with Mom and I protected him. I didn’t know it at
that time, but George and Dorothy had died in childhood between Henry and
Art hence the three little ones. Mom must have been terrified that
something would happen to Art and he was given extra-special treatment.
Ralph and I would buy a brick of ice cream from Weltzes corner store. We
would ask them to cut it in half and with two spoons we snuck under the
back porch (three feet high) to eat it. I think we managed to outsmart Art
who would have told.
Mike started to build his house on
22 Moore Ave. the summer of 1937 prior to his September marriage to
Beatrice. I was seven years old and heard that he had bought a lot.
Well I wanted to see it and must have been given directions as Ralph and I
set off. We looked and looked but couldn’t see anything. Everyone laughed
when we got home; we had expected to see a lot of something!
John built a small bungalow on
Blucher St. when he married Florence in 1938 and the babies followed. On
Sunday, walking home after Mass, he would stop in and fry himself bacon
and eggs. I saw him wipe out the bacon grease and put in butter for the
eggs. He said, “shhh, don’t tell Mom”.
Mike worked as Sales Manager at
Globe Furniture and had a company car. During the war years, 1939-45, he
would drive Mom to Hespeler Woolen Mills where she purchased huge
quantities of worsted wool fabric and knitting yarn. Knowing she was
going, we would run home from school and select pieces from the
fabric-laden dining room table: “This is mine; this is mine.”
The next day, Mom started to sew.
She produced perfectly-tailored suits for my brothers. With my pleated
skirts and hand-knit sweaters, my teachers at St. Mary’s High would tell
my nun-sisters that I was well dressed,
When I was in Grade 7 or 8, Mom
sent me to my Godmother, Victoria Krawczyk, to learn to knit. After a
couple of lessons I continued to knit but Mom thought I was too slow so
she sent me to Beatrice whom she had observed knitting swiftly. Beatrice
taught me the finger method rather than throwing the yarn over the needle
with my entire hand, for each stitch. My fingers have been flying over
knitting needles all my life.
Each September we made the annual
trip to the Niagara Region to pick bushels and bushels of peaches. Mom
packed a picnic lunch and as soon as we returned everyone had to pitch in
to preserve the peaches (fallen peaches were cheaper but perishable). We
spent most of our summer picking and canning cherries (123 Shanley was
surrounded with fruit trees). Then came the green tomatoes, pickles and
relish. Mom organized and we pealed and ground by hand, the ingredients
for the relish that Mom cooked in large kettles and sealed in sterilized
jars.
The main daily meal was at noon.
In the morning Mom would make pies and yeast bread. Anyone around was put
to work. Somehow large pots of soup, stew, meat roasts, vegetables or
whatever, magically appeared on the table at noon, with all of the cooking
pots washed and replaced in the cupboards. Leftovers were served for
supper. I really didn’t like eating and I was forced to sit on the
bench at the back of the table with a plate of food in front of me until
it was time to go back to school when I slipped out and ran to school.
There was a large jar of cod liver oil under the kitchen sink that Mom
made me take whenever she got the chance.
Church life at Sacred Heart was
the most important part of our busy schedules. Every Sunday evening Mom
would take me to Sunday Vespers where I learned to say the Hail Mary and
Our Father in Polish.
Mom sent us to school at age five
and the nuns would not dare refuse to accept us. She never interfered with
the position of the teachers believing that it was their job to look after
the kids in school and she would look after the kids at home. In those
days, if students did well, they skipped a class and if not, they were
held back or failed. I’m sure it was the subjective opinion of the
teacher. As a result, I had just turned 12 years when I started in Grade 9
at St. Mary’s High. When I completed the registration form, I filled in my
preference: Art rather than Music. Much to my consternation, Music was
chosen.
Only 3 students from Sacred Heart
went on to St. Mary’s; a few went to KCI and the rest to the rubber or
shirt factories. Sacred Heart consisted of immigrant families and what a
shock I faced. I didn’t know why the girls from St. Mary’s Parish were
walking hand-in-hand with the borders from St. Jerome’s as I drove by on
my bicycle. And it did not take me long to realize that they belonged to
professional families. Wow, we were shunned so fast we didn’t know what
was happening. And we believed the nuns favoured the girls from St. Mary’s
Parish and gave us a hard time, not only in Grade 9, but year after year.
I learned to be defensive and protective of the students from Sacred Heart
Parish.
I needed spending money so I
walked into Miss Lowe’s Millinery on Ontario St. S. and asked for a job. I
was hired at 15 cents per hour, Monday to Friday
4 to 6 p.m. and Saturday morning.
I dusted the shelves, set up the show room and was given hand-sewing tasks
on hats. I worked there for three years and my duties gradually increased
to where I was waiting on customers and designing hats. This job certainly
curtailed any after-school activities or social life, but I was in the
enviable position of having some cash. Mom ensured that I cleaned the
house on Sat. afternoon, a task that had previously been done Sat.
morning.
I believe Mom never went to sleep
at night until all her chickens were safely under her wing. Whenever I
arrived home after an evening out, she would call from her bed, “Rita, is
that you; is everything all right?” and I went to her room and reassured
her.
After the Grade 9 general program,
Mom insisted that I go into Commercial so I could work in an office. Since
she believed in education for boys but not girls (they would have babies
and spend their lives in a kitchen), I had to fight each year to stay in
school. Sister Joanette intervened for me on occasion.
Well, I thought I was the best
shorthand student ever. My artistic ability was finally being trained. I
practised the outlines over and over and produced a work of art. I have
used shorthand all of my life and people are still amazed to see what I am
writing. In my work career as Administrative Assistant to the President of
St. Mary's General Hospital, my duties included taking minutes of hospital
Board of Trustee and Committee meetings. Frequently, I would be asked to
read what had been discussed and I was able to translate without
difficulty. Sometimes I open my notes from when I was working prior to
1995 and I can still read every word. I also taught shorthand for a lot of
years (in addition to working full time and raising a family) at Conestoga
College in the Medical Secretarial Program and Adult Continuing Education.
I use Pitman, but have taught myself Forkner and taught that method to
students as well.
I always felt that I had
unfulfilled goals. I really wanted to be in a profession (nursing or
teaching). Alternatively, I wanted the best secretarial position possible
and as a result, changed positions when I became bored, each time learning
new skills, becoming more knowledgeable and improving my wages. I also
took a lot of courses, firstly the Management Development Program at
Conestoga College and on my 64th birthday, graduated from
Wilfrid Laurier University with a Diploma in Business Administration.
Marie Schefter Solomon was my best
friend from grade school. She was an only child and I was invited for
Sunday dinner on occasion. It was an event for me; there was just Marie
with her parents and grandmother. During our teen years, we attended CYO
and played badminton, but I could never convince her to take up the skiing
that I loved.
Adele was almost eight years older
than I and I looked up to her. She was pretty (about 5 in. shorter than
I), had nice clothes, many friends and a good job as a draftsman. She
coached me along, taking me to parties and skiing. She and I were Ski
Patrollers and raced for Chicopee. Adele was an accomplished skier and I
was beginning. In the mid-forties at Blue Mountain in Collingwood, we were
on the racing team for a competition. At the end of our runs I was placed
first and Adele second. She went to the judges and said there must be a
mistake and was told that I indeed had the faster run. She said to me that
it was probably because I was heavier than she (I was less than 120 lbs.
at the time).
In 1948 and 1949 Marie and I went
to Grand Bend for our vacation. We stayed at a lodge that included meals
served in a fine dining room, got fried in the sun and suffered, moaning
on the bed. While lying on the beach in the summer of 1949, a beach ball
skimmed across the sand and hit my eye with a spray of sand. I looked
around to see who had done that and two young men came walking over,
namely John Solomon and Henry Mroz. They apologized. We knew they were
from Kitchener as we had known their sisters from Sacred Heart Choir.
They asked if we were going to the dance that evening (Ellis McKlintock
Big Band) and we said yes. Well, the rest is history; we danced and danced
and danced (for 50 years).
*
Henry and I celebrated our 50th
Anniversary in July 2001 with a family dinner on Saturday evening and on
Sunday, a Mass at St. Louis Church, renewal of vows, and a celebration at
our home following. Approximately 50 people attended, our family, friends,
St. Mary's Volunteer Executive and neighbours. It was a delightful day.
Chris acted as Master of Ceremonies and Cristina sang a tribute to her
grandparents.
We booked a Panama cruise, leaving Oct. 10th from Ft.
Lauderdale, which was the first cruise to that destination for the winter
season. On Oct. 7th, we left in our van to drive to Ft. Lauderdale and had
planned to go to Hilton Head Island on our return, when the ship docked on
Oct. 20th. Driving down, we spent a half-day in St. Augustine FL, but we
were still ahead of schedule so we went to Universal Studios for a
half-day on Oct. 9th, driving into Ft. Lauderdale late morning of the
10th.
Henry dropped me off at the pier
dock with the luggage and parked our Windstar van in the next-door parking
garage. The cruise was delightful and we enjoyed every moment, taking
advantage of the port stops at the Panama, Costa Rica, Grand Cayman,
Cozumel and Cartagena, Columbia. On Oct. 17th, we took a
four-and-a-half-hour bus tour of Cartagena that
involved a fair amount of walking. On the 18th, I went to a
Bridge lecture in the morning while Henry rested. At 10:30,
we went to the Lido deck and had a plate of fresh fruit. In the afternoon
I played Bridge. Henry came for me and we went for High Tea where Piotr
Niestrzeba, a pianist from Poland with whom Henry made friends, played on
the white grand piano. We then dressed for dinner, Henry in his tuxedo and
I in my formal gown.
On our way for 6 p.m. dinner, we
stopped in the Centrum to have our portraits taken. We ate lobster
thermador for dinner but skipped dessert because we were invited to the
Captains Circle Party at 7 p.m.
At the party Henry requested a
non-alcoholic drink. The waiter handed him a tall orange drink and said
there was a bit of rum on top. He took a sip and that was all so I
finished his drink. We conversed with other couples, listened to the
orchestra and watched people dancing. At 7:45 we left to go from aft to
forward for the 8 p.m. Broadway Theatre. Walking along, we chatted and
Henry took a mint from his pocket, removed the wrapping and put it in his
mouth.
When we reached the Centrum I said
I would stop at the washroom and he said, “I may as well.”
When I came out of the washroom Henry was not around and I paced back and
forth looking for him. Then I saw a man barricading the men’s washroom so
I went to him and said “I’m looking for my husband; his name is Henry; is
Henry is there?” He replied, “Go and sit down”. Despite my insistence he
would not allow me to enter. Then the medical personnel and crash carts
arrived and about twenty staff formed a human wall around the area. When
the door opened I saw Henry lying on the floor. Immediately two
ladies escorted me away, answering my concerns with “he is being
resuscitated.” I asked for what reason he was being resuscitated and was
told nothing.
After about 40 minutes
a message was sent that the doctor wanted to see
me so I was taken to the hospital bay. I sat down near the doctor’s
desk and he said, “I need some information from you. What was his date of
birth?” I looked at him in shock and finally said, “what do you mean – was
– has he passed on” and the doctor replied,
“yes”. I went into hysterics repeating, “Oh my God, it just can’t be”.
When I saw Henry, he was lying in his tuxedo on a table and I put my face
on his and cried and cried. He was cold and hard. I immediately asked
staff to find a priest on board for Henry to receive the sacraments. In
the middle of the night they sent a minister who read scripture about
death. I could not comprehend the fact of death.
*
The cruise ship was to dock in Ft.
Lauderdale on Sat. Oct. 20 so I spent two days
and two nights alone in my room, while Henry was
in the morgue. A witness came to my room and told me that he heard the
toilet flush, heard a deep sigh and a thud. Henry landed on his knees and
hit his head on the wall. He died instantly. Then why did they try for 40
minutes to resuscitate him? Why did they keep me away from Henry?
Terry flew to Ft. Lauderdale on
Fri. Oct. 19, stayed in a hotel overnight and arrived at the Sun Princess
at 6:30 a.m. I had prearranged with Security for him to board. We were
summoned to the Doctor’s Office where the Sheriff of Brower County was
waiting to ask questions. He put obstacles in our way for release of body
because Henry died in international waters; the FBI wanted to ensure that
there was no interference in his death and the Travel Ins. wanted to
ensure that there was no pre-existing medical condition. Without the
medical history from our family physician, Dr. S. Wlodarczyk, Henry’s body
would remain in the Medical Examiner’s Office. Sue had been trying to
reach Dr. W. over the past two days. Apparently,
he was out of town.
Terry completed negotiations with
the Sheriff, Security took my luggage to their office, and Terry and I
proceeded to the parking garage to find our van (subsequently driven back
to Kitchener). I waited with Terry’s luggage and items that I did not want
to take on the plane when my cell phone rang. It was Dr. Wlodardzyk; I
gave him the Medical Examiner’s phone number. He called back to state that
he was faxing Henry’s medical history to the Medical Examiner and that an
autopsy would be performed that day.
A Security person overheard Terry
and I discussing my concern of Henry not receiving the Last Sacraments and
gave us directions to St. Sebastien’s R.C. Church and Fr. Bill Mylchreest.
As we left the pier dock about 50 police cars were around because of the
refineries in the area and the Sept. 11th incident in NYC. We
missed the first exit and found ourselves heading towards Miami! An hour
later we located St. Sebastiens, a huge complex in an upscale residential
area. The church was open but no priest around so Terry phoned the number
on the card received from Security. A priest answered who directed us to
Fr. Bill’s home. At that point the noon Angeles bell rang and Terry said,
“Do you know what that means; the Angels are singing. This was meant to
be.” Well, Fr. Bill said the things that we needed to hear at that time:
that Henry was a man of Faith, had raised five children with love, had
sung in the Church Choir, was an active hospital volunteer, and was most
certainly in the arms of God. Fr. Bill said he would go to the
Medical Examiner’s Office and bless Henry’s body.
We then had to get our van back to
the parking garage and identify it and the location. We left this
information and the keys with Security on the cruise ship. We were given a
transfer to the airport and barely made the 3 p.m. flight with a stopover
in NYC. Sue and Cristina met us at the airport, drove Terry to Park & Fly
and took me home. Arriving at midnight, alone without Henry, Chris and
Tanya were already there to greet me.
*
The next morning we went to 0930
Mass at St. Louis. Terry, Sue and I met with Jim Erb of Good Funeral Home
at 2 p.m. Henry’s body was to arrive late Monday at Pearson and we
arranged the funeral for Thursday, Oct. 25th. Sue and I met
with Fr. Hauser on Mon. to plan the Liturgy. Rick, Terry and Monica
arrived with their families. Visitation at the Funeral Home was held Tues.
and Wed. and so many people came to express their sympathy. Henry was
thought of highly by everyone as a kind, compassionate man. The flowers
were lovely and everyone was so very kind.
St. Louis Church was filled for
the Funeral Mass and both the Risen Life and Senior Choirs sang. Fr.
Clarence Hauser, Fr. Fred Scinto and Fr. Bob Liddy concelebrated the Mass.
All of our family were involved in the ceremony as pallbearers, readers
and gift bearers. Henry’s Funeral Mass was very beautiful and meaningful.
At St. Mary’s Volunteer
Association’s Festival of Trees in Nov., a four-foot
tree was designed and decorated by the volunteers in a
gardening and woodworking theme, “In memory of Henry Mroz”. The
tree was on display throughout the 10-day Festival and presented to me at
the Sponsor Lunch. I just love it and have left it up in our patio
enclosure. It is a great comfort to me as I remember the many, many
projects that Henry and I worked on together. I have only one pair of
hands now; I miss my other pair very much.
It is so unbelievable that Henry
is not here with me. He had no signs or symptoms of heart disease. His
autopsy diagnosis was Ruptured Myocardial Infarction due to Coronary
Atherosclerosis. The grief encountered following the death of one’s
spouse is painfully overwhelming. I realize now that Henry and I were
spiritually connected with one another’s life. And we still are.
Rita Mroz
SAFELY HOME
I am home in Heaven, dear ones.
Oh, so happy and so
bright!
There is perfect joy and beauty
In this everlasting
light.
All the pain and grief is over,
Every restless
tossing passed.
I am now at peace forever,
Safely home in Heaven
at last.
Did you wonder I so calmly
Trod the valley of
the shade?
Oh! But Jesus’ love illumined
Every dark and
fearful glade.
And He came Himself to meet me
In that way so hard
to tread.
And with Jesus’ arm to lean on,
Could I have one
doubt or dread?
Then you must not grieve so sorely,
For I love you dearly
still.
Try to look beyond earth’s shadows,
Pray to trust our
Father’s Will.
There is work still waiting for you,
So you must not idly
stand.
Do it now, while life remaineth –
You shall rest in
Jesus’ land.
When that work is all completed,
He will gently call
you Home.
Oh, the rapture of that meeting,
Oh, the joy to see
you come! |
