By Sada’s daughter, Libby Stoner Grandy, from the family newsletter, The Claddagh, Oct 2005.

My mother’s nickname in school was “Irish”. With her curly, black hair and mischievous blue eyes, she was loved for her Irish beauty, lighthearted spirit and musical ability. How can we ever capture the essence of another to our satisfaction? I will have to begin at the end, rather than the beginning, because my mother died when she was forty one, and her death changed all our lives. I was thirteen, and my brother was only three years old.

Of course, her death devastated my father and the family on both sides. She had six brothers and two sisters on the O’Flaherty side, and seven sister-in-law on the Stoner side. Her mother and father had died, and she was considered an eighth daughter to my grandmother. My thirteen-year-old heart hurt for everyone around me. In many ways, their pain distracted me from my own.

My loss was not only about love but of how my mother saw the world. The Irish are sometimes accused of being fey and loving the illusion of life more than life itself. However, I believe it is simply a choice between light and dark, and my mother always chose the light.

Most of her childhood was spent at the farm house in Fort Valley. It was there that she fell off a hay wagon in her early teens and her periodic headaches began. The brain aneurysm that eventually took her life may have been the result of that accident. I have one of the diaries that she wrote while living in the farm house. Most entries chronicled everyday events such as: “Sunday - We went to church at Dry Run this morning. Our preacher is sick so we had no preaching. Went to Sunday School. We all stopped at Ada’s for dinner. Stopped at Cross Roads to see Cousin Kate. Went to church tonight. Had dandy tune.” She clearly loved her Iife in Fort Valley.

In her late teens, the family moved across the Massanutten mountain to Woodstock, where my mother met my father and spent the rest of her life. Her brothers and sisters left for the Washington area, while she stayed in the small town, enjoying her job at the telephone company. Through her work, church and clubs, she interfaced with most of the community, which made her early death even more poignant.

Those born in the first part of the century lived in an era of innocence. There were few gray areas. You lived honorably. You married and stayed married. You didn’t complain about life. My mother lived such a life, but she also endowed it with mystical beauty, enjoying flowers and music and observing nature. She loved finding figures of animals and people in the clouds. She taught me to watch lightning from the living room window and not be afraid of the storm.

There was also the beauty of her nonjudgmental devotion to family and friends. We had company often. On summer week-ends, the women sat in the yard in chiffon dresses drinking lemonade while the men in white shirts with rolled-up sleeves, tossed the ball to the kids. I’m sure the adults were hot and tired and had problems, but I only remember a relaxed, happy environment, probably due to my mother’s presence.

As a child I felt safe and loved. When you know you are loved unconditionally, it stays with you for a lifetime, long after those who loved you are gone. The face of love in my mind and heart will always be that of my mother’s.