Dear Darlings,

My title isn’t quite as catchy of a title as Four Weddings and a Funeral, but it seemed to fit the bill.

Two weeks ago I wrote a blog about my cousin and my father-in-law passing away and bringing my aunt to live near us in Virginia. That got me to thinking about their lives and what memories they gifted to us. When my father passed away in 2014, I had the honor of sharing his memories through his obituary and delivering his eulogy. When my mother-in-law passed away in 2023, I was gifted with the task of sharing her memory through her obituary. With Renee’s passing, I got to share part of her family history through a eulogy. And my last gift, so far, was to write my father-in-law’s obituary.

I shared my dad’s eulogy and his obituary with you after his passing to keep his stories and his memory alive. And now, I’d like to share what I wrote to honor Renee.

Before I do, a little part of the backstory is necessary. Renee was a little sister. She had that phrase tattooed on her arm. The pride she had in being a little sister was there for everyone to see. Renee’s big sister, Tina, was tragically killed in a car accident when she was 18 and Renee was nine. The call came on Friday, September 13, 1991. On November 7, 2008, I got a call from my mother telling me that my uncle suddenly died while sitting at the kitchen table. The family of four was now just Renee and Aunt Louise.

The above pictures are snippets of lives, love, and family.

So much death and tragedy marked Renee’s family, but her spirit kept going and stayed positive until the very end of her life. She truly believed she would beat the cancer that blocked food from entering and exiting her stomach. She told us many times that she didn’t want us to think she was anything but a fighter. She fought until the very end. My hopes are that by sharing her story, I keep a little part of her with us here on earth and that you enjoy getting to know Renee.

There are notes included in this to remind me to pause and breathe. Some I said out loud, some I just used to remind me to pause and breathe.

My entire being vibrated as I delivered these words to a packed church. One of Renee’s best friends was the officiant, and she sat behind me as I spoke. Stan watched her as she put her hands directly behind me, in case the vibrations overtook me and I fell. I didn’t.

Here is what I wrote.

On behalf of Renee and all who loved her, I want to thank each of you for being here, physically or via Zoom. Your presence in her life was, and continues to be, remarkable. If I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, I’m Jenni, Renee’s cousin. Our mamas are sisters, and in our younger days, I spent many holidays, vacations, and summers with Aunt Louise, Uncle Jerry, Tina, and, most importantly, Renee. (pause and breathe)

Family. It was a vital component of Renee’s life. The love of it. The loss of it. The draw of it. The acceptance of her dwindling family. But in the face of all that she lost, she thrived on family, whether it was her blood family or the family she formed with all of you. She strived to keep that connection. Whenever I called, she would answer the phone with a cheery, “Hey, Cuz!” She often told me I was her favorite cousin, but I’m sure she said that about everyone she knew. (Cue laughter. Take a beat.) Family. As a word, It’s a small part of why I’m here. As a concept, it’s the embodiment of why I’m here. She was my family.

I was fourteen when Renee was born. I was over the moon in love with her as soon as I found out Aunt Louise was expecting her. Our family was expanding, and I couldn’t wait to meet our new little bundle. Every fiber of my being hummed when I held her for the first time. She was perfect. I watched her grow from an adorable, cherubic baby into a beautiful little girl and finally blossom into a gorgeous woman with a heart of gold.

In the past few months, a song has repeatedly played in my head whenever Renee comes to mind. I won’t sing it for you… I’d be desecrating Karen Carpenter’s beautiful song and damaging your eardrums, but I will quote it. “On the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true. They sprinkled gold dust in your hair and starlight in your eyes of blue – just like me, they long to be close to you.” In my mind, those lyrics sum up Renee. So many of us wanted to be close to the girl with gold stardust in her hair and eyes so blue. (Pause and breathe)

When Tina died in 1991, my parents and I flew out as soon as we could. I was 22, and Renee was nine. I vividly remember walking into the house and seeing Renee. She seemed much smaller than I remembered. She looked tiny and lost without her big sister. My heart ached for her. While I was there, Renee and I shared the pullout couch in the den. Her little body curled tightly next to mine. I wanted desperately to take away the devastation of losing Tina. Aunt Louise and Uncle Jerry grieved so fiercely, and Renee got lost in that grief. As a young woman, I saw it, but I was powerless to help. The only thing I could do was be there for her. And listen for her “Hey, Cuz,” on the phone. Family. It meant so much to Renee.  (Pause)

(The above photos were taken the first Christmas without Tina.)

As my husband, Stan, and I moved around the country and the world with our growing family, trips to Long Island became increasingly infrequent. Once we settled in Virginia, though, visits began again, with Renee and Aunt Louise traveling to see us. Renee viewed coming to see us as a vacation; I loved that about her. She turned our very ordinary suburb into a vacation.

On one particular trip, Renee decided to explore Carytown on her own. It’s a kitschy, eclectic part of our city…a lot like Renee. (Pause and breathe) She loved wandering in and out of the little shops lining the street. Renee came home absolutely delighted with her excursion. Her excitement was palpable as she pulled out a box. “I found this for you, and it’s perfect. It reminds me so much of you,” she said as she handed me the package. She was bouncing up and down excitedly as I unwrapped this beautiful orb. “It’s the tree of life. And it’s how I see you.” That was her last vacation to Richmond, and this glass orb has been proudly displayed since Renee gifted it to me. It’s gorgeous and something I cherish. (Breathe)

The Tree of Life has so much meaning. As I was mulling which words to use to paint the perfect picture of Renee, I knew I wanted to use the symbolism surrounding her gift to me. This is a small sampling of what I found, but I think it helps round out her story and show how applicable The Tree of Life is to Renee’s life. (Pause)

There are multiple interpretations of the Tree of Life symbol; most popularly, it is connection and unity. but, the evolution and depth of this design is multi-layered. 

• Connection: Circles represent connectivity and inclusion. The roots of the tree reach deep into the earth while the abundant leaves flesh out upward. The tree poses as the linchpin, connecting the earth and sky, symbolic of how we are all connected by the circle of life. 
• Renee was quick to include and slow to exclude. She bonded with all of us in different ways but continually reached out to connect. Her roots were deep; she reached upward with every breath to connect us all. She was Connection.

• Strength: If we explore nature for the perfect symbol of strength, we think of the unwavering quality of a tree. Trees are deeply rooted pillars of strength, often surviving storms and natural disasters. It takes profound strength to uproot a tree, so this symbol represents strength and stability. 
• Renee’s strength and tenacity were abundantly clear as she battled the demon called cancer that ravaged her body but never her spirit. She embodied Strength. 
• Tranquility: Nature is a tranquil haven. Ever pack a picnic and enjoy it under the shade of a large tree? Trees provide shelter, peace, and tranquility and evoke calm and serenity. 
• In these past months, I was gifted precious time with Renee, during which I heard story after story of her sereneness and healing nature. She exuded tranquility. 
• Growth: Trees grow slowly over the course of hundreds of years. Trees are in a continuous cycle of growth from a tiny seed to a sapling to becoming fully mature. Humans never stop growing. They constantly absorb new information and knowledge. Every person who crossed Renee’s path learned something from her. She spread knowledge and wisdom. She taught Growth.  

• Rebirth: With each new season, the trees shift and change. In spring, the bud and flower. In the summer, they flourish with leaves. In autumn, they teem with vibrancy and color. In winter, they are leafless and dormant. Still, trees are resilient and full of life. They grow and adapt each season, bringing a new opportunity to change. As humans, we endure the seasons, just like trees. To turn a new leaf is to embrace change. 
• Renee’s rebirth is complete. She was called home. It was too soon, but she is home. She is still with us and always will be—just in a different form. She is reborn. 
• Family: Trees represent a connection, so it’s no surprise that we use a family tree to connect our heritage and ancestry. Each new branch represents a new life. The circle represents a continuation of ancestry, a cycle of birth and life.  
• With her small present (pause and show orb), Renee gifted me so much about who she is and what was important to her. She gifted me the knowledge and the surety that family, whether by birth or the one she built with you, will be the core of how she will live on in our hearts, minds, and memories. She personified family and will live on in each of us and our families. 

God and the heavens above are singing joyfully as they welcome Renee home while we all grieve her loss. It’s part of the circle of life. But in our grief, we must remember to celebrate Renee, her everlasting spirit, and her love for us as her family. 

This was how I eulogized Renee.

xo,

me