I'm putting the remembrance of our mother that my brother and I read in the church in this place for posterity. I really don't expect readers here to go through it. I'm putting it here for me.
March 14, 2015 at 2:30 p.m. at The Church of St. Margaret
GORDON:
Gloria Angella Robotham was a lady from the day she was born, long before the Queen of England placed a sword on her husband’s shoulder and dubbed him Sir Lascelles.
Mommy arrived in this world on January 24, 1922, the third child and second daughter of nine children born to James and Ione Stiebel. Mama Ione was an avid reader of everything from the Scriptures to Shakespeare, and she expressed her love of literature in the names she gave her children. Starting with the oldest, Mommy’s eight siblings were Percival Alphonso; Winifred Ione; Terrence Ruthven; Maisy Ophelia; Sybil Grace; Donald St. James; Beulah Joyce; and Fay Constance.
Papa Stiebel was a building contractor and Mama Ione a seamstress, but with so many mouths to feed, their circumstances were humble. That did not stop Mommy from imagining herself in genteel surroundings. As her sisters Winifred and Grace tell it, Gloria applied herself to the mastery of social etiquette from the time she was a little girl. She would instruct her sisters and others under her sphere of influence on the proper use of utensils in the fanciest table settings. Even now, we her students can remember her soft voice repeating: Elbows off the table, don’t speak with food in your mouth, soup side, porridge point.
Her sister Winifred, who was a practical and down-to-earth soul, used to tease Mommy that she was dreaming way above her station. But Mommy was just preparing herself for what was to come. In 1949, while serving as a postmistress in Spanish Town, she married the love of her life, Lascelles Robotham. Instead of an engagement ring, Daddy gave Mommy his acceptance letter inviting him to study law at Lincoln's Inn in London. Daddy went on to become a Judge of the Court of Appeal in Jamaica and later Chief Justice of the Eastern Caribbean OECS region, while Mommy went from the Post Office to the Credit Union before starting Stiebel and Company real estate with her brother Donald. When Queen Elizabeth II knighted Daddy for his service on the OECS bench in 1986, making Mommy’s official title Lady Robotham, the family joked that truly, the Queen had just woken up and smelled the coffee—or in Mommy’s case, the tea.
ROSEMARIE:
Apart from Daddy, Mommy’s greatest and most enduring love has always been her family. She and her siblings maintained an especially close relationship throughout their lives, and they passed that closeness on to their children, making us promise that we would carry it through to the generation after us, and the one after that. Mommy was especially gratified by the love she witnessed among her grandchildren, because she knew their sense of belonging and joy in family would sustain them their entire lives. As it had sustained her.
But when Mommy spoke about family, she meant those bonded not just by blood, but also by love. Mommy could turn anyone into family. Aunt Grace recalled that in primary school Mommy would come home every day with her white blouse covered with handprints because all her friends couldn’t stop hugging her. The family had a saying that Gloria never lost a friend. Instead, she carried them through the many decades of her life, from Jamaica to London and back again, and then later on to Antigua and St. Lucia. I recall that on practically every morning throughout my childhood and teen years, Mommy would wake up and say, “Today is So-and-So’s birthday.”
Just this week Aunt Grace told me that Gloria is the reason she prayed to have two daughters. She wanted her girls to know what it was like to grow up with the kind of sister she had in Gloria. Grace further confessed that Gloria was everyone’s favorite sister, and none of the siblings bore any ill feeling about that fact. That’s because Gloria had the ability to make everyone she met feel like the most special person on earth.
Perhaps because we were in our teens when we moved to 37 Paddington Terrace, we saw this aspect of our mother most clearly during the years we lived there. Mommy and Daddy created a home where everyone felt welcomed, and when the need arose, relatives or friends would move in with us for months or years at a time. Many of you are here in the church with us today—Alison, Brian and Karen, Leslie, Maureen and Sharon.
When Gordon and I were teenagers, Mommy always preferred us to bring our friends home where she could keep an eye on us, and so she made it very appealing for us to do so. She worked long hours showing houses for rent and for sale, yet she somehow managed to make tea sandwiches and stir up pitchers of lemonade for when our friends came over. I know we are among the lucky ones, to have a mother whose love we never questioned, whose spoken pride in us routinely embarrassed us, and whose quick laughter was music in our ear.
I can recall Mommy gently coaching me to face my own music when I was ten. I had feigned a stomach ache as a ploy to stay home rather than go to school and serve a detention for some infraction I had committed. I don’t recall what I did. All I remember is I tried to hide it from Mommy, who knew anyway. Perhaps the school had called her; Mommy was always way too close with our teachers. That morning she sat with her soft healing hand on my forehead and explained that one could not run away from wrong doing; one had to find the courage to make it right or make amends.
Mommy wasn't angry with me or even disappointed in me for what I had done, and even at that age I understood that as a powerful testament to her belief in me. Her point was that I could not shirk the consequences of my actions. That would be cowardly and unworthy of who she knew me to be. I have no idea why this is the memory that stands out for me today. But it is a good a reminder of how very blessed we have been to be raised by Gloria Robotham.
GORDON:
After living briefly as newlyweds in Spanish Town, Mommy and Daddy left for England in the early 1950s so that Daddy could study law. They have been a traveling couple ever since, living first in London where I was conceived, then raising Rosemarie and me in Jamaica, then moving to Antigua and staying just long enough for Rosemarie to meet her husband, Rad. They settled finally in St. Lucia. To this day, Mommy has beloved friends of all ages in Antigua and St. Lucia, people she refers to as her Eastern Caribbean family. In fact, this afternoon at 4 o’clock a memorial service for her is being held in St. Lucia.
Mommy, by her own words, was in the departure lounge for 19 long years, waiting to rejoin her beloved Lascelles. Married for forty-seven years, they were partners in every sense. Which is not to say they didn’t have their challenges. A typical one was the famous Stiebel farewell. Daddy would eventually learn that when Mommy was saying goodbye to her sisters, it simply meant that they moved the conversation outside for another half an hour or so. It didn’t matter how often he called “Gloria?” from the car.
Mommy and Daddy were devout Christians and believed in family prayer. I can remember kneeling around their bed every morning after being woken up much too early it seemed to us. Mommy would assign verses for us to read, and then Rosemarie and I would close our eyes and fall back asleep, pretending to be praying as Mommy blessed our whole extended universe of family and friends, and all who were sick and in need, and on and on, and by the time she was done she had blessed pretty much the whole world.
Mommy used to call her Bible her file cabinet, because over the years it acquired cards, letters, photographs, notes, lists and other bits of memorabilia between its pages. Mommy kept everything in that Bible that she didn’t want to lose track of. There was a birthday greeting card from her first grandchild, Leisa. The envelope says, "To Grandma" in Leisa’s then 8-year-old hand. Underneath that, Mommy had written, "From Leisa, very precious."
There was also a poem from her granddaughter Leah, written when she was 7 years old. It read in part, “Thank you for being here for my birthday but next time please be here for Adam's birthday." This poem, too, was carefully folded and placed between the pages of Mommy’s Bible.
The three oldest grandchildren, Leisa, Raddy and Kai, used to spend July or August in Rodney Bay, St. Lucia, with their grandmother. They looked forward to Grandma Camp every summer and continued going until they were young adults on their way to college. They remember their Grandma taking them to the beach at twilight so they could see the “green flash” before the sun sank below the horizon. Raddy laughs at the memory of Grandma sending all the grandchildren to wash the car when they got too rambunctious. That was pure play for them, because they turned that garden hose on each other more than on the Grandma’s white Honda.
Our children knew what it was to travel first class because they traveled with Grandma, and I don't mean that only in the sense of airlines. She and her beloved longtime housekeeper Stella had them cooking and baking. They played dominos and cards and did summer homework, all under Grandma’s tutelage. And every morning they read the Bible together, from the time they were fledgling readers, with Grandma saying, "Slow down dear, sound it out," as they tried to pronounce names like Ecclesiastes and Nehemiah. Summer with Grandma in St. Lucia was Bible camp, science camp, cooking camp, dance camp, homework camp, comedy camp and best of all cousin camp. The cousins became like siblings over those years, absorbing the same lessons of family devotion and love that their grandmother held most sacred.
During the times when Mommy was in New York, she and my husband Rad used to go to church every Sunday morning, Rad holding my mother's elbow as she pushed her rolling walker. They were partners in faith, both loyal to that little Episcopal church in Harlem. Intermittent churchgoer that I was, most members of St. Mary’s assumed that Rad was my mother's son. Mommy never corrected them. He was her son. Rad recalls that Mommy gave him a most critical piece of advice before he married her daughter. “Rosemarie can be led with a thread,” she told him, “but don’t push her.”
GORDON:
Mommy, on the other hand, could neither be pushed nor led with a thread. She was strong-minded to say the least, and when she had decided something, well, you might as well go along. After all, Mommy wanted nothing more sincerely than the comfort and happiness of her loved ones, and she would not hesitate to let you know how such comfort and happiness might best be achieved. Our cousin Richelle remembers the time she visited New York with her husband Jim. Their Aunty Gloria gave them the use of her studio apartment and went to stay with Rosemarie. After the first night, realizing they had kicked Gloria out of her own apartment, Richelle and Jim decided to book a hotel for the rest of their stay. But Mommy was determined that her apartment was where they needed to be; it would keep them close to family. And so when they told her of their plan to move, Mommy placed a hand ever so gently on Jim’s arm, looked him directly in the eye and said pleasantly, “You’re staying at my apartment. This is not negotiable.”
There are many other stories we could share about Mommy. She often said that when she closed her eyes, we should not mourn her, because she had led an extraordinary life. She excelled in so many areas. Mommy was a master bridge player, often winning at regional tournaments. She loved to entertain in her home, and always had fresh baked banana bread should you happen to stop by at teatime. As a hostess, she was impossible to refuse, as anyone who ever visited her can attest. Mommy also had a black belt in shopping. Even as she became more frail, put a shopping cart before her and all of a sudden relatives and friends could not keep up.
I never saw Mommy eat a hamburger or a hot dog, no doubt because one could not look remotely ladylike eating them. However, watching her devour mangoes was a sight to behold. She was a most efficient eater of that fruit. She would not deign to dirty her lips for a single mango, but would lean over the kitchen sink and dispatch five or six in record time. And that mango seed would be clean. No wonder her granddaughter Kai now judges how good a mango is by whether it tastes like she’s leaning over a sink at Grandma’s house.
Mommy left St. Lucia and moved back to Jamaica in the summer of 2012. During the last three years of her life, Andrene, Leah, Adam and I were privileged to have her living with us and sharing her wisdom, grace and wit on a daily basis. Mommy was especially grateful to Andrene, who gave her unwavering support as she weakened physically, although she firmly declared that her mental faculties remained intact! Our family is also deeply indebted to Stella, Penny, Nicole, Melissa, Coryne and Mavis for the caring way they looked after Mommy when she could no longer do for herself. Gloria’s sister Grace, and our cousins Maureen and Ann, and Leisa’s mom Sharon were also regularly at her side, along with a host of other family and friends. These visits were always so enjoyed and all of you were deeply beloved by our mother.
She once told me that she used to pray that she wouldn't lose her mind as she aged but she forgot to pray for her body. Make no mistake—Mommy’s gift for the quick-witted comeback never deserted her. In fact, just three days before she died, I walked into her room to find her mumbling to herself. I said, “Mommy, why you talking to yourself?!” to which she responded without missing a beat, “Because there’s nobody else in the room.”
At the end, as Mommy’s speech became softer and harder to understand, one sentiment always came through with crystal clarity. “We have been so blessed.” Mommy said it often, and indeed they were the last words she would ever speak to me on this earth. When I called her from New York on the Tuesday night before she died, Mommy and I said her favorite prayer together, ending with, “Wherever we are, God is, and all is well.” I told her how much I love her, and in a voice that was uncharacteristically strong and resonant, she replied, “Oh my darling, we have been so blessed.”
The next morning, March 4, 2015, Gordon held her in his arms as she took her last breath. Mommy was 93 years old.
GORDON:
We have all been fortunate beyond measure to be so richly loved by Gloria Robotham, and to have had the privilege of loving her. She will always live in our memories.
As Mommy would say at every goodbye: God Bless.
God bless.
After living briefly as newlyweds in Spanish Town, Mommy and Daddy left for England in the early 1950s so that Daddy could study law. They have been a traveling couple ever since, living first in London where I was conceived, then raising Rosemarie and me in Jamaica, then moving to Antigua and staying just long enough for Rosemarie to meet her husband, Rad. They settled finally in St. Lucia. To this day, Mommy has beloved friends of all ages in Antigua and St. Lucia, people she refers to as her Eastern Caribbean family. In fact, this afternoon at 4 o’clock a memorial service for her is being held in St. Lucia.
Mommy, by her own words, was in the departure lounge for 19 long years, waiting to rejoin her beloved Lascelles. Married for forty-seven years, they were partners in every sense. Which is not to say they didn’t have their challenges. A typical one was the famous Stiebel farewell. Daddy would eventually learn that when Mommy was saying goodbye to her sisters, it simply meant that they moved the conversation outside for another half an hour or so. It didn’t matter how often he called “Gloria?” from the car.
Mommy and Daddy were devout Christians and believed in family prayer. I can remember kneeling around their bed every morning after being woken up much too early it seemed to us. Mommy would assign verses for us to read, and then Rosemarie and I would close our eyes and fall back asleep, pretending to be praying as Mommy blessed our whole extended universe of family and friends, and all who were sick and in need, and on and on, and by the time she was done she had blessed pretty much the whole world.
ROSEMARIE:
Mommy used to call her Bible her file cabinet, because over the years it acquired cards, letters, photographs, notes, lists and other bits of memorabilia between its pages. Mommy kept everything in that Bible that she didn’t want to lose track of. There was a birthday greeting card from her first grandchild, Leisa. The envelope says, "To Grandma" in Leisa’s then 8-year-old hand. Underneath that, Mommy had written, "From Leisa, very precious."
There was also a poem from her granddaughter Leah, written when she was 7 years old. It read in part, “Thank you for being here for my birthday but next time please be here for Adam's birthday." This poem, too, was carefully folded and placed between the pages of Mommy’s Bible.
The three oldest grandchildren, Leisa, Raddy and Kai, used to spend July or August in Rodney Bay, St. Lucia, with their grandmother. They looked forward to Grandma Camp every summer and continued going until they were young adults on their way to college. They remember their Grandma taking them to the beach at twilight so they could see the “green flash” before the sun sank below the horizon. Raddy laughs at the memory of Grandma sending all the grandchildren to wash the car when they got too rambunctious. That was pure play for them, because they turned that garden hose on each other more than on the Grandma’s white Honda.
Our children knew what it was to travel first class because they traveled with Grandma, and I don't mean that only in the sense of airlines. She and her beloved longtime housekeeper Stella had them cooking and baking. They played dominos and cards and did summer homework, all under Grandma’s tutelage. And every morning they read the Bible together, from the time they were fledgling readers, with Grandma saying, "Slow down dear, sound it out," as they tried to pronounce names like Ecclesiastes and Nehemiah. Summer with Grandma in St. Lucia was Bible camp, science camp, cooking camp, dance camp, homework camp, comedy camp and best of all cousin camp. The cousins became like siblings over those years, absorbing the same lessons of family devotion and love that their grandmother held most sacred.
During the times when Mommy was in New York, she and my husband Rad used to go to church every Sunday morning, Rad holding my mother's elbow as she pushed her rolling walker. They were partners in faith, both loyal to that little Episcopal church in Harlem. Intermittent churchgoer that I was, most members of St. Mary’s assumed that Rad was my mother's son. Mommy never corrected them. He was her son. Rad recalls that Mommy gave him a most critical piece of advice before he married her daughter. “Rosemarie can be led with a thread,” she told him, “but don’t push her.”
GORDON:
Mommy, on the other hand, could neither be pushed nor led with a thread. She was strong-minded to say the least, and when she had decided something, well, you might as well go along. After all, Mommy wanted nothing more sincerely than the comfort and happiness of her loved ones, and she would not hesitate to let you know how such comfort and happiness might best be achieved. Our cousin Richelle remembers the time she visited New York with her husband Jim. Their Aunty Gloria gave them the use of her studio apartment and went to stay with Rosemarie. After the first night, realizing they had kicked Gloria out of her own apartment, Richelle and Jim decided to book a hotel for the rest of their stay. But Mommy was determined that her apartment was where they needed to be; it would keep them close to family. And so when they told her of their plan to move, Mommy placed a hand ever so gently on Jim’s arm, looked him directly in the eye and said pleasantly, “You’re staying at my apartment. This is not negotiable.”
There are many other stories we could share about Mommy. She often said that when she closed her eyes, we should not mourn her, because she had led an extraordinary life. She excelled in so many areas. Mommy was a master bridge player, often winning at regional tournaments. She loved to entertain in her home, and always had fresh baked banana bread should you happen to stop by at teatime. As a hostess, she was impossible to refuse, as anyone who ever visited her can attest. Mommy also had a black belt in shopping. Even as she became more frail, put a shopping cart before her and all of a sudden relatives and friends could not keep up.
I never saw Mommy eat a hamburger or a hot dog, no doubt because one could not look remotely ladylike eating them. However, watching her devour mangoes was a sight to behold. She was a most efficient eater of that fruit. She would not deign to dirty her lips for a single mango, but would lean over the kitchen sink and dispatch five or six in record time. And that mango seed would be clean. No wonder her granddaughter Kai now judges how good a mango is by whether it tastes like she’s leaning over a sink at Grandma’s house.
Mommy left St. Lucia and moved back to Jamaica in the summer of 2012. During the last three years of her life, Andrene, Leah, Adam and I were privileged to have her living with us and sharing her wisdom, grace and wit on a daily basis. Mommy was especially grateful to Andrene, who gave her unwavering support as she weakened physically, although she firmly declared that her mental faculties remained intact! Our family is also deeply indebted to Stella, Penny, Nicole, Melissa, Coryne and Mavis for the caring way they looked after Mommy when she could no longer do for herself. Gloria’s sister Grace, and our cousins Maureen and Ann, and Leisa’s mom Sharon were also regularly at her side, along with a host of other family and friends. These visits were always so enjoyed and all of you were deeply beloved by our mother.
She once told me that she used to pray that she wouldn't lose her mind as she aged but she forgot to pray for her body. Make no mistake—Mommy’s gift for the quick-witted comeback never deserted her. In fact, just three days before she died, I walked into her room to find her mumbling to herself. I said, “Mommy, why you talking to yourself?!” to which she responded without missing a beat, “Because there’s nobody else in the room.”
ROSEMARIE:
At the end, as Mommy’s speech became softer and harder to understand, one sentiment always came through with crystal clarity. “We have been so blessed.” Mommy said it often, and indeed they were the last words she would ever speak to me on this earth. When I called her from New York on the Tuesday night before she died, Mommy and I said her favorite prayer together, ending with, “Wherever we are, God is, and all is well.” I told her how much I love her, and in a voice that was uncharacteristically strong and resonant, she replied, “Oh my darling, we have been so blessed.”
The next morning, March 4, 2015, Gordon held her in his arms as she took her last breath. Mommy was 93 years old.
GORDON:
We have all been fortunate beyond measure to be so richly loved by Gloria Robotham, and to have had the privilege of loving her. She will always live in our memories.
As Mommy would say at every goodbye: God Bless.
God bless.
This was amazing...Thanks for posting it. Much love to you.
ReplyDeleteMy God, how beautiful. Thank you for sharing this; it is, literally, uplifting.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.She was right, you all are so blessed.
ReplyDeleteVery moving, heartwarming testament. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful. You and your brother did a great job honoring her.
ReplyDelete