As a young man, somewhat introverted and uncomfortable at family gatherings, I sat with my Aunt Cilla at the funeral of Joanna Gonyea Berg. I was seated by her by chance—our families often sat together at family functions and funerals—but, as was usual for Cilla, she took my hand and stroked it, hoping I’m sure to soothe my anxiety. And it did. This comes to mind for two reasons; it displays Cilla’s greatest quality and gift, her sincere caring for others, and at that service the priest said something that eased my discomfort then and many times since.
He said that we should not mourn for Joanna, for she was with God. “Think of it,” he said enthusiastically, “She is with God, the most wonderful end to a life that there can be.” And if there is any solace for us here today, it is that Cilla is with God, and with Muriel and Millie and Joanna and all of the relatives and friends that have passed before her.
And especially my mother Millie. Millie was Priscilla’s sister, surrogate mother and life-long friend. They grew even closer in retirement, and Cilla was at my mother’s side, comforting her through Dad’s illness and death. When Millie took ill, Cilla spent every day with her. She comforted us upon Millie’s death, even though she was mourning deeply as well. Many say Cilla was never the same since then, and I know, second to being here with us today, she would want to be with Millie.
Millie and Cilla were very much alike, and I don’t know how they developed their ability to care so deeply for family and friends, their calm acceptance of their fates or their humility in their accomplishments, but they did.
Perhaps it was in their early years. Born late in life to Grammy, Cilla was a premature baby, weighing only 2 lbs at birth. Because Grammy was ill after that, 15-year-old Millie spent most of her time caring for Cilla. She said she didn’t really know Cilla’s health was an issue and treated her as casually as any other baby.
Cilla responded by becoming a healthy, active child. She was an excellent athlete, especially in basketball. And she had a healthy attraction to boys. Shorty recalls that she used to have to take Billy and him along when she went swimming. She was a bit taller than they and could swim a bit which they couldn’t, so she would carry them out the raft anchored in the lake and leave them stranded there while she “flirted with the boys.”
He also recalls that she took him roller-skating. Because he had difficulty with skating, she would hold his hand and pull him along after her. One time she began flirting with some boys and, not noticing a wall wing that protruded onto the rink a bit, pancaked Shorty into it. He says she was very sorry about that.
Cilla’s high school years in Sunapee were interrupted by Grammy’s failing health. She was sent to live with Millie and Chappie who were newly wed. After graduation, she moved back to Sunapee, and, after a few years, Cilla’s caring nature found expression in nursing, a profession wonderfully suited for her great ability to give comfort and support.
I will remember Cilla for the warmth of her personality and for how she always was able to make me feel special. She was so caring and attentive to me that I felt I was her favorite, and that there was something special about me that brought her out. Later, I learned that many people felt like they were her favorite, and that it was she that had something special that brought me out.
I think each of us here have an understanding of that, a story to tell of something she said or did that made us feel special. It was a gift she gave freely, often, and with no conditions. It is a gift we will all miss.
Cilla was devoted to her family. She never missed a birthday, an anniversary or a reunion. She went to all her children’s and grandchildren’s games and events, and participated actively as a fan. Ricky recalls that every game he played in from Kindergarten to rec league, Cilla was there, yelling loudly and often, rooting him on. Her rooting was so loud he often asked her to hold back a bit, but she was never able to. She continued to attend Sunapee High School games long after her own children had graduated.
Cilla was devoted to Uncle Al. Together they forged a life, the worth of which we acknowledge here today. Their 50Th wedding anniversary was a heavily attended celebration of that life as well. They loved and supported each other deeply. Although, she did seem to be quite conniving about getting money out of Uncle Al, gleefully celebrating behind his back when she did.
Cilla was devoted to her church. She gave freely of her time and talent with crafts and knitting, and never sought recognition or reward for it. She accepted Jesus Christ as her savior and lived the Christian virtues of tolerance, charity and faith. That strong faith was evident with the way she accepted her death. She was particularly appreciative of Sister Kathleen for her support.
Cilla had a fierce determination, never more evident than how she willed herself to be at Brandy’s graduation from college and at Katie O’Leary’s high school graduation. Although she was in need of oxygen, she made sure she was in attendance for these events so important to her. At Katie’s graduation, Cilla had to sit through intense heat for two hours, but she made sure she did. She was determined to see her friends, and went on her Tuesday night shopping trips to Ames with Audrey and Gloria to the very end.
Cilla was excellent at organizing events, from the Forrester’s New Year’s Eve parties (although she was apparently a bit obsessive about cutting the sandwiches at a perfect 45 degree angle) to trips with friends. She had a great mind for finances, and would keep the money on trips with friends to dole out when needed. She was always willing and able to remind people that if they had that extra dessert, they would owe the kitty for it. She used to save money by hiding it in various places in her pocketbook. Al found over $500 in there, with little notes attached to them describing whose birthday or anniversary they would go toward.
Cilla had a bit of a Stoic in her. She accepted her life as it was and believed that the world was purposefully ordered. She believed in the law and that it was based upon doing what was right. “That’s not the right thing to do,” Ricky says he often heard her say. She was particularly supportive of the police and was horrified to receive a speeding ticket once. After that, she drove well below the speed limit with white-knuckled determination.
And she was quick to remind others of the speed limit as well. Once when I was driving Millie, Cilla and Ruthy Joyal down to see my father in a Boston hospital, I was doing ten to fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit and Cilla, in the back seat with mother, began to inquire as to the speed I was going. When I told her, she harrumphed a bit and said that she was sure I would be pulled over. I told her not to worry, that I drove that way most of the time. She continued to suggest that I slow down until we heard a siren behind the car closing quickly. As I pulled over, Cilla somewhat gleefully I thought told me exactly what I could expect from the law, and I sensed that she wouldn’t be of much help to me there. However, the police had bigger fish to fry and sped by us. From the back seat I heard, “Jeeze, I speed once in my life and get caught and he gets away with it all the time.” I think I might have heard a curse in there as well. I think it offended her strong sense of the proper order in the world.
Cilla was a great friend. She had time for people, and could turn every negative into a positive. She often believed more in you than you did in yourself. She gave us support, encouragement, strength and confidence. Her doctor said that she always seemed to be more concerned with her friends and family than she was with herself. She would always ask about people you knew and cared about even when she did not know them herself.
Cilla loved to play cards. It was a social activity that brought friends and family together and she was adept at organizing them. Unfortunately, her warm nature changed dramatically when she played cards and she displayed a ruthless competitive instinct. “A poor loser,” is the way Uncle Al puts it.
But, it will be for her great humanity and inviting nature that Cilla will be remembered. I feel that Robert Frost may have captured some sense of this in his short poem, The Pasture.
I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may);
I shan’t be gone long—you come too.
I’m going to fetch the little calf,
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long—you come too.
Cilla placed meaning in the everyday aspects of her life, and she unfailingly invited us into it.
Cilla’s death marks the end of the Sleeper Sisters, women of uncommon grace and humility who made the world better. Deep down, I think I realize that Cilla was a better person than I am, than many of us are, I dare to say. And that we are less for not having her with us anymore.
Cilla, we will miss your quick smile, your delight in greeting people, the way you would look at us quickly with piercing eyes after you had made a comment about something or someone, to make sure we got your meaning.
We will miss the touch of your hand on our shoulders, the intensity of your eyes, the love in your hugs, and the wisdom in your words.
In this world, it is difficult to find someone who unfailingly encourages us, who sincerely cares about us, and who truly listens to what we say.
Indeed, Cilla, this is why we miss you already.
By Michael O’Leary
July, 2002
