Eulogy for Gabrielle K. McGhee, my beloved Mummy / December 13, 1935 - October 11, 2025

We lost our beloved Mummy on the very same day as our wedding celebration. She was so happy for us and was planning to come celebrate in New York and meet my new family . . . until a swift-moving cancer took her away in a matter of weeks. She messaged me to please find our joy and not allow her situation to get in the way of the wedding celebration.

Here she is, not too long ago, in my window seat and under the lantern from the house I grew up in, now transplanted to our New York City home.

And here is my eulogy for her, on audio and in text, none better than my mummy.

Love, Holly

EULOGY

Hi.

This is Holly McGhee, my mummy's third daughter.

I'm sending this tribute over audio, as I cannot be at her beloved Twin Churches physically today.

Back in 2018, I gave a speech at Remsen Elementary School, based on my novel Matylda Bright and Tender. I spoke to a hundred or so fifth graders, and my parents came along with me. I spoke about my characters, one who lived and one who died, and the idea that we can hold the tension of joy and sorrow at the same time. It seemed to resonate with these wonderful kids, some of whom had been or were going through deep grief.

I was staying with my parents, and early the next morning, I went down to the kitchen to partake of some of my Mom's endless pots of coffee, and there she was, by the sink, in her robe. It was as if she was waiting for me. Her hands were shaking as she held them out for me to hold . . . It was around 7 a.m. We took each other's hands, and we held on for some time. Then, in a trembling voice, she said, "You know . . . you know . . . until I heard your talk, I never realized you could be sad and happy at the same time.” A few tears were streaming down her face. Our eyes locked, and stayed deep, and then we hugged. I will never forget that morning, and I'll never forget her courage . . . from there on, our relationship was one of peace.

I remarried on October 11th, the very same day she went on.

Just a few weeks prior, my husband Marty and I had video chatted my mother from a taxi cab as we always did when on the way to a NYC airport. She'd usually say, eyes rolling, "Okay where are you going now?”.

But this time, her big question was what she should wear to our wedding party in New York City. And what did I think of her wearing the same dress she wore to her granddaughter's wedding? We had bought the train tickets, she was traveling with my dear friend Dwight Putnam, and I couldn't wait for her to meet my new mother-in-law and Marty's large family, and for her to see all of my college roommates. She knew them so well from Cornell. She did mention she was feeling less energetic than usual. But in Gaby's world, that energy is still very high.

Then came her diagnosis, while we were in Dublin, and she wrote us a blessing and told us how beautiful we were and she didn't want her situation to get in the way of the big plans.

That's my Mummy.

She always thought for herself, and was so patient as she waited for her heart and mind to come together and make a decision. In her quiet way, she was the bravest person I know, never herding with the group, and our love was strong and fierce.

Of course, we had no idea she would leave us so fast.

But about a half hour before our large wedding party in New York City my brother let me know that my mother had not breathed in 22 minutes.

And there is the very tension and balance of holding these extremes, the very thing we talked about on that kitchen morning.

She gave us her blessing, she was so happy for us, and then she was gone.

Her last wish was that we dance to ROLL OUT THE BARREL in her honor, and I still plan to do that, but I couldn't hold the great loss of her, minutes before our party and the rollicking song she used to love dancing to with Charlie Anken. I'll make it up to her though.

My mummy is one of my heros, and we grew up together in so many ways—we could disagree and work it through and come out stronger . . . that is rare, and we did that quite often! She was the very best grandmother to my children and they loved visiting her. When my oldest could eventually sometimes beat her at Scrabble, she hated it! I never requested that my kids go visit Grandma Nini, it was always their own idea / they adored her.

There's a poem my mummy gave me a long long time ago, and one of her favorites, and I'm going to read it now, because she and I definitely found our "white singing hour". We gave all we had for peace and we won it.

I love you Mummy and I know that you and your other half are together again. I'm sure of it.

Barter

By Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,

All beautiful and splendid things,

Blue waves whitened on a cliff,

Soaring fire that sways and sings,

And children's faces looking up

Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,

Music like a curve of gold,

Scent of pine trees in the rain,

Eyes that love you, arms that hold,

And for your spirit's still delight,

Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,

Buy it and never count the cost;

For one white singing hour of peace

Count many a year of strife well lost,

And for a breath of ecstasy

Give all you have been, or could be.