‘Wait ’til your father gets home’

Depending on how you look at it, June 2017 could be viewed as sorrowful or joyous.

Mildred Marie Zawadsky Davaz — our mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister-in-law and friend — passed away on June 14. You know this because she’s the reason you’re here.

Three days later our family lost a son, brother and father — Leslie Paul Davaz.

These are staggering losses because both Les and Mom defined big pieces of who this family is. Today we honor both of them.

When mom was born, movies didn’t have sound and sliced bread hadn’t been invented. Her parents arrived in this country on steamships as immigrants. Her twin brother Wesley was a Marine who fought in some of the greatest battles of World War II.

Mom was most proud of four things: that she was a valedictorian (we never heard the end of that); she married an army officer, she had five sons; and she took care of her mother in her own home.

She raised five boys, sometimes alone.

She endured sacrifice with grace. There was Korea and Vietnam.

Whether it was through the boredom of sitting in a pickup truck on the shore of Kachemak Bay or the confusion and uncertainty of a place named Ward 16, she embodied loyalty and love.

In my life, there were three things she said over and over. Here, I can only repeat two of them.

The first: “Good, better, best, never let it rest, till good is better and better is best.” You can hear her say her say that in a video in her online obituary.

The second and most common, of course was: “Wait ’til your father gets home.”

Years ago, during regular family dinner celebrations of birthdays and significant events, my daughter Reed came up with what has become a family tradition. After dinner someone would begin the ritual in honor of that day’s “person.”

Today it’s time to go around the table for everyone to say one favorite thing about mom.

“Mom was always grateful for all of her blessings and full of love and loyalty for her family and friends.”

Thank you, Sandy.

“She enhanced my life. I would say that would have to be her refined sense of hospitality and etiquette, which was evidenced every holiday and birthday or visit. She had such a marvelous sense of appropriate manners and behavior at each and every occasion, which I envied and tried to emulate. I always enjoyed receiving her sentimental notes to mark special times, birthday and anniversary cards, all in her impeccable handwriting. What great memories!”

Thank you, Roxy.

“I loved how she cherished her stories about her friends and family and would share them with me while sitting at her kitchen table. I learned so much about her through her telling of stories.”

Thank you, Reed.

“When she would hold your hand, she would pat it a few times as if to say a silent ‘I love you.'”

Thank you, Stephanie.

“She was very funny and always seemed to make people laugh.”

Thank you, Olivia.

“Grammy would sing little songs or hum along with music. It was wonderful hear her. It reminded me of Grandad because he use to sing the same songs to us, though Grammy’s were sweet and Grandad’s were silly.”

“Come, little leaves,
Said the wind one day,
Come over the meadows
With me, and play;
Put on your dresses
Of red and gold;
Summer is gone,
And the days grow cold.”

Thank you, Vanessa.

“Her stories. Even if she told me the same stories every time I visited, I didn’t tire of hearing them and she always looked so happy to share them.”

Thank you, Natalie.

“Some of my favorite memories of Grammy were her stories and her songs. She was always proud to tell the story of being valedictorian and going to school on Old Post Road. She always wanted to tell stories about her travels and where her two matching lamps came from. I’ll always love the ‘come little leaves’ song she used to sing about the summer changing into fall, and how she and Granddad used to sing ‘Clementine’ and ‘Franky and Johnny’ together. One of her favorite songs to sing in church was “Let there be peace on Earth.” It was always nice to sing that song with her, and to hold her hand at church.”

Thank you, Melissa.

“Her kindness. She would always ask how friends and family were when I talked to her, and she would remember everyone’s names even if she had only met them briefly. Grandmom was kind, gracious, had impeccable manners and beautiful handwriting.”

“Another memory is that growing up and even the last time that I was at their house in Bellevue, I was never permitted to go in the front living room with the mint green carpeting. But when Olivia and Eliot were little, Granddad and Collin went fishing in Alaska and we went to stay with her for a few weeks while they were gone. During this time the kids went in there all the time and would sit and read books or play and they would leave little footprints in the immaculate carpet. I remember being horrified that I would get in trouble for them going in there, but she kindly let them be in there.”

Thank you, Elsa.

“Mom was a storyteller with an incredible memory for people, places, and details.”

“In the summer of 2015, Nick was with us when we visited Mom. He brought a box of family photographs and high school memorabilia. She remembered where she wore that green silk dress in Taiwan and who made it. Who lived next door. Who had children of similar ages to her own. And where they lived after retirement, which she knew because of the innumerable Christmas cards she’d sent every year.”

“Nick would, one by one, go through the name cards from her graduating class, giving Mom either a first name, if it were more unusual, or the last name. She would immediately complete the name and offer something about that person: who they dated, who they married, a special skill or talent. There wasn’t one she didn’t recall.”

“She relished sharing stories about family and friends, especially when sitting around the kitchen table in Bellevue over a cup of tea and a piece of cake after a meal. Coconut cake was her favorite.”

Thank you, Kim.

“Her lifetime commitment to her mother, the grandmother my brothers and I called ‘Nana.'”

Thank you, Nick.

— Carl Davaz