Good morning everyone, my name is Brenda Wahlen. I am the second daughter and fourth child of nine children [five boys, four daughters] of our mother, Margaret Mary Kierans, maiden name Mulligan, whose life we are celebrating this morning. Our mother passed from this world last Thursday, June 3 at the age of 85. You probably know our mother as 'Mary', so 'Mary', 'Mother' or 'Mom' is how I will refer to her during these remarks today. All eight surviving children of Mom are present here in this church this morning, along with her grandchildren, friends, fellow parishioners and members of the community.

Many of you know Mary from the last 15 years of her life spent here in the Vancouver area. However, the journey of Mary's life before she got here was long and often difficult. In persevering on that journey Mom always maintained a keen sense of adventure and an essential 'joie de vivre' while all the time personifying the virtues of faith, hope and love.

Each of my mother's surviving children had a role in preparing these reflections on her life, which I am sharing with you today. From the oldest to the youngest, they are, Mae Kierans, (Mae, please stand). Mae, a 45 year member of the Order of the Sisters of St. Joseph who lives in North Bay, Ontario. Tom, (Tom, please stand). Tom lives and works as a stationary engineer in Montreal, PQ and is married to Marijo. Murray (Murray, please stand). Murray is a retired lawyer and accountant who lives in Collingwood, ON. He is here with his 'significant other', Cate. I am a social worker and I live in Coquitlam with my husband, Len. Michael (Michael, please stand). Michael is a former lawyer who lives in Prague, CZ, with his wife Dagmar, where he owns and operates a coffee restaurant business. Teresa Spurr (Teresa, please stand), a Career Guidance Counsellor, who is now courageously battling cancer herself, who lives with her husband, Jim in Coquitlam. Kathleen (Kathleen, please stand). Kathleen is a lawyer who lives and works here in Vancouver. Last, but definitely not least, my youngest brother, Paul (Paul, please stand). Our special brother Paul lives with his friends and the wonderful staff at L'Arche, located in Burnaby.

On July 25th of last year, my second youngest brother, Harry Kierans, husband of Sylvana and father of Christopher (Christopher, please stand) passed away. Many of you here today were also present at Harry's deeply moving funeral. On behalf of our family, I would like to thank once again the parishioners of Our Lady of Fatima Church and particularly your pastor, Father Tepoorten, as well as the Church staff and volunteers for their unfailing support during our time of grieving, both for our brother Harry last summer and once again during the long and painful weeks that led up to Mother's passing this past Thursday.

In the early morning hours of last Thursday, June 3, 2004, the west coast populace awoke to news reports of a strange occurrence that happened during the previous night. A large meteor, traveling from north to south, had lit up the nighttime sky in a blazing flash of light. Those who saw the meteor said that for several seconds, the night was as bright as day. Since the dawn of time, humans have wondered at the significance of such spectacular occurrences. To some of us, the family and friends of Mary, there was no cause for wonder. To us, it seemed only fitting that such spectacular natural phenomenon would coincide with the imminent passing of the remarkable woman that we knew as our mother and friend.

Shortly after Mother's death, my brother, Murray said he was reminded of a line from Shakespeare's' play Julius Caesar, which he paraphrased as:

"Her life was gentle, and the elements
So mixed in her that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, this was a woman!"

To those of us privileged to know and love Mary Kierans, the blazing trail of light in the night sky on the eve of her passing was a salute to her unique ability to brighten up our world. As my sisters, Teresa and Kathleen said, the brilliant light was tracing the path of angels coming to earth to carry God's faithful servant Mary home.

Margaret Mary Mulligan was born on April 28, 1919 in the rugged northern Ontario mining town of Sudbury, Ontario. She was the third daughter of seven children born to Murray Mulligan and May Flanagan. Her father, Murray Mulligan, was a respected lawyer and later a Judge. He had followed in the footsteps of his own father, my mother's grandfather, Judge James Mulligan, who was at one time a law partner of Sir John A. MacDonald. Mom's mother, May was a descendant of the one of two Flanagan brothers, early Trans Canada Railroad workers credited with being the first discoverers of the nickel deposits in the Sudbury Basin.

Mary grew up during the dark, difficult days of the Depression and the decades leading up to the Second World War. When Mary was nine, her own mother became seriously ill and was hospitalized. May Mulligan died three years later. This event had a profound effect upon Mary that was to reverberate down the decades and generations that followed.

Our family believes that Mom's loss of her mother at such tender years imbued her with the belief that parenthood and family are two of the most important things in life. She had as an example the devotion that her father, Judge Murray Mulligan showed to his motherless brood as well as an extended support system of siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins. In addition, Mom had the benefit of upbringing in the Catholic Church and the Sudbury Catholic school system. Though example and education, it was instilled in the deepest core of Mom's being that devotion and service to family, Church, community and humanity, no matter how lowly, poor, sick, desperate or seemingly unattractive those who she served were - is the highest calling any of us can respond to while we are here on earth.

In the early 1940's my mother, then a beautiful woman in her early 20's, met my father, Thomas William Kierans, a mining engineer freshly graduated from McGill University in Montreal. They met in Sudbury at a Catholic Youth Organization meeting at Mom's Church, Christ the King. My mother was the CYO Secretary and my father, attending his first meeting, was smitten instantly.

Although my parents separated and divorced in the early 70's, they worked hard afterwards to maintain a cordial, co-operative relationship for the sake of their children. My father, now retired and living in St. John's, NFLD, is deeply sorrowful at this time, as he has always held a deep love and respect for my mother. In a recent email to me, Dad asked that I stress in this eulogy that my mother's charitable works of which many of you are aware, were lifelong. As an illustration, he asked me to make reference to a letter Mom received on February 26, 1968 from Senator Robert F. Kennedy of the United States that was written to Mom less than six months before Senator's Kennedy's assassination. Here is an excerpt of the letter Senator Kennedy wrote:

"…I have sent your contribution on to the Friends of the Children of Mississippi, a group which operates a voluntary preschool program in six counties in eastern Mississippi. Among the children attending are many who can be benefited by your thoughtful gift."

A year or so after her marriage to my father, the birth of my sister Mae made my Mom a mother for the first time. My brothers Tom and Murray soon followed, and then me, in 1946. The early years of our family were spent moving from one small mining town in the Sudbury Nickel Belt to another - first Frood, then Copper Cliff, then Creighton Mine.

My first real memories are of Creighton Mine, an isolated mining town deep in the bushland of Northern Ontario. It was a town comprised largely of recent immigrants displaced by the Second World War, struggling hard to make a fresh start in a new country. It was in Creighton that my mother's quiet selfless activism and volunteerism first came to the fore. Almost single-handedly, she founded a small public library, mainly to help the newly arrived Canadians and their children master a new language and culture.

While playing a quiet but important role in her Church and small community, Mary's life was caught up in the endless chores that fell to the young mother of an ever-increasing brood in those days. Keep in mind this was before the advent of the electric washing machine, dryer, dishwasher and microwave. Mom's mainstays against the drudgery were her wry humour and her love of reading, music and daily prayer.

As children, Mom made us pray, sometimes more often than restless children wanted to, especially the Morning Offering at breakfast, and the Rosary after supper. Friends or relatives who called on us during these times were invited to join in.

My sister, Mae remembers that during Lent we walked over a mile on the gravel roads of Creighton Mine to daily Mass, and recited "Prayers After Communion" on the way home. One of these prayers - "Soul of Christ, Sanctify me, Body of Christ, Save me," Mom prayed daily during her last days in the hospital. Two weeks ago, after reciting her favourite prayer to the Canadian Jesuit Martyrs, Mae told Mom, "Those Jesuits will give you a big bear hug when they welcome you into heaven." My Mom whispered back, "That will be very nice."

My brother, Tom believes that to truly know the "spirit" of our Mother was to experience her strong faith in God. He remembers how every evening Mom organized her children to say the rosary together as a family, all kneeling around the bed in the master bedroom. This memory was reawakened for Tom when all of Mom's children again prayed the Rosary as we circled her bedside during her final hours.

Like Mae, Tom remembers how Mom demonstrated her unpretentious but indomitable faith, in fair weather and foul, by trudging the gravel roads of Creighton Mine that led from our modest company home to St. Michael's Church. During these 'pilgrimages' to early morning Mass or to participate in other Church activities, Mom usually brought along at least one of her children - often Tom as her oldest son and helper. To this day, Tom believes he found his own enduring faith while accompanying Mom on these many "pilgrimages" over the years of his youth.

To Tom, the family rosary we recited together at Mom's hospital bedside, together with other prayers and songs - really represented Mom's last "pilgrimage". In devoting herself to her family and to her Church and community through her countless works of quiet charity our Mother gave herself to God her entire life. When He finally took her to Him, all of us, even, in spirit, our departed brother Harry, were present.

My brother, Murray remembers Mom's essential wisdom, taught to her children by oft-repeated homilies, adages and miscellaneous quotations from sources ranging from the Bible and the complete works of Shakespeare (both in dog-eared volumes) to Aesop's Fables and Grimm's Fairy Tales. "Judge not, and ye shall not be judged;" "To thine own self be true;" and "The early bird gets the worm," are just a few among thousands of sage words ingrained in our consciousness by timely repetition.

Murray also remembers Mom's wry wit and droll sense of humour. Mom's particular specialty was the pun or play on words, known affectionately to us kids as "Mom's groaners". Murray remembers how Mom seemed to measure the success of a so-called 'witticism' by the loudness of the groan it evoked from her kids gathered around the dinner table. And the louder the groan, the bigger the impish grin on Mother's face as she savored the moment.

During the Creighton Mine years, Mom's children Michael, Teresa, Harry and Kathleen appeared on the scene. No account of Mom's life during this period could omit the wonderful summers our family spent at our cottage on Ramsey Lake, the largest lake in the Sudbury area.

As a young girl born into a large Irish-Catholic family, Mom had spent many happy summers with her brothers and sisters in a rambling wood-frame cottage (which Northern Ontarians call a "camp") nestled amongst birches, poplars and cedars on the shores of "Mulligan Bay", a small cove on Lake Ramsey. Mom's grandfather, Judge James Mulligan, was the original owner of Mulligan Bay and he had passed it on to his family, including Mom's father, Judge Murray Mulligan.

By the time Mom had become a wife and the mother of a rapidly growing brood of her own, several more "camps" had been built on Mulligan Bay to accommodate our family and the families of Mom's siblings, all now procreating to form an ever-expanding Mulligan clan.

As children, we couldn't wait for school to end and the annual summer migration to Mulligan Bay. It was the start of the all-too-short summer weeks spent running wild with our many cousins - swimming, canoeing and exploring the surrounding woods by day; with huge interfamily dinners of hotdogs and corn on the cob in the evenings followed by bonfires, marsh mellow roasts and sing-alongs.

Both Michael's and Teresa's reflections relate to the Mulligan Bay summers.

Michael remembers, as a boy of five, playing in the sand on the beach and watching Mom do her trademark breaststroke out to Big Point and beyond. One day, when Mom disappeared beyond the Point and failed to return, Michael panicked and began to cry, fearing he'd lost his mother forever. Many minutes passed. Finally, Mom's head reappeared, bobbing on the waves as she swam back. Reassured that he still had his mother, Michael's tears subsided and he went back to playing in the sand.

For Michael, our Mom has once again swum out beyond the point and disappeared from view. Like the rest of us his first reaction is fear and panic. How can we go on in a world that no longer includes our Mom? Michael feels the answer is that although Mom has disappeared from view, through her love over the years she has given us a part of her that can never be lost in the waves.

Teresa's Ramsey Lake memories feature blueberries. As a young wife and mother, Mom quickly perfected her pie-making skills (everything, of course, "made from scratch"). Among us kids, including the cousins, it was an undisputed fact that Mom's blueberry pies (and the "rhuberry" pie she later invented made from rhubarb and blueberries) were the best.

On evenings when Mom's blueberry pies were on the dinner menu at our camp the word would spread like wildfire on Mulligan Bay. The number of mouth-watering kids crammed around our long table would multiply miraculously - a miracle only surpassed by the speed with which the steaming hot slices of pie, served with Mom's homemade ice cream, disappeared into small, blue-smeared faces.

But to make a blueberry pie, you need to pick the primary ingredient - not always a pleasant task. As a result of her own girlhood summers on Mulligan Bay, Mom was a master blueberry picker. And she did not hesitate to recruit her children of all ages to help her in harvesting the crop. Teresa recalls, as a girl of seven or eight being taken by Mom on an expedition to a Ramsey Lake island aptly named "Blueberry Island." One hot summer day Mom arranged to have Teresa and one or two of the other children dropped off with herself on this island by boat to pick blueberries. The boatman was asked to return several hours later.

Teresa remembers crouching there on the dusty ground, dolefully but dutifully picking blueberries beside her Mom. Rumours of bears on the island made her nervous at first but after a few hours in the hot sun her fears subsided and her imagination started to drift. Teresa was soon picturing herself as marooned forever on the Island, picking and eating berries alongside the furry creatures that had now become her island friends. She even fantacized about turning into a bear herself if the boatman never returned. That memory is dear to Teresa. It evokes a day when she felt very close to the earth, to nature, and to our wonderful Mom. It is one of many treasured memories Mom left behind to sustain us in the days ahead.

My brother Paul was the final addition to the Kierans clan, arriving in 1959. By this time we had moved to the 'big city' of Sudbury. The Sudbury years were eventful ones, with Mom trying her best to cope with raging teenage angst and helpless toddlers at the same time. But no matter how hard we tested her, Mom's love and support was unswerving.

Our house at 250 Edmund Street was close to the railroad shunting yard. Vagrants and men 'down on their luck' were constantly showing up at our door. No doubt the hobo's grapevine had told them there was always a handout to be had from the pretty lady in the big white house above the tracks. Mom never failed to give these men kindness and comfort. I remember one man who was so disheveled he made me a little frightened. When I asked Mom why she let him in the house she said, "That man could be Jesus in disguise."

A later family move took Mom and the children who had not already left the nest to Montreal. By the time the mid-70's rolled around, all of us children had left the nest. Mom was divorced by then and living on her own in Toronto, close to Paul who was in a group home.

Did Mom relax now that her large brood was gone? Not our Mom! She threw herself into her new career as a home care assistant and immersed herself even more deeply in her volunteer activities. It was classic Mom - never resting on her oars - doing what she knew and loved - quietly giving comfort and help to those who needed it.

It took the west coast Kierans' until 1989 to persuade Mom (and of course, Paul) to come out here, where there was a new generation of her progeny in need of her nurturing skills. And that brings us to the point in Mom's life at which many of you can pick up the story.

I would like to leave you with some of my own further thoughts and reflections and some from my 'best brother' Paul.

After my mother relocated to the West Coast at the age of 70 with our brother Paul to be here with her children and grandchildren, she set herself up in her own small apartment. In no time Mom was back at her lifelong work of 'volunteering' as she so humbly put it. As many of you know, over the past years Mary has regularly volunteered at:

	My brother Paul's Group Home, 'L'arche';
	The Mom's and Tot's Drop-in 'Family Place' that I started up in Port Coquitlam;
	The St. Vincent de Paul Clothing Store;
	At Agape - Downtown East Side Drop-in for Sex Trade Workers;
	As a 'Friendly Visitor' to the sick and dying in Hospices and Hospitals
	The Legion of Mary;

She was a prime mover in the 'Faith and Light' group run out of this Church; and as an activist at rallies and demonstrations for causes she believed in.

I have always preferred to wear bright, primary colours - eschewing the trendy neutral tones. In the fullness of my years, after some degree of maturity, I finally learned where my love of bright hues originated. Wherever she went, Mom always wore bright primary colours and, with a frugality learned the hard way during the Depression, she always shopped at thrift shops and the St. Vincent de Paul Clothing Store.

If my Mom paid over 50 cents for a blouse she was disappointed! Heck, she even volunteered at the St. Vincent de Paul Clothing shop for many years - carefully separating clothing donated in bags and bundles. During this work she occasionally 'found' an outfit or two for herself.

When Mom joined our family events she invariably arrived dressed top to toe in a cheerful carefully, colour-co-ordinated outfit - scarves, blouses, skirts, shoes and handbags. In honour of that trait, I am going to separate my reflections on my mother into primary colours:

Purple: symbolizes Mom's Queen-like grace and class, her royal sense of duty and service to her community. Mom was a noble person, both in living and in dying. A few years ago a book about growing old gracefully came out. It was titled: 'When I grow Old I shall Wear Purple'. As Mom grew older with grace, energy and style she did wear purple, many times!

Yellow: Mom once arrived for an Easter Dinner completely dressed in bright canary yellow. Yellow - signifying Mary's zest for life and for her joyous and positive nature. Mom liked to have fun. Mom was fun!

Green: represents Mom's Irish heritage. Mary taught her children about Irish literature and poetry. She would sing the old Irish songs to us children at bedtime and, standing at her hospital bedside we sang them back to her as comfort during her final days. As recently as this past St. Patrick's Day, even though she was ill, Mom impishly dressed as an Irish leprechaun for the St Patrick's Day celebrations at Christmas Manor.

Blue: evokes the darker side of Mary's nature. Many of you may not be aware that Mary battled with and overcame the blues of depression and of mental illness more than once. She developed the courage and modeled for others how to live with mental illness. Blue also stands for the personal tragedies and losses in Mary's life, which she never allowed to keep her down.

Red: symbolizes Mary's heartfelt commitment to whatever cause she embraced. Whether it was volunteering with 'Family Place', the 'Mom's and Tot's' drop-in that I started during the late 80's and early 90's in Port Coquitlam, or her work for many years volunteering in the Downtown East Side with women Sex Trade workers, Mom's humble compassion for others was an inspiration to all who crossed her path - if they could keep up with her!

Finally, Fuchsia or Pink! Pink was Mom's signature colour. When she came out of hospital last November, she returned to an apartment her family had done up in pink. Pink represents Mom's femininity, her love of and commitment to her daughters and to all women. Without ever using the term, Mom was probably one of the first feminists. Mary inspired all who knew her to be both 'emancipated women' and 'real women'.

Here are some reflections on Mom from my brother, Paul.

"I love my Mom. She cooked me dinner. She set the table. She cared for me when I was a small baby. She took me for walks. We went for coffee. We walked around in nice parks. We went on trips together. We went to Lourdes with Faith and Light. She invited me for sleepovers. I made her happy. We went to movies together. My Mom is a very nice person. I am her best son."

On the morning of Mother's death, I went out on my back deck and saw a small tea lite candle we had lit the evening before - one that I clearly remembered having seen extinguished - flickering in the morning sunlight. Mysteriously, it had somehow come to life again after I had gone to bed. It must have burned all night, in spite of a strong and steady breeze. When we were growing up, my mother used to repeat to us the quotation from Bishop Fulton J. Sheen:

"It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness."

Our family asks those present here and Mom's friends elsewhere across the lower mainland and elsewhere in Canada, who are here with us in spirit, to rejoice in Mary's life and to share in the lessons she taught us. In her memory, we ask those of you who, like us, were inspired by Mary, to carry on in her mission of compassionate and energetic service to others.

All her long life, Mary taught us, not so much by words as by example. In her death, Mary reached back to her roots for her last lesson. Her father and grandfather played semi-professional baseball and during their time were noted athletes. My siblings and I are in awe at how, during the last days of our mother's life, when emaciated by her illness, she appeared to us not so much like a person on her deathbed as a highly trained, Olympic marathon runner, gracefully sprinting with focus and determination toward the finish line.

Mary moved towards her 'finish line' - her final reward - uncomplainingly, with a smile, a good word of encouragement and even a piece or two of her vintage sage advice for the many of us who gathered at her bedside.

Her last words, spoken to my brother Paul, the youngest and most vulnerable member of our family, presented Mary with her last 'teachable moment' - and her other children with our greatest challenge for the years ahead. In response to our brother Paul telling Mom he loved her, with her last breath, our mother replied:

"I love you, Paul."

Mary, our mother - your fellow parishioner, colleague and friend - leaves us all with a remarkable legacy. Like a meteor… like a candle… may the light she left behind help to brighten the darkness forever.

Thank you.