A Final Sunday with Mom: Celebrating Bridget Rodgers

Our Mom passed away on June 15, 2025.

We all knew it was coming, as did she. Her strength and fortitude through it all was another testament to the person she was. This was the celebration we held for her on Sunday, June 29.

Hello everybody. I’m Catherine, Bridget’s eldest daughter.  Thank you for being here. That was one of Mom’s favourite songs, “Bread and Fishes”, performed by her son Gary and granddaughter Margot.

We have some tributes to Mom and then we will end with another favourite song of hers.

 

Eulogy

On behalf of my siblings and the extended Rodgers and Whelan families, I want to welcome you all here today to joyfully remember our Mom, Bridget Mary Rodgers, and her impact.

I will tell you straight out that Mom did not want a wake, nor a funeral, or anything really. She didn’t want a big deal made when she passed.

She didn’t want her family and her friends who are around her age to have to go to another funeral, she explained. It wasn’t much fun, she said. She’d rather not have that as her ‘finale,’ she stated.

And she made these wishes known to all of us (I can see at least a dozen people here who knew of this) on more than one occasion in the recent past, along with eliciting agreement to follow these wishes from whomever she was telling at the time.

And, although we agreed to do what she asked for, (after all, she is our Mom!) we didn’t agree to not try to talk her out of it.

Over the course of some time we revisited the topic. Us children would plead, propose and petition to have SOMETHING, ANYTHING that would allow us space to respectfully put her to rest.

Me being me, and Mom being Mom, and she knowing who I am, I proposed several outlandish events.

“Perhaps we could have a rave for you” I said one day “like with a mosh pit and some slam dancing maybe?” I prodded. I received just a raised eyebrow and a sigh in response. Another time I proposed either a Viking funeral or a boat cruise – her choice! I got a laugh for that one.

After a while, my siblings and I settled on just asking for a ‘party’ instead of a ‘funeral.’ And, as we said to her, a party is a celebration isn’t it? So, can we have celebration at the very least?

Finally, after much back and forth on the topic, our persuasion worked and Mom, although somewhat begrudgingly, agreed to allow this celebration, which we have called a final Sunday with Mom.

It is certainly befitting that Mom passed on a Sunday and that we are celebrating her on this day of the week. Sundays were very important to Mom.

I knew this growing up, but I have found out from her siblings, Teresa, Owen and Pat, that this tradition was one that Mom followed from her own parents, Thomas and Deborah Whelan. And, as my aunt Teresa has told me, it was always the traditional ‘corned beef and cabbage dinner’ being served. That’s what they grew up with.

And of course it was well-established by the time she met her husband to be, Randy, our father, now passed. By the way, this month marks 63 years that they would have been together.

Sunday was a regular part of life for their children– Ed (also now passed), myself, Gary, Tony and Wendy. But for us, it was not the traditional corned beef and cabbage. It could be a traditional Sunday type of meal, like a ham or turkey dinner, but then again, it could be anything Mom felt like making or wanted to try out.

But whatever she made, it was generally delicious and always abundant. You would be absolutely hands-down no-doubt guaranteed to be leaving Sunday dinner stuffed to the gills after the dips, the full meal and at least two (and often three) desserts!

But it wasn’t just us – Sunday at Mom’s was often an open invitation – Mom’s siblings and siblings in law, Dad’s family, nieces and nephews, friends old and new, and sometimes, it seemed, anyone they ran into when they were out and about.

It was very common for us to hear either Mom, or Dad, tell someone to “Drop in on Sunday” as they were ending a conversation, letting whoever they were chatting with know they were welcome to join us.

And, as she welcomed her children-in-law, Joan, Rich, Kathleen, Karen and Jamie, and then her grandchildren, Zara, Margot, Jamie, Audrey, Sean and Raya, they all became part of the Sunday tradition.

They came to learn, like us, that your birthday would be moved and celebrated on the next available Sunday. As her extended family grew, our birthdays became grouped together by season and shared on a Sunday in spring, summer, fall or winter.

Once she had her group of grandkids, she would often have games or activities at the ready, or she would wrap up gifts for pass the parcel on Sunday for no reason at all. But, I’m probably talking out of turn here, when Mom sets up pass the parcel with her grandkids, there were no losers. The winner simply gets to open the big box and distribute the gifts to all of the players.

In the past couple of years, Mom got to enjoy having her great-grandchildren, Weston and Evelyn, over on a Sunday.

Sundays were fully and firmly all about family, friends, food, fun, chatting and catching up. They were about time spent together, getting to know each other and what we think, feel and believe, and about allowing the space for everybody to be who they are and say what they want.

Mom worked to make sure that happened for all of us individually and as a group.

Every single Sunday was a celebration of and with Mom.

I’m glad you could all be here for this one.

Thank you.

My sister will now share her tribute to Mom.

 

Wendy’s Tribute: A point to make

In 2017, I had the pleasure of interviewing my mother for part of an oral history project.

One of the stories she told me was about the day, as a very young child, she cut herself with a saw when trying to help her father build a veranda on their home in Riverhead.

Her mother patched up the cut and Mom went back to helping her father and promptly cut herself with an axe. But despite this less than auspicious start with sharp objects, Mom developed a lifelong friendship with the sewing needle that I would like to share with you.

My mother loved by making and sharing. These are the actions that defined her.

Making and sharing food is a primary one, of course. Like the Sunday afternoon suppers that today’s celebration is named for, she made events and shared time.

Did you know that she also made and shared clothes? In many of the photos you see of her today, especially in her younger years, she’s wearing clothes that she sewed herself.

One day when I was about 10 years old, a couple of my friends at school were talking about their mothers’ wedding dresses, lovingly preserved in fancy boxes in their mother’s closets. When I asked my mother about her dress, she told me that she had made it herself. When I asked to see it, she said she no longer had it. Not long after her own wedding, she heard through friends about a young woman who was getting married and didn’t have the means to buy a dress. But she didn’t lend her wedding dress – she gave it away to someone in need.

Another time, while waiting at a stoplight on Pennywell Road, my mother pointed to the window of a charity thrift shop and told me that she was once sitting at the same intersection years earlier and turned to see a dress that she had made in the centre of the window display.

I remember a favourite pair of shorts she made for me as a young teenager. Very loose white shorts covered in large red strawberries. So fun and unusual were they that my late brother Ed – 8 years older than me – would steal them from my room to wear to summer parties.

Mom made my first wedding dress. It was the softest butter yellow silk (she said it was hell to sew!). That dress had an afterlife when my niece Margot wore it to perform in a musical theatre piece for the Kiwanis Music Festival.

Over the years, Mom has shared her talent for sewing with many people, helping out with hemming suit pants and altering prom and wedding dresses for friends, the children of friends, and the friends of her children and grandchildren. She helped because she had the skill and the talent, but most importantly, because she had the spirit of generosity.

A couple of years ago, my daughter Raya became interested in quilting. When Raya told Nanny that she wanted to quilt, Nanny asked her to come over and pick out some fabrics from her collection. A few months later, Mom decided that she was done with quilting, and that Raya should inherit her rather hefty stash of cotton.

Raya and I have both used Mom’s fabric to make crafts. I even used some of Mom’s fabric in a portrait I made of her, which you can see just over there. The portrait is a rendering of a silly photo I took of her wearing a blow-up crown that I brought to dinner just for fun one Sunday afternoon.

Mom’s fabric portrait made by Wendy.

 

Last December, Mom gave me a quilt she had started making for me over 20 years ago. No longer able to sit at her sewing machine, she had hired someone to finish it for her. It has black and white patterns with yellow binding – you can see it on the table over there, alongside a crazy quilt she made for herself.

The quilt Mom made for Wendy with Mom’s poems laid out over it.

 

Mom’s crazy quilt with the album she put together of the art her grandchildren had given her over the years.

 

The sister quilt to mine – black and white patterns with red binding, and intended for my sister Catherine – still needs some work.

As Mom was giving us ‘To Do’ lists from her hospital bed during her last week with us, she assigned her sister Teresa to bring the quilt to completion. She also said she wanted my daughter Raya to have her sewing machine, and Raya gratefully accepted.

I hope that we – her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, siblings, relatives, and friends – will remember her creativity and generosity with gratitude.

Regardless of what we make or how we make it, we give thanks and honour the legacy of Mom, Nan, Bridget, by making food or crafts, by making time for one another, and by sharing ourselves.

Now I would like to invite Mom’s beloved sister Teresa to share her tribute.

 

My Sister Bridget: Teresa’s Tribute 

My sister Bridget was born in Riverhead, St. Mary’s Bay in 1939.

Her parents, Thomas Whelan and Deborah Nolan, had married in December 1937 in the church in Riverhead, St. Mary’s Bay. They had moved into their new house that Tom built right next to the school and church. Deborah, who now lived right next to the school, had to quit her teaching job because it was not acceptable then for married women to teach in the school system. So she took over the Post Office responsibilities while Tom carried on the various fishing enterprises with his two brothers. Between 1938 and 1948 Tom and Deb had five more children: Owen, Bernard, Carolyn, Patricia and me.

In 1949 Tom and Deb started a small general store. Living in the centre of the community with the store and Post Office, they were kept quite busy and were involved in all of the community activities. Bridget would be by her mother’s side helping her to organize concerts and plays, which was the main entertainment in those days.

Since I was too young to remember my days in Riverhead, I loved to listen to Bridget telling me stories about growing up with our mother and father. As a young girl, with her Mom by her side, she learned how to knit, cook and sew. And with her Dad by her side, she learned how to row a boat and how to cook the best fish meals.

As our big sister, she would go about her daily life doing her chores, picking berries, or roaming the landwash or walking on errands around the community with her younger siblings always in tow.

One of her favourite memories happened on a Friday night when our Dad came home from a trip to St. John’s and he had bought our Mom a gramophone with eight records of her favourite Irish ballads and how we all danced around the kitchen singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” and “The Old Polina.” The memory was so special to Bridget that in later years she wrote a poem called The Gramophone about just another unforgettable family evening in our kitchen around the bay.

Here is the poem that Bridget wrote about the gramophone.

 

In her own words “It was a home full of books to read, card games to play, dancing and singing and a home filled with lots of love.”

Our father died in 1952. Around the same time our mother had to give up the Post Office and the general store. And, in the summer of 1952, our mother – who was now a widow with six young children – decided to move from Riverhead to St. John’s. It was a difficult move for all of us, especially our Mom.

When Bridget finished high school in St. John’s she started teaching at St. Joseph’s School in Kilbride and in a few years moved to Mercy Convent where she taught for over 30 years.

I remember when Bridget invited her new boyfriend Randy to our Sunday dinner for the first time. I remember her wedding day, and, as always, how beautiful she looked. I remember them leaving to drive across the island on their honeymoon.

Bridget and Randy had a good life together in a home full of love. To Catherine, Gary, Tony and Wendy and to all of Bridget’s family – I give you my deepest sympathy. May loving memories of your Mom bring smiles along with the tears.

Bridget was my big sister, like a mother to me when I was young, and always a true friend.

I would also like to read a tribute from someone who could not be here today but wanted to share her thoughts.

 

Tribute to Bridget Rodgers from Margaret Hall read by Teresa Rollings

Thank you for the opportunity to share some of my thoughts about Bridget. I met Bridget when her sister married my brother more than 50 years ago.

Over the many years since then, Bridget became a dear friend. Knowing Bridget I soon realized that she was one of the bravest and strongest women I have ever met!

Every day she lived her life to the fullest. Regardless of her own health problems or the death of beloved family members! She always put her family first and herself second.

I never heard Bridget say – “Why me?” I did hear her say “Why not me!”

I will never forget her and I admired her greatly.

Rest eternal grant unto her oh lord, and let light perpetual shine upon her.

From The Reverend Canon Margaret Hall

 

Mom’s poems

Wendy read two of Mom’s poems. The first one is called “The End of Eaton’s.”

 

The second one is called “Second Childhood.”

 

Thank you for coming here today; please stay awhile, we’ll be here until 4:30.

Please sign the guest book and take a Memorial card if you wish. Because Mom would never want you to leave empty-handed, we’ve added one of her recipes to the back.

It’s a recipe she made fairly often in recent years, and one that has a bit of a story.

When she first made the cake, it was a Molasses Date Cake, and she quite liked it. But she felt like other people seemed a bit lukewarm about it. So the next time she made it, she decided to re-brand it. She baked the batter in a muffin tin, poured a hot caramel sauce over each little cake to serve it, and told us it was Sticky Toffee Pudding. And we all loved it!

And now we’ll conclude the formal portion of the afternoon with another of Mom’s favorites, and, again, thank you all for being here.

Gary and Margot perform the song “Stories We Could Tell.”

 

This is the video from Mom’s celebration.