Donna's Eulogy, with Messages from Martha and Mhizha

Sixteen years ago I went to work in Zimbabwe for a few months on a strategic plan for the Zimbabwe YMCA. Valjean decided it would be a great adventure to visit me for six weeks. In typical Valjean fashion she set about networking to cook up some work she could do in Zimbabwe so she could write off the trip as a business expense. Her plan, as it emerged, was to help me write the plan for the Zimbabwe YMCA and to record the stories of a Shona storyteller and musician (through whom she meet her African family) with the idea that someday she might turn them into children’s books.

I had been in Zimbabwe for a couple of months when Valjean arrived. I had had some time to process the great beauty and many contradictions of Africa and Africans. Valjean stayed in my apartment with me and we shared a bedroom. At night I would be exhausted from working all day and she would want to talk well into the night, processing what she had experienced that day. About a week after she arrived, I was just drifting off to sleep and Valjean bounded up in bed, turned on the light, flung her arms open and yelled “Zimbabwe exclamation point.” “Zimbabwe exclamation point what?” I asked. She replied that was the name of the store she could open on Milwaukee Avenue to sell the things Zimbabweans were making to help them make a decent living.

Although Valjean never opened Zimbabwe! she also never stopped scheming of ways to help the people she met in Zimbabwe. I wasn’t a bit surprised when Giudi found a container of Zimbabwean crafts in Valjean’s garage that she had yet to sell.

All of us know of her African family and the money she raised to help support them. Martha Timbenawo, the mother of her African family, has asked me to read this to you on her behalf.

Firstly I greet you all family and friends of aunty Val. I’m Martha. I knew aunty Val for about 12 years. Aunty took me as her daughter, she always said you are my African daughter, l took aunty as my mother I have really lost a mother and a good friend. Aunty Val loved me and my family very much, sometimes when aunty Val comes I asked myself that aunty Val travelling half way across the world to see us you know she really had true love, when she came to Zimbabwe we lived with her in Mbare its a high density suburb I thought she would say I want to stay in a hotel but she would say I will stay with you here in this house.

What we ate she ate also, she did not even complain aunty Val was full of love. I’m going to miss her. I’ve a daughter and aunty gave her name, she is 9 she will be turning 10 on the 20 of August, she likes to read and write stories she is following aunty footsteps please remember that there’s young Valjean in Zimbabwe.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for the support you gave to aunty Val. I really thank you all. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

The former director of the Zimbabwe YMCA, Mhizha Edmund Chifamba, who became Valjean’s good friend and Shona (the main tribal language in Zimbabwe) teacher wrote this:

“I met Valjean through you almost 16 years ago. Both of you became my very dear friends. Over the years Valjean was always there for me. When I arrived in Chicago from Canada, Valjean was there at the airport to meet me. When I looked for jobs, she helped me with her writing skills to put my resume together, she would say "You are writing for Americans baby." She taught me how to live alone in the West and to navigate my life out of loneliness. The most important thing she taught me was how to network and to be positive. This was always mired in humor, quick wittedness and kindness. Our friendship developed over the years to a level where she counseled me on life issues in America and I guided her on how to be part of her African family. We shared how to read in between lines about American politics and she always consulted me on African political and cultural issues. She was an avid reader and I emulated her for this attribute. We liked some of the same music and good food. I relied on her as a friend. I miss her a lot. I will not be able in words to thank her sufficiently for her friendship, except to say may her soul rest in peace, until we meet again. Valjean learnt quickly one of the Shona profound sayings, "Ndiyani anoziva nzira dzaMwari?" - "Who knows God's ways, but God Himself ?" She repeated this quite often. I know some of what She meant.”

Valjean’s commitment was unwavering and her love felt intensely half way around the world. In addition to this commitment and love and our travel adventures large and small, when I think of Valjean I think of all the great dinners we shared together. From stir-fried caterpillars in Africa to countless dinners as neighbors in Chicago. Many were in restaurants, but the best was when she would call and tell me she had decided to cook. I would arrive at her place tired after work to delicious smells and I would feel so grateful and well taken care of.

I think of her commitment to make the world a better place – from her days as a “video revolutionary” to her work with Freeze Frame to the work she did with the organization I work for, the Delta Institute. Valjean was always happiest at work when she was using her considerable talents to write “deathless prose” about something she cared about. The last piece she wrote for us was called “The World You Wish For, We Work For.” I think that this aptly describes Valjean as well because the world you wish for she worked for.

Finally I think of her commitment to spiritual growth – her meditation practice and how she evolved over the years we were friends to take life in stride and to see all of life’s challenges as “an opportunity to practice.”

Periodically throughout our friendship Valjean would announce that she was back on her “body of a goddess campaign.” As I thought about Valjean’s life I realized that she was really on a much larger campaign – she was really on a “life of a goddess campaign.”

In my opinion, it was a stellar campaign.

~ Donna Ducharme

Mary's Eulogy

To borrow a line from EB White and his classic Charlotte’s Web, “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Valjean was both.”

She was my friend, but when I first met her I was looking for a writer. Denise Zaccardi gave me her name, and she showed up in my office, this classy, feisty, brainy, beautiful woman. She wrote a piece for me called “Sustainable Manufacturing,” back in 1988 when nobody had ever heard the word “sustainable.” She told me later that she had no idea what we were talking about, but she was a pro, she could write anything she put her mind to.

She wrote all kinds of things, in her near-forty years as a writer: children’s books, marketing copy, radio scripts, reports for nonprofits with complicated names like Center for Neighborhood Technology and even more complicated agendas that she managed to explain in simple, compelling terms.

Much of her best work she did in partnership with the wonderful designer Kym Abrams. Every so often, I would find on my desk a book with a bold fresh look, arresting copy, and clear compelling messages, and I would think: Valjean and Kym, at it again, and find their credits on the inside back cover.

Her writing was like the woman herself: smart, stylish, no-nonsense, spare, honest, clean, beautiful. It’s hard work; she made it look easy.

So from that initial work together we became friends, and later almost like sisters. We shared that old Catholic background, and she came to church with me sometimes, here at St Gertrude’s, or other places. Like many people here, and in Africa, and elsewhere, I became part of her circle, and she became part of my family, attending my children’s weddings, visiting my mother, welcoming my granddaughter.

Three summers ago, she and I took a trip to Ireland, in search of her own family, the family her father James McLenighan left behind when he emigrated to America as a little boy. It was a magical trip, and I suspect she has told most of you the stories. She found the township where the McLenighans came from; she found the church where her grandparents were married, the graves of distant cousins, the records of the land they farmed. Most important, she found a whole new set of friends and family, and became part of their lives. That same gift of friendship she shared with all of us, and with the family in Africa, and with people all over this country, she brought back to the Irish countryside her father had left a century before.

As she became sick, she used her writing, that wonderful blog, to share with her friends and family what she was going through: her hopes, her determination, her pain, her acceptance, her love.

A few days after her death, I got a call John McLarnan, Valjean’s great friend over in Ireland, who celebrated his 94th birthday last Wednesday and whom Valjean and I had planned to visit next week. His words speak for me and I know for all of us: “When you’ve been given a gift, you have to say thank you. And it was a gift to have known her.” Thank you, Valjean.

~ Mary O'Connell

Franny's Eulogy

My parents gave me an older sister. The nuns at the Immaculata High School gave me a younger one. Her name was Valerie Jean McLenighan.

The only child of Wanda and James Mclenighan, Valjean was raised by her devoted mother who recognized early on that she was an extraordinary child. She received a scholarship to a private elementary school, skipped several grades, and entered high school at the age of eleven. That’s when I first met Valjean, almost fifty years ago. She had so many qualities that immediately drew me to her that it’s difficult to know where to begin.

There was her enormous love of learning. Although she figured out many clever ways to get out of study hall for more interesting activities, she often said that it never even occurred to her to cut a class. She devoured her studies, and it showed. She always focused on the goal—and pursued it with a passion, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone in the process.

There was her straightforward, unpretentious manner. Even back in high school, she meant what she said and said what she meant—without hesitation. Her strength and courage to stand up to anyone . . . Even the nuns, when she would question a doctrine—were impressive to witness.

Her creativity was unique, whether it was writing for the school newspaper, starring in one of the high school’s many plays, or being a cheerleader . . . Yes, that’s right. Valjean was a cheerleader—not your typical cheerleader, but rather one who wrote her own cheers to the tune of Peggy Lee songs and other jazz standards. She had a sophisticated appreciation and love for music even back then.

She visited me once at college, and I remember her kindness when she went out of her way to include a very shy roommate in our weekend plans. Inclusiveness was the name of Valjean’s game. She had a knack of making people feel special—letting them know that she truly cared about them.

She loved children. I don’t know who had more fun crawling around on all fours . . . Valjean or my kids. That love would be shared with the children of many of her other friends and demonstrated years later with her African family’s little Valjean and John Davies.

While some of her friends were raising families, Valjean was raising people’s consciousness of social issues that were having profound effects on many. Valjean truly made a difference.

Over the years, Valjean and I took about a dozen vacations together. And the one constant memory of our travels that remains most vivid is the laughter. I think I’ll miss her sense of humor most of all.

Valjean had a practical nature, and she couldn’t help speaking out against inequities, both large and small.

On a high school trip to new york, she ordered a snack from the hotel’s room service, and when it was delivered, along with the bill, Valjean immediately got on the phone and asked to speak to the catering manager. She said that she had never heard of such outrageous prices for a small bowl of chips and a few glasses of lemonade.

Another time, when she had just returned from one of her trips to Africa, we went to the movies, and when we bought some popcorn, she said to the kid behind the counter, “My African family could live for months on what we just paid for this popcorn.”

And when her picture was taken swimming with the dolphins in Puerta Vallarta on her final trip just a few months ago, she said “Eight dollars for a picture is obscene.”

Yet although she had been taught at an early age to be practical—even frugal—her generosity toward others was unparalleled.

We were coming out of one of her favorite Italian restaurants one night with our leftovers, when a homeless woman approached us and said she was hungry. We gave the woman our doggie bags, but Valjean did more: she touched the woman’s arm and said, “God bless.” And as we walked away, Valjean turned to me and said, “Damn, i was looking forward to having that fetuccini for lunch tomorrow.”

Her spirit of generosity continued . . . Even through her final months, and it was humbling to observe. When she was admitted to Northwestern hospital, she expressed concern about the long trips that many of her friends and family had to make to see her. When her doctors suggested hospice at Lincoln Park Hospital, her very first question was, “How much is the parking fee for visitors over there?” And on the second to her last day of life, when she was surrounded by her friends and family, I stood leaning over her, holding her hand, talking to her, and she looked up at me and said, “Sit down Franny, you’re going to hurt your back.”

She touched so many during her lifetime . . . Not just family and friends, but the guy selling streetwise on the corner, the incarcerated, the homeless, those plagued by afflictions and addictions, disadvantaged families both here and thousands of miles away. She felt it was her responsibility to reach out to them—to ease their pain—and to try to make the world a better place for them and for all of us. That was the heart and soul of valjean . . . The heart that I suspect will live on in ours forever and the soul that we’ll all join someday.

So let’s thank Valjean for being in our lives— for her love, her laughter, her strength, for always caring and for leaving her mark on our world. And although her death leaves an enormous void, let’s try to fill it with the many beautiful memories that she left behind.

~ Francine Friedman

Party Time - RSVP to Join Us

To Valjean's many friends and family: Please join us directly after the memorial Mass to celebrate Valjean with a reception at Piper Hall at Loyola University.

Date: Saturday, August 16

Time: 2-6 PM

Place: Piper Hall, a two-story building on Loyola’s Lake Shore Campus in the Edgewater neighborhood. The building is immediately behind (north of) the Loyola University sign, at the corner where northbound Sheridan Road turns west in front of the University.

Easy parking is available for $6 in the University’s parking garage. Or try your luck at street parking.

Are you coming? Please let us know by August 13.

The best way is through a comment on the blog. Simply click on the word "comments" under this blog entry and you'll see a box to enter your comment. Let us know how many people you're speaking for. Choose an identity ("anonymous" is fine; you can always identify yourself in the comment box if you wish); then click on "publish your comment."

Directions from St. Gertrude's church (1420 W. Granville)

- Go east on Granville, cross Broadway and Winthrop and turn left (north) on Kenmore. If you hope to find street parking, start looking here; you are now within two blocks of the university.

- Continue north on Kenmore,cross Rosemont, and continue through the light at Sheridan and Kenmore to enter the Loyola campus. If you have riders in your car you can drop them off at this point and they can walk east (towards the lake) to Piper Hall (on the lake at Sheridan.)

- To park in the garage, turn left as the entry drive curves. Continue straight and you will come to the entry gate for Loyola U parking.

- To walk back to Piper Hall, simply head toward the lake on the entry drive or Sheridan Road.

If you need a ride, just ask. You can also catch the #151 or 155 bus, or walk (it's less than a mile).

If you get lost, you can call Mark McKelvey at 773/220-2815. No rescue dogs will be sent, but you will get an ear full of sympathy.

Memorial Mass and Party, August 16

At last! The memorial Mass for Valjean will be held Saturday, August 16, at 1:00 pm, at St. Gertrude's church, 1420 W. Granville (at Glenwood). Parking is available just north of the church, off Glenwood.

A fabulous party will follow, at a location to be disclosed very soon.

The Empty Guest Room

This is Stan Vernon and Tom Fischer writing from Portland, OR.

Valjean has been much on our minds this week: she was supposed to be here now, a five-day visit we were all looking forward to. Tom and I haven’t lived in Chicago for 20 years, but we kept in touch with VJ and would see her on her occasional trips to Boston, where we then lived, and our occasional trips to Chicago. Her first trip to Portland was intended to be not just our first reunion with her in several years but a real celebration: she booked the trip in the spring when the prognosis looked promising. Her ashes were buried the day before she was to have arrived.

We were going to make her a present of a children’s book, the proceeds of which go to help the children of AIDS victims in Zimbabwe. Now we will keep the book as a reminder of our dear friend who touched so many lives here and abroad. We raised a glass to Valjean on the day of her death and have raised several more since. In the Anglicized version of the old Scottish toast:

“Here’s to you. Who’s like you? Nobody.”

Resting Places

On Friday we buried the ashes of Valjean and her mother, Wanda, in a single grave at St. Adalbert's cemetery on Milwaukee Avenue. Family and close friends were there to say goodbye, to mourn our loss, and to recall the many facets of Valjean's life and the impact she had on us and others. How absurd that she should now be in the ground. That she should not be. (She, of course, would say that I am the one being absurd: "We all have to get off the conveyor belt.")

It's a lovely spot, should you care to visit, away from the road, open to the sky but surrounded by trees. Surrounded, too, by many graves, old and new, with markers and, farther back, monuments, most of them bearing Polish names. Several of Wanda's relatives (Gawel) are there, in another section of the cemetery. Mary has ordered a simple marker for the two of them.

On another note entirely: Many people have asked about Sasha, Valjean's cat. She is now the proud owner of a new keeper, Sharon Kelly, in a veritable feline palace above the Kelly sisters' yarn shop, Arcadia. (Location, location, location.) Sharon -- a gifted caretaker -- reports that Sasha has taken contented ownership of the place, where she has a private bedroom and bathroom, an 80-foot run from one end of the apartment to the other, and many nooks and crannies for naps and cat-like solitude. A steady supply of high-quality and novelty yarn awaits her for many years to come.