ELLEN WALDECK'S EULOGY

Children’s book author, R. J. Palacio once said,

“...we should be remembered for the things we do. The things we do are the most important things of all. They are more important than what we say or what we look like. The things we do outlast our mortality. The things we do are like monuments that people build to honor heroes after they've died. They're like the pyramids that the Egyptians built to honor the Pharaohs. Only instead of being made out of stone, they're made out of the memories people have of you. That's why your deeds are like your monuments - built with memories instead of with stone.”

The very first thing Ellen ever did for me was offer me a chair. That was in January, 1976. I was a freshman in college and she was the assistant dean of resident students at Millersville University…well, actually it was Millersville State College back in those days and the tuition was a lot cheaper. I’d just been elected as my dorm’s representative to the Resident Student’s Association and Ellen was the Association’s faculty adviser. When I arrived for my first RSA meeting, Ellen was in the process of assembling a circle of chairs. We introduced ourselves and then she offered me a seat as I waited for the meeting to start. That’s where our friendship began, and during the course of the next thirty-eight years, Ellen continued to offer me a chair, hundreds of lunches, thousands of laughs, an abundance of stimulating conversation, an occasional shoulder to cry on, plenty of helping hands, several dry comments about my choice of girlfriends in college and the best example any person could have, of what it means to have a true friend. That was Ellen’s monument to me!

Ellen was big on “life lessons”…you know, the little things that guide people in everyday life. The first “life lesson” she tossed at me was, “women like men who put the lid down after they’ve used the toilet.” I guess I’d dropped by her apartment and didn’t put the lid down, and Ellen didn’t like that, so she decided a teaching moment was in order and tossed out that tidbit like Aristotle might have done to Plato or one of his other students. The last time I visited with Ellen at Kindred Hospital, we laughed about the fact that I can’t leave a bathroom now without thinking of her and whether I’ve remembered to put the toilet seat down.

Ellen was a learned woman, too, and she felt a great sense of accomplishment when she earned her doctorate degree, though she wasn’t the type to rest on her laurels or make a show of the title she received as a result of her educational accomplishment. But Ellen also had something that doesn’t necessarily come with a doctorate degree, and that was wisdom. William James, a 19th century American philosopher and psychologist, once noted, “The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook,” and Ellen exemplified that kernel of truth in her ability to look past people’s faults and see positive possibilities in others instead concentrating on their negative actions. She once told me about an incident where she had to kick a student out of the dorms for violating the university’s code of student conduct, but then she spent about an hour or so strategizing with the student over how to make other living arrangements to weather the storm. Many administrators would have pointed to the door and simply said “get lost,” but Ellen saw a way to help that student overcome adversity and be successful – that’s wisdom!

Personally, I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, and Ellen would be the first to say, “That was a boner move” whenever I did so, but I never doubted for a second that Ellen had my best interests at heart. That’s why I considered her one of my nearest and dearest friends.

Another thing I thought was remarkable about Ellen was her devotion to family. She took great pride in being a loving wife and mother and sister, and I admired the way she poured every ounce of energy she had into being the best she could be in those roles. Before she met Bob, she frequently lamented that she’d never find love or bear a child, but once she met Bob, those worries just withered away. When Andrew was born, Ellen slid into motherhood like a hand into a glove. Ellen was the President of the Andrew Waldeck fan club, and not a conversation went by where she didn’t toot his horn.

And then, there’s Ellen’s brother, Frank. I wish I had a sister like Frank had…a sister who thought he did no wrong! Given the frailties of human nature, I’m sure that Frank does have some flaws, but in the thirty-eight years I knew Ellen, she never mentioned any…so Frank, don’t ruin it now!

When Ellen was in Kindred Hospital in Havertown awaiting a chance at a transplant, she had a photo of Bob handing on the wall. It was an older photo of Bob…one taken back when you didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the hairs on his head…and his hair was brown…and he had a confident smile on his face…the kind of smile a guy has when he knows he’s got a good thing going. Anyway, I pointed to the photo and asked Ellen what drew her to Bob, and she said that “he was a handsome stud with a warm heart and made her laugh!” Yeah, Bob…she actually used the word “stud!” That’s when I wondered whether she was starting to get demented, too. We had a good belly-laugh over that description. Afterward, she got a bit pensive for a few moments, and then she said that she admired the fact that Bob was always steady and didn’t wilt under fire. She loved the fact that he went out of his way to help people, and was still nice to people who had wronged or slighted him. I didn’t say this to her that afternoon, but those are things I admired about Ellen, and I suppose that’s why Ellen found Bob to be a kindred spirit.

My son-in-law Peter has cancer. He’s been battling it for several years now, but despite battling her own physical ailments, Ellen corresponded with Peter regularly, and my daughter, Abby has frequently said to me that Peter was always very touched by the interest that Ellen showed in him. Her words of wisdom and encouragement were treasured and a source of inspiration. That’s how Ellen touched the lives of others.

After Ellen died, Bob passed on to me a letter Ellen wrote to me, to be delivered after her death. In it, she thanked me for being a life-long friend. She added a few private laughs, and she also reminded me that she shared my belief in an afterlife…and said she’d keep an eye out for me. That was Ellen…always planning. I’m pretty sure she left Bob a “honey do” list that will keep him busy for quite some time.

This past Tuesday afternoon, at precisely 3:40 p.m., I received an email from LinkedIn – that’s a professional social media website where I have a profile listed. The LinkedIn email indicated that somebody had just visited my profile, and if I wanted to know who had done so, I should just click on the link and log in…so I did! Imagine my surprise when that somebody turned out to be Ellen Waldeck…and I have the email here to prove it! The very first thought that popped into my mind was – Ellen hasn’t been gone for a month and already she’s back on the Internet. My next thought was - They say you can’t take it with you, but apparently Ellen found a way to take her tablet. And then a third thought popped into my mind – My son, who works with computers says that anytime a computer gets too hot, its circuits can get fried. So, wherever Ellen is, if she’s using her tablet, it must be a cool place! That’s comforting to know.

John M. Simmons, author of the “The Marvelous Journey Home,” noted in his book that “Friends come into our lives and friends leave our lives. But friends never leave our hearts. And best friends always get to stay in the best places in our hearts.”

I feel sad that Ellen has died, but Ellen is still in one of the good places in my heart, hopefully with a good supply of oxygen at hand, and I will always be better because of it. If she’s at home there, I am, too.