Tag Archives: tribute


Sometimes, God sees fit to place us, from birth, in the care of a mother who will spend the rest of her days mastering the skill of motherhood. These mothers, they never stop learning, all the while, they teach and perpetually apply a lifetime of lessons. Then, as life meanders speedily along, and it takes us wherever we may roam, these mothers, they are somehow always right where we need them to be. They are steady. They are strong. They are safe. They are immense, while remaining the softest place to land. They are bold. They are patient. They bite their tongues long enough for us to learn our own way. They have our backs just because we ask them to. They hurt for us more than we do. They worry for us more than we do. And as we travel through the ups and downs, they are always there for us, they are our fortress.

A tribute to: Vivian C. (Lapointe) Kotowski

HOOKSETT — Vivian C. (Lapointe) Kotowski, 83, of Hooksett, died March 30, 2017 at Maple Leaf Health-Care Center in Manchester after a brief illness. She was born in Manchester on February 27, 1934 to Arthur and Gilberte (Cote) Lapointe. She lived in Manchester for many years before moving to Hooksett in 1977.

Vivian worked at a number of places over the years, most recently at Hannaford Supermarket in Hooksett.

She was a member of the Kiwanis Club of Hooksett and the NH Chapter of the Association of Retirees of Eversource and Northeast Utilities (ARENU).

The family includes her husband of 59 years, Frank R. Kotowski of Hooksett; three children, Lori Uliasz and her husband, Gregory, of Bedford, James Kotowski and his wife, Vicki Montgomery, of Floyds Knobs, IN and Susan Beal of Manchester; seven grandchildren who were her world, Meghan Uliasz and her fiancé, Tom Stackhouse, Greg Uliasz, Zack Uliasz, Stephen, Ryan and Erin Beal and Lydia Kotowski; a sister Gertrude Burke of Manchester; and nieces and nephews.

SERVICES: There are no calling hours. A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated Monday at 10 a.m. at Holy Rosary Church, 21 Main St., Hooksett. Committal prayers will follow in the chapel of the NH State Veterans Cemetery, 110 Daniel Webster Highway, Boscawen.

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to Hooksett Kiwanis Kids Closet, c/o Hooksett Kiwanis Foundation, P.O. Box 16443, Hooksett, NH 03106.

Lambert Funeral Home & Crematory, Manchester is assisting the family with arrangements. To leave a message of condolence, visit www. lambertfuneralhome.com.


I Stood In The Rain

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Today is November 7th. I had reserved this day unto myself to allow for remembrance and maybe some emotional connection to this date, one year ago. See, last year on the 7th of November, our dear Marjorie passed away in her home, surrounded by her family. Marjorie Leech (Peterson) was my mother’s double cousin, and she had become a very special connection to me, beyond just family. She hosted me in her home on numerous occasions over recent years as I would take my Mom and Dad to visit family in New Brunswick, and I needed a place to stay. So, as last year unfolded, and I wrote a tribute to Marjorie as I knew her, and then a follow-up after her emotional funeral and my return home, I wanted to remember.

But then, there was yesterday. Yesterday I learned of the passing of a long time, dear friend, Joellen Barry. This news hit me hard. I wrote some words that scratched the surface of how I immediately felt about Jo’s passing. Then as the day wore on, I heard from friends and colleagues from all over the country, I read comments and messages from more friends, and the news seemed to deliver a progressively more powerful blow.

Last night I found myself sitting in a parking lot in Dover, NH, before my son’s hockey game, and I was reading comments, fighting back tears, and thinking of my memories of Jo. I felt as though there was a powerful force pressing on my body, making the option of movement increasingly difficult.

See, I worked with Jo. I talked with her. I was her manager for several years. I was the jobs’ disciplinarian. I set goals with her. I listened to the things that were important enough for her to bring to the workplace. I promoted her when many questioned the move. I went to bat for Jo many times. She worked hard for our team. She gave what she could give and learned that she had more than she thought. She stretched her comfort zone to push for the better life she envisioned for herself. I was at Jo’s wedding. I had to look into her eyes and make sure she, her goals, her efforts, and I, were all on the same page at any given time when, a business measured too much by numbers, wasn’t adding up. I watched her work with others. I saw her improve and grow. I celebrated her achievements and saw the pride in her eyes when she reached goals she wasn’t sure she would reach. In so many countless moments when our livelihoods were on the line, and paces of retail business pushed us faster than we would have liked, pressures built, and in those moments, relationships are built and bonded stronger than steel regardless of time or distance that inevitably passes. Really, the best part though, was just getting to know Jo the person, the personality.

I don’t profess to have been her best friend, or to have known her better than anyone else. There are far more people who knew her better than I. It really bothers me a great deal that I am writing these lines in past tense. I still can’t believe it.

The longer I pondered the news and the memories of Jo, the more I felt the old manager in me coming out. Please know that this is not about me. It’s not about my management skills or even my knowledge of Jo and her life. This is about her, and it just happens to be from the only perspective I really know; my own. I did tell one friend and former colleague, that I wished I could just call an impromptu meeting in my office and have all of us there one more time, together, bringing all that each of us represents into that room, to see each other as we are, and enjoy some funny story, or laugh at ourselves as we often did. Oh, to look across that space and see the faces, the people, the efforts given for a common goal, and to know that we would see them all again. All of them again.

I am out of my league when it comes to knowing the best ways in dealing with loss, trauma, and grief. I am even less versed in the explanations of why and how these events unfold, causing the need for these feelings. I do know this though; there are a lot of us who loved Jo and cared for her very much. I also know that the prospect of running into her, or interacting with her in any forum, ceasing to exist is going to be very hard to cope with for a very long time.

So, here I sit on this Saturday, November 7th, 2015. My eyes are tired and they leak often, streams of this vision or that memory run down my face looking for a place to gather again and be one. This little world I know just isn’t as complete as it was just a few days ago. I feel the void, and I don’t like it.

I sat and read the things I had previously written about my Mom’s cousin Marjorie, and it makes me smile through the tears I shed. I do miss Marjorie. I miss her fresh perspective and her genuine love of life that spilled over and touched all that were fortunate enough to sit with her for an afternoon. I noticed her absence while I was in Canada earlier in the year. I am so glad I got to know her better, and I got to spend so much time with her in recent years. It was a blessing to me and my great pleasure to have that time. If you haven’t read the stories I shared in the links above, please do, as it will give perspective to this person, the relationship, and the meaning of today to me.

I also reread through the little bit I wrote yesterday, regarding losing Jo. I read through comments and messages again as well. And I know that as I go about my day today it will feel like I am carrying a little extra weight today, but that’s okay. I have been praying a lot, and I have asked for strength to help with this extra load, so I know I will be alright. I just wish I could turn back time and be the strength that someone else could have benefitted from. Truthfully, it’s my walk with God, and my faith in Him, that allows me to stare at these tough times, the harsh realities, the traumatizing news, and the saddest of stories without losing my wit. I know first hand that the words I write also do heal. They have done wonders for me. But it’s not because I write, or even because I think I can write (because honestly, I am just a guy with a computer who started a blog when I didn’t even know what a blog was), that has helped me. It’s more about the sense that I have to remember. I have to feel. I have to face. I bring unabashed truth from the depths that only I know. I let emotions, good, bad, difficult, or wonderful, just wash over me. I linger in mental spaces longer than I need to because I want to feel the depth of emotion so that I understand it fully and never forget it. History is a great teacher and remembering, although it might hurt to do so, will benefit somewhere somehow, in the future. I share the raw array of what I uncover whenever I write. And honestly, in times like these, I do hope it helps others. Maybe it’s a memory rekindled, or a phrase that connects to a different time, or just solace needed in a moment. Again, I am just a guy writing stories about the people we love and miss. It’s about them and how we hold them that matters the most. For that matter, if you know you feel these things for another, know also there are others who feel that same way for you. Powerful stuff, but only if we use that power when we need it most.

I suppose I need to get on with my day and do the things that lifestyle demands. Although, I think today, I choose to recognize this day as Sadder-Day, November 7, 2015. Today I know I will feel sadness, but I will also find strength in my Lord, as well as knowing there are also others who care so deeply for me. We are not alone. Never alone.

In loving memory of two women I was fortunate enough to know, Joellen Barry and Marjorie Leech (Peterson).


Joellen Barry


Marjorie with family, July 2014

Marjorie with family, July 2014

Smaller World


Sometimes, actually, often times I stop and think about how much we impact other people’s lives. In this case I take my mind back in time to recall, and to feel again as I felt before. To capture thoughts, memories, and feelings from a distant life I lived.

Once upon a time we persevere through our daily lives to show up at some place of work. We have our lives, our families, our schedules, our stuff. Yet, we show up and do our jobs day after day. Each of those days we interact with others. Others who are not wholly different from ourselves. Others who bring their own version of diversity to the workplace each day.

Hour upon hour, shift by shift, week by week, we allow our lives to be impacted in some way by these others while we have the same effect on them. Some we know better, beyond the layers on the outside. Some we know only by what we see. Either way, there is impact on one another.

Jobs change. Careers run in all directions. And dreams take us on countless pursuits. Then maybe the little world we knew for all of those hours, shifts, weeks, and more; where any of us could have been dinner time conversational fodder at home for any one of our post-work meals; it all changes. What doesn’t change though, is the effect we had, felt, and shared.

We came together to get a job done while pursuing our own lives. We overlapped only as we allowed. And that was good. As it should be.

Then one who was near and dear for so many hours a week. One you shared work-space with for so many weeks over so many years. One is gone. Sadly, this one left this huge, intimidating world. Saddened even more deeply by this loss, this one who left us was as much a part of our closed in, working comfortably, space that we all helped create. This one punched their ticket everyday, as we all did, working toward a common goal along side each of us.

And then it hits you; hits you hard. Sitting here wishing there was one more chance to talk, to listen, to impact, to be. That small work world that we once shared has yet smaller become. Even though that work-time and work-setting had long since disappeared, the characters from that story still had the memories and friendships to share with one another on a whim. Now we have lost this one. The cast is smaller. Our little world is smaller. The huge world is now a smaller world. Today I’m deeply saddened to know that we lost this one.

Missing Uncle Dean

Yesterday my Uncle Dean passed away. This world lost another good man. I know he suffers no more, and for that I am grateful. I look forward to seeing him again one day, Lord-side. When we meet again I will look forward to his gentle smiling eyes, the discussions of baseball, and his enjoyment of the bakery’s sweeter things to eat. I am thankful for the times in my life that his life and mine were able to overlap and we were able to spend time together. I pray for his immediate family, and our extended family.

A few days with Marjorie

Marjorie with family, July 2014

Marjorie with family, July 2014

I knew time was short, and I knew she was quite ill,
Though I didn’t expect it. I prayed she’d win the fight.
That dreaded phone call, the news shook me still.
The earth as I know it got a little bit darker tonight.
For those of you who knew her better
For those of you who knew her worse
For those who knew her different than I
My experiences led to this little verse
For me, most mornings started with a prayer at the kitchen table.
I felt she’d always be there, prepared, as long as she was able.
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Hand Held

Honestly, I planned to be asleep by now. Before I went upstairs to turn in for the night, I looked back. I looked back on some poems I had written over the last year. These poems I’ve tried to neatly collect electronically within my blog. Some include pictures that I’ve tied to the words. Then I came across this one and everything stopped. The TV showing hockey highlights in the background seemed suddenly useless. The hour now equally unimportant. I love the picture. But perhaps, even as wordy as I can get, I might not ever find the room, the length, or even the words worthy of the flood of thought and memory that resonates within me when I see this picture. If ever there was a place in my heart that another ever held, my Aunt Janette still occupies a special space there. If you care to gain further understanding, look under the Tributes section of this blog and look for Aunt Janette. I’ll be here enjoying the memories associated with this picture for a while. Wishing again to be hand held.

In good hands