Eulogy of a Little Sister

Here is a eulogy of my little sister, Colleen Patricia White, who invited her family to love in a way that contradicted the world.

A transcript:

Hi, welcome. I’m grateful you’re all here. I’m Chuck. I’m the oldest child of this family of 11, Colleen’s oldest brother. The title of my little brief reflection is “Colleen’s invitation”.  

I was 12 years old and we were at an Epiphany party with some members of our parish. Epiphany, as probably most of you know, is  the 12th day of Christmas. It’s the day we celebrate the Magi, the wise men bringing gifts to the Christ child. So we were at this party and my dad dropped us off because my mother, excuse me, my mother, went into labor. So, this was on January 6th, which of course is the 12th day of Christmas. And so she was taken to the hospital. She had had a troubled pregnancy and little did we know that night when we were at this party that we were about to get a gift that would change our lives forever. 

She was born, as you can see, on January 7th, 1974. 10th of 11 children, seventh of seven sisters, seven daughters. We learned that our new little gift had Down syndrome, also known as Trisomy 21.  We were all young – I was the oldest at 12. We were told that she had an extra chromosome that would make her very special. But we also learned soon that she had a twisted or blocked intestine, some issue like that that required lifesaving surgery. And the doctors offered my parents the option of not having the surgery. Maybe assuming that they might take them up on that, but of course my parents said no, they would have the surgery. And that was one of many examples of them responding yes to the invitation of Colleen. A life changing yes.

She grew up – we all loved her as I remember. We all thought she was darling and cute and we realized her limitations. And early on, maybe very soon, my parents bought a big book on Down syndrome full of pictures of little kids we call downsies with their little fingers. And it told us some of the things we could expect, how things would approach slowly, you know, and some of the health issues that might arise.

I remember her waiting by the window for my dad to come home from work and she was so delighted when he came home. “Daddy’s home!”. She would greet him and she knew some words, but she had a lot of pneumonia when she was young and she spent a lot of time at Boston Children’s Hospital. And of course, you can imagine how trying this was. A family of 10 at that point, 10 kids. A very trying time for my parents. And after a while and after some serious ear problems of some sort ( maybe my sisters know better).  But she seemed to regress a little bit, although, and I’ll get to this, although we learned later on that she understood a lot more than we thought, and there’s some stories about that.

So, later years, we moved to Ellington when Colleen was four. I left for college a few years later, so I was probably the one who lived with her the least and then I eventually moved very very far away. 

She was involved in various programs throughout her life and my mother was her primary caregiver in an inspirational way throughout the rest of her life. And Colleen was 28 when my dad died suddenly. She and my mom then lived alone together but eight of the children, well, seven of Colleen’s siblings, lived in New England and my sisters  really, really helped.

I have a personal story fast forwarding – some of my siblings fill in some gaps and they of course they have a different perspective so if you take us all in you’ll get a better idea.

Maybe 12 years ago I went to Rein’s Deli in Vernon. Great place, wonderful food, packed full of people. But I went there with my mother and I don’t know who else was there. Maybe some of you guys were there.  Colleen was with us and those of you who know Colleen, sure, she had a lot of affection, a lot of smiles, but she also had her moments of discomfort and she would make that known and she got loud and boisterous and we just had to take her out. So I decided, rather than my mother doing it, or so I decided that it was my job. So I took her out and as I was winding through the crowded people I felt so self-conscious. Then a little voice just spoke to me. It could have been God, could have been my conscience. It said “No, this is good medicine for your soul. And there are several people here that need to see the love you have for your sister.”

Then it dawned on me. I say it dawned on me, but maybe this is just a lifetime of learning and responding to Colleen’s invitation, but I realized that Colleen’s primary purpose or mission or ministry was presence, just her presence, not anything that she would accomplish by her actions. The world and conventional thinking values wealth and health and beauty and intellect, (worldly beauty), intellect, power, prestige, and Colleen had none of these things. And she never even followed her dreams and all the other advice we’re given. And yet, to be quite honest, her impact on people is probably going to be greater than all of us, including the ripple effect of it too. 

She disarmed us. She had no pretenses. She wore no mask. She had no hidden agenda. We could be ourselves with her. As silly as that might be, we could be silly. She invited us to be real.

My sister Karen responded to this invitation of Colleen, as I call it, I think in a radical way. I think about 2016 or so. She pulled up her stakes in Massachusetts to take care of our mother and Colleen. And she’d be the first to tell you she had the help of her siblings and her sisters. Watching Karen and her sisters care for Colleen and her mother was an inspiration, another gift. 

And then with the pandemic and the invention of Zoom, as far away as I lived, I got to see Colleen much more often. And I saw the effect of her living with Karen and Isabel. And I saw her light up with huge smiles more often. And Karen told me that she’d often curl Karen’s hair and laugh when they were going to sleep. 

And then I saw the obvious affection that developed between [her and] Isabel and Karen. Mutual, joyous, lots of smiles, and it was just another gift. And then I saw Colleen do things that I never thought she could with Karen and the help of her sisters. “Colleen, turn on the light.” The light went on. “Colleen, go get your beads out of the drawer.” And she’d scurry over there every morning to get her beads. Or getting into the bathroom on her own.

So during the pandemic, Karen took Colleen out of her programs and kept her at home. And a real, as I said, a real visible affection developed between the three of them, especially Isabel and Colleen.

Colleen invited us to love in a deeper way, to see beyond the shallow values of the world, to see the dignity in human lives where the world does not often see it. Even though she’s not with us now, in spirit but not physically, that invitation has not been rescinded. The invitation to strip away the veneer and to love deeply has not been rescinded. Her life and our memories of her still invite us to love deeply in a way that contradicts the world’s values. 

You might have noticed the world needs some contradiction. Well, that’s sort of an invitation to see dignity in places where the world does not see human dignity, in places where the world does not see it.

Many of our siblings engage in the helping professions, teaching, nursing, things like that. And I like to think that that’s due in some respect to Colleen’s influence. And now we’re starting to see it in the second generation nurses and occupational therapists. And they might not attribute that directly to Colleen, but I think [of] this ripple effect.

Colleen was always a child. And Jesus said, there’s a quote on one of these posters:

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them.”

And this is the kicker:

“For to such as these belong the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14)

And in that spirit, I’ll end with a very traditional Catholic prayer:

Eternal rest, O Lord, grant unto Colleen. May your perpetual light shine upon her and may she rest in peace. Amen. 

Colleen Patricia White January 7, 1974 – June 15, 2025