My Mother

Me and my mom at a Morkovsky family reunion in the early 1990s.

Three months ago, on January 22, my mother passed away at her home in Katy peacefully with close family members around her bed. She was 71. Her life changed literally overnight in 2011 when she learned she had cancer – her colon ruptured during the night with very little warning. She never went back to work again, never went on an overseas trip again. Her relationship to the world, and to the people in it, became framed by her health, treatments, and how much time she had left to be with us. But my parents’ neighbor Chuck told me he can’t remember one encounter with Betty when she appeared to have a bad day, even during the long battle with her illness. To her last days, she continued to be positive and hopeful, to bake, to listen to and encourage the people in her life, to host and attend family events, and to laugh (or roll her eyes, depending on the situation). She was funny and supportive, creative, generous and sarcastic, playful, positive, and gracious.

Picnic in Connecticut, early 1970s.

My love of good cooking, my ideas about a meal’s role in a loving family’s life, and my respect for food as a marker of cultural identity are all attributable to my mother and father. Everything about Betty’s life supported these lessons, so I offer this post about the entirety of my mother’s life (not just information about her formidable cooking skills or the dishes she was known for.) This post is a combination/derivation of the eulogy I gave at her funeral and the printed program I wrote for her services.

Elizabeth “Betty” Jean Kallus was born on March 11, 1947 to Anita (Morkovsky) and George Kallus in Hallettsville, Texas. She was the sixth of eight children. The family she was born into was large and close, Catholic, and Czech. Her family, her unwavering faith, and her heritage grounded and strengthened Betty throughout her life. 

Betty graduated from Sacred Heart Catholic School in Hallettsville in 1965 and just four months later, she married my father, Steve Orsak, on September 6th. In their 53 years together, my parents maintained a home and family life that centered the world of their four children, 10 grandchildren, two great grandchildren, and even friends, in-laws, cousins, and siblings. For their first 13 years together, Betty supported Steve as his work transferred us around the country, and the homes she made for us turned out to be many… first in Texas, then in Ohio, Georgia, Connecticut, again in Georgia, New Jersey, and back to Houston before finally settling in Katy, Texas.

My parents visiting San Francisco, 1975

Together, my parents cultivated lifelong hobbies. They collected antiques, travelled in the U.S., Canada, Mexico, the Caribbean, and Europe. They gardened and cooked, and could dance together like they were one person.

1964

My mother was a high school cheerleader, a candy striper, rodeo competitor, and thrower of dinner parties. She worked for Burnet and Company for 20 years after years as (and sometimes in addition to being) my father’s receptionist, secretary, and bookkeeper. Betty was an expert sewer and quilter, making everything from my and my sister’s prom dresses to pillowcases for children in the hospital. Sometimes she sewed Halloween costumes and painted china dolls for her grandchildren, and sometimes she offered them hours of philosophical discussion. My siblings and I saw her take comfort in nature, art, family, reading, and her faith. 

The kind and generous words of her friends, neighbors and coworkers in her last few weeks helped illuminate for me what were her greatest gifts… her presence in the lives of those she loved, and the openness and acceptance around which she built relationships. 

A few of you, her older sisters and brothers and some first cousins, knew Betty from the day she was born. You got to play with my mom as a child growing up in Hallettsville… making paper dolls or roller skating in her parents’ driveway. Others, more siblings and more cousins, of which she had so many, knew her over 60 years. Maybe you were her confidants, double dates, or stayed up all night talking at slumber parties. There are friends out there, in laws, beloved nieces and nephews, my father (and me) who came into her life over 50 years ago. She graced the lives of more friends, more nieces and nephews, godchildren, more in-laws, and my 3 siblings for over 40 years. In the last 15 to 30 years, she welcomed a daughter in law and 2 sons in law, her first 8 grandchildren, and friends of her children. One of my brother’s teenage friends admittedly wrote to us “She was a mother to quite a number of us.”

1978

Finally, in the last 10 years of her life, there came 2 more grandchildren, 2 great grandchildren, and another daughter in law. For 8 of these last years, my mother waged her epic battle with cancer while continuously giving her time, support, and council to these many, many people she cared about. 

My mother built and cemented all these relationships with, first, the idea of family… family by birth or family by choice. In fact, my father told me that for them there was no difference and many of you feel this. Her niece, Jerrica, told me “your mom was such a vital part of our family. She was always at everything and was really committed.” Jerrica’s observation reflects my mother’s sense of duty – not duty with resignation or drudgery, but duty in the sense of rising gracefully to the responsibilities of being a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a friend. From attending baptisms and high school graduations, sending birthday and congratulations cards, to attending every family reunion and working at many, she (and my father both) believed in the idea of family as a supportive, steady institution and were willing to sacrifice time and effort to build and cultivate a rock-solid world for their clan. And collectively, we all benefitted. Her home (especially her kitchen), and her heart, was always open. 

My mother on her 50th birthday in March 1997.

Second, my mother offered unconditional love to the people she met. When I asked my father what he would say about her in this speech, he told me she was an exceptional person because she accepted people for what and who they were. She may not have felt you were making the best choices, but she was going to be there for you when you figured that out. And she was, without fail. If one of my siblings or I brought home a date for one dinner or for a lifetime, they were immediately part of the family. It didn’t matter if a niece came to visit with pink hair, or you told her you were quitting a job to find yourself, or she learned about our more serious lapses in judgment, she was there for us, and I suspect for you, too. One friend wrote to me that my mother is her role model for how to love her child.

In closing, my father and siblings and I want to thank you all for your unfaltering support and innumerable prayers, all of which meant so much to my mother (and to us). We ask each of you to hold dear your own memories of Betty. Let them make you laugh and comfort you. Feel her unconditional love and acceptance, and let those memories bring you joy. This is my mother’s gift to us and she could have no greater legacy.

Christmas 2018, one month before my mother passed, with every descendent around her.