Eleanor R. Jordan, RIP
Be like Bunny.
Eleanor Rose Murray, known to all as Bunny, was born on 9 February 1934 to Charles and Eleanor Murray. She was originally raised in Darby, Pennsylvania, the youngest among her siblings, Patricia, Charles, and Mary.
Bunny was rarely one to complain. One might attribute that to a strict upbringing, and spending the formative years in the depths of the Great Depression. One of her earlier memories was of the family waiting on the porch on a Friday night for Charles senior to walk the short distance from the train to home. It was then they would find out if he had gotten a paycheck that week. A paycheck would mean a big Sunday meal or some basic necessities they were worried about.
As the economy crawled back, and the world went to war, Bunny entered school. She would spend most of grade school at Saint Gabriel’s in Norwood. She was a bright student and excelled as an athlete. Her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren would share some combination of these attributes. Bunny even did a bit of local modeling in the 1950’s.
Bunny was mindful of community obligations. She was politically active back when that was the purview of adults. She was an FDR Democrat in a town that was mostly GOP. But that mattered not at all outside the political arena. People in our town didn’t piss in each others’ Wheaties over who you voted for or campaigned for. She would end life as a Reagan Republican.
All the families in our town, especially the wives, participated in women’s clubs, school activities, blood drives (gallons of Bunny’s blood over the years) and whatever religious activities the families were dedicated to. For us, that meant lots of church activities and the town Christmas and July 4th festivities. Bunny pursued all these things because they were important. While raising 6 kids, mostly on her own, Bunny had time for all this and time to find work. Before retiring, she was Delaware County Registrar of Wills.
In 1955, Bunny married Matt Jordan, Jr. He pretty much specialized in making babies, singing songs and running tabs at local pubs. There were times when we were truly broke, living on Tuna Helper, not getting five slices of meat in a school lunch. But somehow, she kept six kids in school uniforms. And there would be new sneakers and play clothes every few months. Kids grow. I don’t know how she did it. I did get lots of Tom’s old clothes and I suspect my grandfather did what he could.
And we all made it. Five of Bunny’s kids hold degrees. Two were professionals in their fields and one was the military misfit. Even he squeaked out a degree.
Her greatest challenge, which she met with incredible grace and devotion, was caring for our brother, Steve. He started to develop brain tumors at the age of 10. Ultimately, the tumors, medieval doses of radiation, chemo and surgeries left Stevie severely disabled. From the beginning of the illness until Steve’s death almost 40 years later, our mother rarely left his side. When she did, it was always with a mountain of worry and some guilt bearing down on her. Many mothers, good mothers, might have fallen far short of that kind of dedication and institutionalized their child. No one could fault that! No one! But for Bunny, that was not an option.
Over the years, Steve’s sisters, Anne and Mary (Teesy), and brothers, Tom and Marty, took turns relieving mom whenever they could. Between boat rides, vacations, trips to the park, AND WAWA, Steve had as close to a normal life as anyone might hope for. And like Bunny, Steve was a Phillies, Eagles and Flyers fanatic.
Steve’s nurse, Ruth (now one of Mom’s closest friends) came somewhat late in the game, but was such a joy for mom. After Steve died, Bunny tried to repay Ruth as best she could by supporting her daughters’ interests and education. They are now two of the most beautiful and brightest girls you’ll meet. Credit goes to Ruth, but some falls to mom’s love for Ruth and the girls, and the person they saw in Bunny Jordan.
In 1977 someone made our mom a grandmother at 43. I won’t mention names, but he looks a lot like me and his initials are Matt Jordan. In 2000 someone else made her a great grandmother at 66. Again, no names, but if you can picture Ken Jordan in your mind, you’ll have a vague idea of who I’m talking about.
Her life was on hold for so long that Bunny went from young mother to senior citizen, grandmother and great grandmother with little in between for herself. Yet, she never complained. She never felt sorry for herself. And she never lost her sense of humor. There were moments I believe a couple of her kids wished she had.
There was Bunny and sister-in-law, Loraine showing up as senior citizen Playboy bunnies for Uncle Charlie’s Birthday. Octogenarian “Mae West” showed up Uncle Duke’s birthday, in a pink, plastic boa, a blonde wig and a walker. There are moments when being stationed far from home are a blessing.
As our close friends and family know, mom’s hallmark craziness was “mumzee time”. When the kids would be bored or restless (perhaps late on a rainy day between afternoon cartoons and dinner) Bunny would loudly declare MUMZEE TIME! and chase us around the house yelling like a crazy woman. We would scream and run away laughing so hard we could barely breath (except for Tom; I think he genuinely feared for his life). The best part was rounding the dining room table with mom on our heels, drumming on the table as she ran.
I would carry on this tradition with my kids by blacking out the house and making them come find me. Muah-ha-ha. These were the moments that shaped our family’s psyche and warped sense of humor. I believe Tom, and my son, Pat are still in therapy. The good news is none of us have killed each other…well…yet.
The comments I heard most from family and friends, at the memorial, was that Bunny was “one of a kind”, “one in a million”, “the best of us”. And all of those things are true…for us, for her friends, for our friends who knew her - she truly was the best of us.
But then, she was not. She would be the first to correct you. Look around you! There are parents at amusement parks, and public gatherings and church, taking care of their severely disabled adult children. Many are far worse off and less aware than Stevie ever was. This is even more true now with the thousands of families whose kids came back from Godammistan with injuries that would have killed them 40 years ago. Now, they survive and their families must cope. When you see these people, think of Bunny. Say hello. Engage them in conversation. Give them a few moments of blessed distraction. As best you can, without patronizing, let them feel like the person everyone says Bunny was.
We have all met the parent running pillar to post trying to make ends meet for their family. Look out for them. The waitress, the guy who has a night job and still works for a contractor during the day. Do something nice for them. If you can’t, just tell them they’re awesome and to keep plugging away.
Countless people DO NOT share our worldview. Many are quick to mistreat people for that reason. Instead, be Bunny. Be “the one in a million” and don’t decide the value of someone based on shallow BS absolutely NO ONE will care about 10 years from now!
Seek joy in simple things. Call your parents. These are the lessons we can take from Bunny. We can all easily be “the best of us.”
I often say I have a bone missing in my head when it comes to death. I don’t process it like other people do. It wasn’t until I wrote the last few paragraphs that I cried for Bunny. It wasn’t until I gave her to you that I felt I’d lost her. And I mean that in a good way.
Make a better world. Be like Bunny.