My Aunt Pat passed away the day after Christmas at age 71. We recently got together to celebrate her life. I delivered the eulogy below – I think it captured her essence well. Please read it and enjoy–Aunt Pat would have liked it that way🙂
Patricia Unger was born in LaPorte, Indiana in 1947. She grew up with her mom, her dad, 2 brothers and 1 sister in the Pole-town neighborhood. All six family members crowded into a 2 bedroom house on Park Street.
At an early age, Pat established her independence, was her own unique person. The words, “That’s Pat,” followed her throughout her life. She was outgoing, gregarious, and fun-loving. She tended to do what she wanted to do and almost always she was good at it. When she wanted to become a baton twirler, she did it with ease. She wanted to draw and paint and she made it look easy. She strapped on a pair of ice skates and glided across the lake, while her older sister struggled to stay upright.
Throughout her life, Pat rarely met a stranger. She greeted everyone like an old acquaintance. Years ago, I went Dyngus Day celebrating with Aunt Pat and Johnna in South Bend. We stopped in a small corner bar on the west side of town. We walked in, Aunt Pat said, “Well, hi there!” to one of the people and had a conversation. Later in the car, we asked, Who was that? An old high school friend? “Who?” she said. That guy you were talking to! “Oh! Hell if I know,” she said, “Never saw him before.” That’s Pat.
She was the cool aunt who spoke truths most adults didn’t say. She said cold pizza made great breakfast and the next morning, we ate cold pizza. She backed it up with inarguable logic. “Why not?” she said. “Everybody loves pizza.” It was an added bonus that there was no need to cook anything. She taught scores of kids how to mash potato, watusi, or do the twist. Around Aunt Pat, if you wanted to ham it up, or goof off, she was supportive. She never intervened in public displays of silliness. You be you. She egged you on. Almost always, she jumped right in, leading a parade around the kitchen twirling a baton in her 30s or shaking her booty with kids in a restaurant in her 60s.
There was a serious side to Pat Unger, especially when it came to kids. If something went down and Johnna called home, there were two questions: Are you all right? Do you need a ride? That was the end of it. When I was 7 or 8 years old, my grandfather—a giant, intimidating man—gave me a pocket knife with a warning: if you cut yourself, you’ll get your ass beat! Of course I didn’t want my ass beat, and of course, I cut myself. I cowered behind a chair in the next room trying to stop the bleeding with no success. It was Aunt Pat spotted who me. She quietly slipped away, re-emerged with a band-aid, and made it better. She promised not to tell anyone. She was a fixer and a confidante.
Pat signed up to be a movie extra for the film, “Prancer.” She showed up several days, did a lot of standing around, observed the comings and goings of moving-making, got into a few scenes, here and there. During Sunday family get-togethers, she told us stories about how it all worked. When the movie came out, we went to the theater with Aunt Pat to watch it. One of her scenes made the final cut. There in the background, was Pat helping a kid board a miniature merry-go-round in the LaPorte Mall. Pat Unger’s 3 seconds of fame! I enjoyed telling people my Aunt Pat was in a movie once.
She was always on the go. Always eager to get other people involved. Sometimes conniving—weeding in 90 degree heat, so you’ll come out and do it. Always had something up her sleeve, something she wanted to do. In Pennsylvania, once a day, she left the house to get a Coca-Cola. Not a Diet Coke, not a Coke Zero—God, no—but a real Coca-Cola. Not a can. Not a plastic bottle. A fountain drink. Because it tasted best.
Pat had a keen sense of style and she was always willing to lend advice or give a hand with your wardrobe when called upon. She’d tell you that you looked fine and if you were concerned what others might say, she replied, Eh, who cares what they think.
Sure, Pat could be cantankerous, and let’s call it strong-willed. (She was an Unger after all!) After Pat passed away, we dug out boxes of old photographs and found many of Aunt Pat at Christmas gatherings, Thanksgivings, Easter egg hunts, swimming parties, and bicycle rides. There is value in old photographs—especially the ones you can touch and sort. There was a consistent pattern in the photographs Pat appeared in. Again and again, Pat was smiling, laughing, hamming it up for the camera, keeping the spirit festive, entertaining, and being entertained. She displayed sass and flair. She was the life of the party and if it wasn’t a party, her presence made it feel like maybe it was a party after all.
That is the lesson we take from her. That is the Pat Unger we knew and loved. She was a daughter, a sister, a mother, an aunt, a friend, a neighbor, the mom of your best friend, and a passing acquaintance that lifted your spirits for one fleeting moment. She made us smile, she laughed with us, and when the world seemed like it didn’t like us or it didn’t quite approve, she waved her hand and said, “Ehh, who cares what they think?”
Let’s raise our glasses and toast: Patricia Unger, you lived out lout from start to finish and made our lives more interesting and more fun. Here’s to Pat!