Obituary of Winifred Enos

Winifred Enos passed away at the Glen Ridge Nursing Care Center in Malden on Thursday morning, July 5, 2007. She was 95 years old. Winifred was born in Dublin Ireland. She was the daughter of the late James and Isabella Coyle. Winifred lived in Aughnacloy in Country Tyrone Ireland until she came to the United States at the age of 12 with her Aunt Nan. She settled in Needham where she was raised and educated. Winifred worked for many years at the New England Telephone Company. She and her husband Henry owned and operated the Glendale Inn in Woburn. Winifred lived in Burlington for over 20 years. She was an active member of the Council on Aging and also an Officer in the organization. She was very proud of her Irish Heritage and had taken numerous trips back to Ireland searching for her lost sister. Just five years ago she traveled to California and Ireland on her own initiative. She also enjoyed traveling to other parts of the world including Portugal. Winifred was reunited with her late sister Anna Crossey in 1986 after 76 years of separation. The BBC did a documentary on the reunion. Winifred was blessed to live a full and active life that spanned 95 years. Winifred is the wife of the late Joseph Enos and Frederick Rau. She is the former wife of Henry M. Walker of Florida. She is the loving mother of Marjorie Rau Walker of Woburn, Kathleen Walker & her husband Mike Lally of Charlton, and Elaine Walker of Malden. She is the sister of the late Anna Crossey, James, Joseph and Gerald Coyle. She is the grandmother of Michele Grady, Lynne Ayvazian, Atty. Michael Grady, Heather Clements, Jessica Walker, Officer Niels Christensen, and Samantha Richards. She is also survived by 11 great grandchildren and many nieces and nephews in Ireland, especially Sandra from Dublin, Dermot & Eva, Eileen and Stella from Northern Ireland. Funeral from the Edward V. Sullivan Funeral Home, 43 Winn St., Burlington (Exit 34 off Rt. 128, Woburn side) on Tuesday, July 10 at 9 a.m. Followed by a Mass of Christian Burial in St. Margaret’s Church, 111 Winn St., Burlington at 10 a.m. Visiting hours Monday 6-8 p.m. Interment in Pine Haven Cemetery, Burlington. Memorials in Winifred’s name may be made to Heifer Project International, 216 Wachusett St., Rutland, MA 01543. Kathleen's words of remembrance Thanks so much to Father Shen and the Sullivan – Janet and Kevin. Thanks to all of you who have come so far – Jess and Jeff from California, Dad from Florida and Eva and Dermot from Northern Ireland. We are so grateful to see you all. The Little Irisher; was what they called her when she came to this country in 1923 - a time when no Irish need apply was commonly used in the advertisements. She started fighting then and never stopped, even when her enemies where long gone. In fact, she outlived most of those who gave her trouble and did it with flair and audacity. She was not a traditional mother – warm and understanding – a fact which I resented for too much of my life. I finally figured it all out when I realized she gave us something even better. She left us all with a legacy of standing up for what we believe in, fighting against injustice, and never letting ourselves or anyone we loved get taken advantage of. She also shared with us her love of good reading, interest in birds and gardening and at least one hundred great old songs. She didn't have the great voice in the world but never hesitated to sing and get the rest of us singing whenever there was an opportunity. She played the piano like the keys would run away if she didn't stop them. She will be missed by all of us who knew her because of the laughter she brought forth always. She was outrageous and audacious, make us laugh and cry, and gave us the knowledge that the world and it's troubles could never beat us down, that we were up to any challenge if we wanted it, and that in the end we truly could and do determine our own destinies. Elaine's words of remembrance My mother and I had a fairly conflicted relationship. As a child, I adored her. We played a game where she would say -How much do you love me-? And I’d reply - a hundred million gazillion times-. This was very satisfying to us both. As a teenager, though, I saw nothing that I liked or wanted in my mother. Every ounce of adolescent animosity was directed at her. At one point, in my early 20’s, I stopped speaking to her for 6 months, which was hard on both of us, I think. My demand was that she stop criticizing me. And she did. As I got older and had a baby, we developed an uneasy truce. We had something in common – we both loved Jessica. When she had shingles, she moved in with me for a while and I’m pretty sure we got along; at least I don’t remember any difficulties. These last few years have been a gift. We each came to some acceptance, an acknowledgement that we were very different people. I came to understand that she was never going to fully approve of me and that it was ok that she didn’t. My mother became just another person on the planet, one that I loved. My mother loved nature, animals, singing, good teeth, well groomed hair (not hanging in your eyes), oatmeal, a perfectly mixed cocktail, loyalty, a ribald (but not too ribald) joke, and most of all, babies. She did not care for politics although she very much liked politicians, and she didn’t approve of bright colors in decorating but liked brightly colored clothing. I think my mother loved Margie best, approved of Kathy the most (she got a nice house on a lake and a good looking Irish husband – I still not sure which was the more important) and in the end, she really appreciated me. On July 4th, Samantha walked down to the park (which is amazing as she never walks) then up the hill to se Mema. She visited for a while, then called me on her cell to pick her up. I drove up and called to tell her I was there and she said mema was vomiting and she thought she’d stay a bit longer. So I parked the car and went up. She hadn’t been able to keep anything down (including the medication which relieved her pain) so they were about to call the doctor. I hugged her and smoothed back her hair, asked her if she was in pain, or if she needed anything (no to both). Then we said goodbye. Sam told me that when she’d first got there, Mema had recognized her right away. She’d squeezed Sam’s hand very tightly and with some intensity said, -- Oh, I love you, I love you so much-- I believe that was meant for all of us. She died about 14 hours later.