Melinda R. Mackowiak (nee Mongoni)

On December 24, 2020, of Washington Township.  Age 63. Beloved wife of Peter for 40 years.  Devoted mother of Christopher Mackowiak (Meghan), Ashley Mackowiak and Matthew J. Mackowiak (Jessica). Loving grandmother of Charles and Claire.  Dear sister of Joanne Turano (Frank), Cathy Howrey (Bob), Lyssa Gugliotta (Robert).  Cherished aunt of many nieces and nephews.  Friend to all.

We remember Melinda as a series of vignettes which play in all our hearts.

She is singing in the kitchen.  She is falling over in the ocean.  She is with all of us and laughing. She is swooning over the Jersey Boys signing autographs on 50th street.   There is a well decorated house, slightly too warm, packed with people and sound.  We smell a whiff of garlic and fresh baked zeppoli, too hot to hold. Cautious manicotti assembly is underway on a plastic tablecloth.  There are butter cookies in a shape suited to the occasion, from shoes for a marathon to rattles for a new baby, all pristinely frosted and slightly undercooked.  We are playing cards, and she is keeping score in a small notebook, adding color commentary to be revisited the next time we gather.  There is a cardinal in the house.  A broken leg from falling off her bicycle does not discourage her from a trip to the wineries.  And neither does a wheelchair that will not roll on grass or fit in a restaurant.  There are attics and basements full of treasure.  We are eating and drinking and laughing and singing all night, and she is wondering aloud as to the cause of her morning headache.  Yes, Mom.  It must be the salty air.  She is slipping into a vortex of old habits with her sisters.  We see her at a flower expo, an antique store, a craft show; buying and selling and trading.  She is at the Chat-A-Whyle or Aunt Cookie’s Subs.  Relatives that live 10 minutes away are arriving with pillows and staying over so we do not miss any time together.  There is excitement in Penn Station before the shopping on Canal Street.  There are so many bags.  Her friends are dropping by.  She is singing in the hall.  Her children’s friends are dropping by.  There are coffee mugs from colleges which are dutifully cycled to pay equal respect to the merits of each.  She is spreading joy effortlessly, just by being.  She is dancing with a stranger in Nashville.  She is drifting around the Statue of Liberty on her husband’s birthday under a hazy, moonlit sky.  She is tricking her sister into doing the dishes.  She is watering the garden with her grandson.  She is in the back of a yellow school bus at 10,000’ in the mountains of Colorado.  She is upstate or out East.  There is boisterous storytelling, great smells, and tastes.  We hear Mama Mia and Sisters! and we hug and sway.  We see her standing on a wobbly chair in Little Italy waiving her napkin in the air to the accordion.  She is escorting lost fawn across an icy street and back to the forest. Her badminton game is somehow fiercely competitive.  She is on the beach catching up with you or me or someone.   We see her adding a leaf to the table.  She is his Mindy.  She is helping and healing and picking you up and urging you onward.  And there is always so much more.

This is how we remember her, as a cacophony of senses and feelings and places and times.

More than anything else, we remember her unrelenting and infectious positivity that radiated outward to the deep bench of family and friends that she made time for.  After one particularly taxing night in the hospital, she told us that we could always call her saying, “I’ll be here.  I do three shows a day.” And after pausing to catch her breath, she said, “I’m baaaaack!”  That was her, humor and wit in the face of the unimaginable.

A lifelong student with no discrimination, she could tell you the history of Klimt’s Woman in Gold or give you an overview of the East Coast vs. West Coast rap beef from the 1990s.  She had recently taken up watercolor painting, and we beamed with pride at her progress.  Her most current pursuits were always evident in her selections from the library, which she visited often.  There were books on gardening, crafting, woodworking, interior design, cooking, travel, and even iPad for Dummies.  On her kitchen table sits an overdue book on calligraphy.

She had, for much of her life, put her family first and sacrificed to our gain. She was a selfless champion of her husband, her children, her family, and anyone lucky enough to call her a friend.  She raised her children just in time to care for her ailing parents in their elder years.  Only recently had she begun to craft her life as it should be.  Her retirement fast approaching, Mom was living more and worrying less.  A search for a lake house was underway.  There were annual trips with her sisters which were the source of endless stories.  She had planned a vacation to Italy this summer which, of course, had to be cancelled.  She was slipping comfortably into the life she had earned, full of experiences and joy that she deserved.  It was the life that we all wanted for her.

And then a pandemic emerged, during which she became a front-line worker supporting the doctors and nurses at the pulmonary practice where she worked. There could be no more gatherings or birthdays, no Thanksgiving, no visits with grandchildren.  This was especially difficult for someone whose family was such an elemental source of happiness, but she understood the personal responsibility that we all share toward one another and found comfort in the idea that sacrifice now would ensure that we would all be together again in time.  Instead, there were video calls, Facetime, driveway visits, and group texts.  The last time I met her was in a parking lot, and she scrambled to stay six feet away while I playfully chased her.

Perhaps her most admirable trait was her thoughtful consideration and the sincerity with which she spoke to and listened to others.  She had a tactfulness which was ever present but revealed itself most acutely during difficult times.  Never afraid to comfort or sympathize or write a note or send a gift, her unyielding sense of optimism and positivity brought warmth to the spirit.  It is such sad irony that she is not here now as a beacon to guide our hearts towards hope.

She fought so hard for her life and the future she expected to share with all of us.  It was a fight that she had to face alone; scared, but brave.  And we are all so very proud of her.

Relatives and friends are invited to her Mass of Christian Burial on Saturday 11:00 am, St. Charles Borromeo RC Church, 176 Stagecoach Rd, Washington Township.

Virtual participation options will be announced shortly.

Please be thoughtful with your decision to attend and use appropriate precautions if so.  Our family understands and respects your choice.  We have all lost too much already.

We offer hope that this summer we may safely gather in larger numbers to remember and celebrate Melinda in a manner more befitting the wonderful person that we remember.  Details forthcoming.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Melinda’s memory may be made to The Margaret E. Heggan Free Public Library, 606 Delsea Drive, Sewell, NJ 08080

“A Life Well Lived Is Worth Remembering”