Eileen Louise Lavelle

"Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam" which means "May her soul be on the right hand of God,"

Sharp-witted and tender-hearted. A fighter by nature and by choice. That was Grannie—never the lace-apron type, always the grab-your-hand-and-ask-how-you’re-really-doing type. When you were with her, you weren’t doomscrolling; you were in an analog pocket of time where conversation mattered and love was said out loud, often. We called her Grannie precisely because she was anything but a stereotype. No baking her “special grannie cookie recipe” — she was more like the type who could really perfectly perforate the plastic sheath on the Lean Cuisine while nailing a punchline during an hourlong phone convo.

Faith anchored her. A devout Catholic, she served at St. Killian’s as the self‑proclaimed “bean counter” (her words, not ours), and she wore it like a badge of honor, and potential Sainthood - hey, ya never know! She was the queen-bee of the “St. Killian’s mafia”, as the priest coined the posse of hard-core church-going old ladies. Don't even think about sitting in their seats!

She worried about all of us—in the best way—and kept our names in her daily prayers and rosary. She reminded us, often, that we were being prayed for. And we felt it. Jobs landed, storms passed, babies slept—maybe coincidence, maybe Grannie’s rosary working. I’m convinced those prayers worked.

She loved her family, and because she did, she was a working woman—a career secretary, precise and unstoppable, who could roll with the fellas—at @OwensCorning and @Spancrete. Those jobs gave her a pension and probably a lifelong cough; but life’s a mix—carry on. And carry on she did, because she adored being present for every new chapter. She clung to this world not out of fear but out of love—for the next baby, the next school concert video, the next semi-naughty joke, the next family story that would make her laugh…

Family fueled her.

Her children: Maureen, Colleen, and Kevin.

Her grandchildren: Kara, Jeremy, Patrick, and Allison.

Her great‑grandchildren: Sorcha, Franklin, Theo, and Gwen.

Her great-great grandchildren: JK. She didn’t live that long. But she did try.

Her sprawling Ohio crew: the Dorans and every extension thereof.

She came from fighters. She loved her Doran brothers dearly: “I remember with love and pride my five brothers—Bernard, Donald, Thomas, Kenneth, and Paul—who also served. These were brave men.” That pride never dimmed. She spoke of them all the time, for years and years, and re-told their stories of heroism, and how it was back then. She was our last true connection to the greatest generation.

She’s now reunited with her husband Hugh, dear friend Bill, and the many beloveds who went ahead to hold the door.

Grannie gave excellent, unsentimental counsel—the kind you remember because it’s true: Among many oft repeated advice nuggets, she constantly reminded me I was pushing myself too hard, that I was “burning the candle at both ends and was running out of wax” and yet also reminded me why I might be like that: “Kara, men die and men leave. Always have your own money.”

No grudge, just pragmatism. Her men didn’t leave; they died. She still built a life that was generous, simple, social, and packed with family and friends—most of whom she somehow outlived. Matriarch doesn’t quite cover it; she was our tether to a generation that actually did fight, our connection to a simpler time, our proof that love can be both soft and spiky.

There’s a huge hole in our universe today. But if you listen closely, there’s also a laugh from the other side. She’s with her people, telling stories, timing the punchlines, and saving us seats. And I bet she’s dancing on her original legs! if ya know, ya know

Please add your stories, your jokes and one‑liners, the advice she slipped you. Let’s braid them together the way she braided all of us together—with loyalty, humor, prayers, and relentless love. We lost one of the best—if not the best—and the best way to honor her is to keep laughing, keep showing up for each other, and keep counting what truly counts.

ding dong the matriarch is gone.

Irish prayer for the departed

Death is nothing at all

I have only slipped away to the next room.

I am I, and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed

at the little jokes, we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without effect.

Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolute unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.

For an interval.

Somewhere. Very near.

Just around the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before, only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with Christ.