Lillian L. (Shaw) Deschenes, a longtime Marblehead resident, passed away peacefully on November 7th. She was 95 years young.
Beloved wife of the late Paul Alfred Deschenes, Jr., Lillian will be greatly missed by her daughter Mary Elizabeth (Deschenes) Rossi and son-in-law Gabriel Rossi, Jr. of Essex, Ma; her daughter Meg (Deschenes) Foster and son-in-law Lloyd Geisinger of Wellesley, Ma.; and her son Paul Shaw Deschenes and daughter-in-law Diane Walters of Merritt Island, Florida. She was the loving grandmother of Gabriel Rossi lll, Briana and Alexander Rossi, Benjamin, Joanna, Elizabeth and Matthew Geisinger. She is survived by many cherished and devoted friends.
Lillian was a Lieutenant in the US Navy during WWll, a fashion model and surgical nurse in NYC, a real estate broker in Marblehead, and most recently a docent at the Lee Mansion. She was an active member of the Boston Yacht Club and the Corinthian Yacht Club. She will be remembered for her flair for life and enduring spirit.
On November 12th a church service followed by a private gathering at the Hawthorne Hotel was held to honor Lillian. In lieu of flowers, the family has asked that remembrances be sent to the John Bertram House in Salem where Lillian was lovingly cared for in her last year. Donations will go toward a scholarship for residents who outlive their funds.

Eulogy for Lillian Deschenes

Given by her daughter, Meg Foster

Good morning. Thank you all for coming.
I know that we are in a church, but please imagine yourself in a
tuxedo or an off the shoulder gown because we all know how Lillian felt
about elegant parties.
Lillian Louise Shaw Deschenes was my mother. Even her name was
beautiful.
Actually, the two words that come instantly to mind when I think of my
mother are beauty and joy, joi de vivre. She loved beautiful things and
people. She also loved the beautiful words she found in poetry and
literature. She was of course physically beautiful herself, and she
certainly knew that!
Everything about my mother always felt fresh to me, like the sea
breezes around her. Lillian made up her own rules as she went along,
which was
helpful if she was on your side...... because she made them up for you
too! Lillian was a free spirit.
She was full of energy and style. Up until a few years ago, she was the
youngest person in any room.
You need to visualize my Mother's shoe closet on Mason Street to know
what I mean. Ceiling to floor three foot shelves with rows and rows of
high heeled shoes, complete with buttons, bows and sparkles. Although
Paul, Mary and I feared for her life every moment of the day, it almost
seemed worse picturing my mother in sensible shoes. This is why I will
never forget the first time I saw the tiny leopard slippers at the foot
of her bed at the rehab center. I knew instantly whose handiwork this
was. My heart just broke picturing my sister carefully picking out
those tiny slippers. And then the pink slippers arrived and then the
silver ones and the black ones with sparkles.
When I visited Lillian at the Bertram House I always saw some piece of
evidence that my sister had been there, some beautiful or thoughtful
item that was signature, Mary. A graceful Japanese mural arrived just
as the four poster bed was replaced with the hideous hospital bed.
But.....the sheets had tiny red hearts on them.
I am certain that these little touches enriched my mother's last years
because, like her daughter who had inherited these gifts from her,
Lillian had a wonderful sense of creativity and style.
Mother adored dancing, especially with my father. And she was good at
it! They were good together. She loved parties and people and the
ocean, maybe in that order. She was an excellent listener. She was
always ready to go.... any where..... any time. She was above all positive.
My husband once suggested hooking me up to her on an intravenous line.
She never doubted that her grandchildren would find their way..... and
she was right. Gabriel, Briana, Ben, Joanna, Elizabeth, Alex and
Matthew: She loved you all unconditionally.
She valued good manners and good posture. She had a deep faith and
was fiercely loyal and patriotic, sometimes annoyingly so, when it came
to being a republican.
To me, the names dates and places are the least interesting part of any
history. This is certainly true when speaking about my mother. Lillian
Louise Shaw was born in Salem, Massachusetts on September 15, 1920.
She graduated from Salem High School and Beverly Hospital Nursing
School. She became a registered nurse, and practiced as a surgical
nurse. She was a lieutenant in the Navy and a fashion model in NYC.
Later in life she owned a one, sometimes two person real estate
company. She was a notary.
Lillian studied Japanese flower arranging and took great pride in having
learned the Japanese Tea Ceremony. She did Japanese brush painting
and historic water color scenes. She was neighborhood chairman for
the girl scouts. She played tennis, and bridge and was a decent sailor.
She raced with my father who she loved intensely. She was a member
of the Boston Yacht Club and then the Corinthian Yacht Club.
She loved animals, particularly dogs. My brother felt that I should at
least mention Sedgewick here. Even though Sedgewick was technically
a cat, he thought he was a dog. And mother loved him too!
Lillian had a passion for poetry, literature and history. At one point she
made herself an expert in Russian history. I think that she may have
even taught a course in it. She was a docent at the Lee Mansion right
up until her early 90s.
My favorite image of her is curled up on the couch in our family room
wearing thick unLillianlike glasses totally absorbed in some 1000 page
book.
Lillian always said, "you can't choose what happens to you in life, but you
can choose how you view it." "You put your own value on yourself." " You
create your own life." My best life lessons come from my mother.
"Don't borrow trouble." "Words can never be taken back."
Lillian had finely chiseled features and an aristocratic air and tastes.
She was the third of three generations of Lillians, the granddaughter
of Lillian Josephine Penniman. She was very proud of her New England
heritage and particularly of the Penniman family.
It was not always easy being one of Lillian's children. But in our own
way, we each loved her very much. Year after year, ever since our
father died, my brother painstakingly managed my mother's finances
along with all the millions of details in my mother's life. He and his
gentle wife Diane lovingly hosted Lillian for the last few winters at
their home in Florida. Diane endured the loss of her cherished personal
space and time with unimaginable patience and grace. My mother
looked forward to those times so much because she felt safe and
loved, and of course she adored Bella, who is technically a dog but
thinks of herself as human.
When my mother moved to the Bertram House, my sister quietly took
on whatever functions they didn't cover, from chasing down
medications to finding a new lamp. She saw what needed to be done
and just did it. It took a village and Lillian had assembled one.
Gabe and Lloyd were our pillars, steadfastly holding the two of us up
when we needed it, making peace, making pancakes......................with a
little bit of bacon on the side adds my husband.
"Show me your friends and I will tell you what you are". Well, Lillian
you are the coolest person I know because every single one of your
friends is amazing. Debbie took you to Cabo, to parties and to doctor's
appointments...... Your friends collectively cared for you, bringing you
gifts and food and their invaluable friendship. They made it possible
for you to remain in your condo well beyond the time when it was
prudent to do so, judging wisely that this was what you wanted most.
They were your true friends.
Whenever I visited my mother over the last few years, she loved to
have me read her cards to her. She kept them on her kitchen table.
Remember?
We listened to the messages she was no longer able to retrieve on her
own on Mason St. and then later at the Bertram House: "Hi Lillian, this
is Jean. Charles is bringing me over to visit. I have a pillow for you."
Hi Lillian this is Debbie, I'll pick you up for your appointment at 2:00."
"Hi Lillian, this is Judy. I left some soup for you in the refrigerator."
"Hi Lillian, this is Nicolas. We're picking you up for the play." "Hi Mom,
this is Skip. Will you be my valentine?" " Did you get our card?
Diane mailed it this week. "
We sometimes listened multiple times. It meant the world to her.
So what would Lillian say to us today? What messages would she have
for us? As it turns out, I interviewed her for a class I was
teaching. The interview took place a year ago. It was completely
impromptu.
I asked her for some words of advice from someone who was almost
95. You wouldn't even have to watch the video to know what she said
if you really thought about it.
She said, "Be happy." "Don't complain." She said, "I just love life."
I asked her what was most important to her. She said, "family and
friends." My brother laughed when he heard this. He was surprised
that she put family in front of friends.
I asked if there was anything else she would say to my students and
she said, "Do your best," "Be kind." She repeated the last words. "Be
kind".
I have tried to think about what made Lillian so special. Was it how
hard she tried to find her way in a world so different from the one she
was born into? Was it her insistence on standards in a world without
them? Was it her love of china tea cups? Was it the fierceness of her
pride contrasted against her small frame?
She said that you had to bend like the bamboo or you would break.
"The words of a Leonard Cohen song make me think of Lillian: Ring the
bells that still can ring, forget the perfect offering, there is a crack in
everything. That is how the light gets in."
Lillian surrounded herself with exquisitely beautiful things, but there
was inevitably a missing button, a spot, a tear, a screw loose, a crack.
You didn't come for the food when you visited. The servings were so
tiny that you were starved by the time that you left. But we came. We
all came. "There is a crack in everything. That is how the light gets in."
We came because when we left, we felt better. She didn't see the
cracks herself and taught us not to see the ones in ourselves, not
to see the ones in others, to put our shoulders back and to carry
on, to look for the light.
We love you, Mother. You are already missed!