I can remember the times we would go on a audio program and we would listen to audio programs and it was fun and I enjoyed it with her

On behalf of my family, I’d like to thank everyone for being here. It’s clear from this turnout that my mother impacted the lives of more people than she ever realized, and that she’s loved by everyone that knew her. I’ve literally never heard anyone say a bad word about my mother, with the exception of me when I was a teenager. (and I was blessed to have the opportunity to apologize for that a couple months ago)

Throughout this reception, we are going to hear some words and stories that will give insight into the person Elaine was. We’ll hear from her sister, Barbara, who will share some important memories. Next, her oldest son Ken will have some remarks and a special song. We’ll then hear from her dear friend Cheryl, who will give insight into Elaine as an educator and as a friend. Her daughter, Genevieve, will then share some of our mother’s own writing. 

If there’s one thing I know will shine through, it’s that my mother was among the most selfless human beings who ever walked the earth. Now, obviously, as her son, I have the perspective of seeing my mother always put my needs above hers, always worrying about Ken, Genevieive, and me more than anything else. But I’m sure that everyone else in this room has a similar memory of my mother. That she was generous, thoughtful, kind, caring, supportive, and never asked for recognition or reciprocation.

My mother survived cancer twice, once in 1995 and again in 2003. Perhaps it was naive of me, but I never really worried much about my mother’s health, because she was always so reassuring and always rebounded so quickly. And also, as my dad said to me at one point during this whole ordeal, “your mother’s not a whiner.” My mom never complained about anything. When she found out she had a recurrence of the renal cancer that was first diagnosed in 2003, her first response to my father was: “You know I’ve had 16 good years,” smiling. And, to be honest, they were 16 of her greatest years. 

After my mother had her kidney removed, she and my dad really started enjoying life in a way they hadn’t let themselves until then. Unburdened by the pressure of providing for 3 children, and becoming more aware of how precious time can be, this is when they started traveling more. They both became healthier and more active. It’s when I really started to see my parents actually get closer and express their love for one another even more. It’s when I feel like I really got to see my mother and father enjoy the life they had worked so hard to build.

Those 16 years also included the second half of my mother’s second career. Something I’ve always found special about my mom is the fact that she was able to primarily be a mother for 15 years, and then started an over 20-year career as a special education teacher. I’ll always appreciate the fact that my mother was there when we were growing up, but I really think that her second career was her calling. There are others here who can better attest than I, but I have no doubt that I can say without hyperbole, there was not a better special education teacher in the country. She approached her job with an unrivaled vibrance and intellect, and truly dedicated her energy into improving the lives of young people who might otherwise have been left behind.

The last 2 months of my mother’s life were difficult. She had just retired a few years ago. She and my dad had just finished their 16th annual trip to Europe, having finally covered the last bits of Spain they’d never been to. We thought they would have more time together. It was hard on everyone to watch someone who we’d always known as so healthy, so vibrant, so youthful, begin to have difficulty for the first time.

But there was also something magical that happened. My mother was selfless. She gave to everyone. And, as she so focused on others, I’m not sure she loved having others focus on her. I don’t know that, for most of her life, my mother really grasped just how important she was. But, during this time, it was undeniable how loved and cared for she was. For the first time in her life, mom had to let others care for her. Her husband stepped up in ways he’d never had to. Her sister spent many days caring for her. All 3 of her children were able to return just a bit of the love she’d given us all, by nurturing and supporting her in a way we never thought we’d have to. 

I’m so sad that we had to say goodbye to my mother. But I am grateful that, in the end, there was no denying how loved she was, and that I think she finally understood this in a way she never had.

My earliest memories of my mother are of her as a joyous presence. I remember sitting in the kitchen while she was preparing food and singing Hang on Sloopy. I could have sworn she was singing “Hang on Snoopy.” I remember the way she shouted “yahoo!” when Mark and Genevieve were learning to walk and one of them would make it successfully from one couch to the other.

Later childhood memories stand out of her as an encouraging mentor. As soon as it became obvious to her that I was interested in road signs, she started collaborating with me on miniature road signs made from construction paper. And I’ll never forget how she delighted in reminding me about the time I came up with a clever question by combining two facts I had learned on two different school days: If fire needs oxygen, and there’s no oxygen in space, how does the sun burn? “That would have been a great question in the old days,” she said.

As I grew, my relationship with my mother grew as well. Looking back, I’m impressed by how consciously my mother adjusted the way she treated me as I got older. Just shy of my 12th birthday, she sat down with me to read me a copy of the now-classic book, "Love You Forever," essentially preparing me for the inevitability that she would grow old and die. A few months after my 18th, she let me in on the fact that my parents had always been planning on granting me freedom of movement when I turned 18. And I’ll never forget the conversation we had when I was 21 and living in Chicago when she apologized, unprompted, for mistakes she felt she had made while raising me. I accepted her apology but told her I honestly had no regrets.

Eighteen of my adult years were spent living in New York City, far away from my mother. Though she was no longer a constant presence in my life, she remained an anchor, always a phone call away. Many of my fondest memories of her involve wisdom she imparted during these calls. A year or two into living in New York, I was playing around with the notion of going back to college. I called my mom to talk it through. I expressed apprehension about making such a long-term investment. “What if I spend all this time working towards a degree and then get hit by a bus?” My mother’s response guides me to this day. “Well,” she said, “if that happens then you’ll be dead and you won’t care anyway.”

So many of my mother’s aphorisms are now part of my make-up. I hear my mother every time I tell someone that “hunger is the best sauce” or that I’ve had an “aha experience.” It might as well be her voice coming out of my mouth when I tell someone “I read an article about that.” I also think of my mother every time I wipe down a table top and catch the crumbs with my free hand. Or when I put a napkin in my lap and fold one edge over so I can use it to wipe my mouth. I’m not sure if I have my mother’s knack for knowing the exact moment to transition from patiently listening as someone vents their problems to offering a sage bit of advice, but it’s what I aspire to.

One thing I’ve always appreciated about both of my parents is that I’ve never felt pressure to accomplish any common milestones such as graduating from college, getting married, or having children. Still, I could tell how excited my mom was when I called her up to tell her I was going to marry Danielle. Her response was to hold her breath for a split second and then blurt out, delightedly, “son of a bitch!” I assume she didn’t mean it literally.

These are snapshots. Fragments of memories that represent to me things I think of as her essence: Joy, encouragement, respect, wisdom, and the legacy that lives within those she touched. But the most prominent things I will always remember about my mother are her warmth and her love. And those, I think, are best expressed by these words, which I learned in 1983 as part of the Kindergarten Showcase:

Mother, dear,

Mother, dear,

Every morning you greet me.

When I call back to you

You look happy to meet me.

Thanks for the gifts,

For my favorite foods,

For all we share together.

Through the years,

Smiles and tears.

I will love you forever.

I had the opportunity to work with Elaine for 21 years at Willard Elementary School.  For much of that time, our rooms were right next to each other. There were many days when we only had time for a quick greeting in the morning, but after school was over, we often held marathon discussion sessions about our students.  We started each of these sessions with a lie, and we both knew it.We were never going to talk for only 15 minutes.We loved discussing new insights and possible new directions to pursue regarding the students that we shared.Our backgrounds were similar and yet different, Elaine’s in reading and language and mine in speech and language.   We helped each other see learning difficulties through a slightly different lens and for those hours spent with Elaine, I will be eternally grateful. Elaine found that very fine line of having her students in the classroom as much as possible, yet somehow finding time for her and her beloved teaching assistants to provide highly specialized remediation that her students needed.  She was truly like an adoptive mother during the school hours for each student that was lucky enough to be on her caseload.She cared about you as you started your day, your recess, your friends, your lunch, materials for your special projects, and most of all, teaching every minute that she had with you.However, if other issues became more pressing, Elaine could change course immediately and deal with what was important at that moment. I can’t begin to tell you how much Elaine’s entire Willard Family loved and respected her, including her students.  

“Dr. Yapelli saved my life.” Those words were spoken by a 5th grader, a former student of Elaine’s, as he talked with his social worker about Elaine teaching him to read.  For a 5th grader to reflect on a former teacher with such appreciation is quite remarkable, but that’s the type of teacher Elaine was.

Another student of Elaine’s used to say matter of factly, “I can’t read” every time she was asked to read, for 3 long years, she uttered that admission.   Elaine never gave up trying new strategies. In 4th grade, after dusting off her private collection of her Dick and Jane readers from a few years back,Elaine heard this student joyously proclaim one day.  “I can read!”That’s the kind of teacher Elaine was.

Elaine left no stone unturned with trying to figure out what made each student flourish. She spent countless evening hours creating personalized material.  An ABC book which centered around Barbie Dolls, no problem.Books about a student’s specialized interest, transcribed, typed at 8:00 pm, and used to teach sight words the next day, reread over and over because the student could really read it, because it was their own language.  That’s the kind of teacher Elaine was.

The last time I was able to be with Elaine, July 15, between hospital stays, she made sure to tell me about her four sessions this summer with a student of mine from Oak Park. She was so excited and encouraging about her work and told me of her plans to meet in the fall with this student’s teacher.  Even at this point in her illness, Elaine remained a caring and loving teacher as well as a mentor for people she didn’t even know yet.  

As an adult, Elaine’s caring and loving personality was first shared with Fred, then Ken, Genevieve and Mark.  I know howdeeply she loved each one of you through our many talks.But there was an outward symbol of her love for you as well.  Elaine’s stylish fannypack that she wore each and every day at Willard.This of course heldher cell phone.Elaine used her cell phone during the school day so that she could communicate with her team, but after school, no matter what was going on, or how inconvenient the timing was, she picked up that phone to answer each and every call from her family, often on the first ring.  You were blessed to be Elaine’s family.  

To Elaine’s friends here today and those unable to come,  I’m sure we can all attest and speak to individual memories of what an incredible friend Elaine was to all of us.  She always made the time to console, discuss, question, present another view: whatever was needed.She made us see the world in a different light.

To Elaine’s family, thank you for sharing her with us.   She will be missed by all, but her legacy lives on. We are all blessed to carry Elaine in our hearts forever.  

There are a couple of ways I’ve always described my mom to people who didn’t know her.

One thing I’d do is describe the kind of teacher she was. I’d say: There’d be a kid who no one knew what to do with, and they’d say, “Let’s give ‘em to Elaine.” And within a school year she would turn the kid’s whole life around.

The other way I’ve always described my mom is as an undercover creative. She was never formally trained in art or writing but she drew beautifully and wrote incredibly well. She even had a few of her personal essays published. Today, I’d like to share her favorite one:

The Gift of the Magi Revisited
by Elaine D. Yapelli

I can picture the Spanish tiles on the floor of the mall as clearly as I saw them that December day in 1974. Each handmade tile had a self-contained design of glossy reds and yellows that was repeated with slight variations in every other tile until the whole group of them made a complex pattern that covered the entire mall. So this is Christmas in Arizona, I thought, as I gratefully left the hot, dry air and entered the air-conditioned comfort of the enclosed shopping plaza. Christmas songs filtered through speakers and plastic trees of silver and gold glittered in the artificial light.

Since this was to be my first official Christmas, I felt a little cheated by the lack of snow or the smell of pine trees. Then I laughed to myself, thinking that it would be an equally remote possibility to find a Chanukah menorah or a dreidel in Tempe, Arizona. When I had lived in Chicago, I had known where to find an abundance of menorahs and candles. But I had rarely frequented those places, choosing instead to enjoy the Christmas atmosphere of Marshall Field windows and chestnut vendors on State Street. Of course, I was only an observer in those days. This year I was determined to do something special for my Catholic husband of three months. There must be something I could find that would bring a little of Christmas into our home. Not that I had converted to Catholicism. Fred had not asked that of me, nor had I asked him to change his religion. I wasn’t practicing Jewish customs at the time, but I was not ready to give up the identity that made me feel connected to Jewish history and Jewish people. And Fred had a solid sense of himself as Catholic. We were going to do it in our own way, respecting each other’s differences and ignoring questions that demanded to know which religion we were going to pursue.

But now the test had come. Tonight was the first night of Chanukah, and Christmas was approaching soon. I had to find something appropriate. I walked into a store that had one table after another of Christmas ornaments and manger scenes. One scene in particular caught my eye because it was different from the others. Each piece was made of porcelain and was beautifully detailed. I noticed the three ceramic wise men carrying their gifts. I stood looking at them for a while, but I finally decided to move on. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but that was not it. I looked over at another table and spotted a little reindeer with a blinking red nose. No, that didn’t seem right either.

After looking at different shops for over an hour, I was beginning to feel discouraged. I decided to stop looking for Christmas items that day and pick up a few things I needed at the drug store. As I walked into Rexall Drugs, I saw it. Sitting on top of a stack in a bin, there was a record of Christmas songs by some of our favorite singers. Delighted with my find, I purchased it quickly along with some Christmas gift wrap.

That night as I was cooking dinner, I wondered how I could wait the two weeks until Christmas to give him my gift. The wrapped record was hiding in my chest of drawers, silent and still.

At six o’clock, I heard the key in the door. He came in smiling, hiding something behind his back. “I have a surprise for you,” he said proudly, presenting me with a brown paper bag. I put my hand inside the bag and pulled out a piece of shiny metal. “It’s a menorah!” I said. “Where did you ever find it?”

“I went to the Hillel House on campus,” he said. “They have these menorahs that are made in Israel. You have to fold it this way so it can stand.” Carefully, he creased it in the necessary places and turned it into three dimensions. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I said, as I gave him a big hug.

“Look, I bought these candles, too,” he said, retrieving them from the bag. I recognized the blue cardboard package of multi-colored Chanukah candles; they were just like the ones I had received every year when I had gone to Hebrew School. “Let’s light them now.”

“Well,” I said, putting on my most officious voice, “you’re not supposed to light the menorah until after sundown.”

He looked a little disappointed.

“Oh, well,” I said. “Let’s just light them now. I’d like to see how the candles look.”

I showed him how to light the main candle first and use it to light the one candle representing the first night of Chanukah. The candlelight reflected off of the gold metal. I thought it was the most beautiful menorah I had ever seen.

Then I had an inspiration. “Wait a minute. I have a Chanukah gift for you.” I ran and got the Christmas record, which was wrapped in shiny red and green paper.

“Great Chanukah gift wrap,” he laughed as he tore it off. “Wow! This is great,” he said. “Frank Sinatra. And Nat King Cole! Oh, ‘The Christmas Song’ – that’s one of my favorites.”

We forgot about dinner, put the record on the stereo, and sat down on the living room couch to listen. Outside, the palm trees swayed in the balmy night breeze. Inside, Nat King Cole sang of chestnuts and Jack Frost, and the Chanukah candles flickered with light.

This morning, the air outside was crisp, signaling the end of summer and the beginning of the colder months here in Elmhurst, a few miles west of Chicago. Fred was at work, and the kids were out with their friends in a last fling before the high school schedule began. Alone in the house, I dug out that Christmas record from our old record collection and listened again to thoughts of open fires and yuletide carols. Gradually, I began to think of a story I had read in high school – the one O’Henry had written about a young couple at Christmas. I may not have sold my long hair to buy my husband a watch chain, and he may not have sold his pocket watch to buy me a set of combs, but on that warm December day in 1974 we had found our own gift of the Magi.

“Catch your dreams before they slip away” Elaine and I  sang during a Rolling Stones concert together. It was the start of our 25 year friendship in District 90.

Our long after school hour talks were inspiring! As a colleague we shared educational values and our love of helping children. As a friend our love of travel and sharing family stories contributed to endless conversation!

My thoughts are with the Yapelli family during this very sad time. Elaine will be missed  but will stay in our hearts forever!

My deepest sympathies to  the Yapelli family on the passing of Elaine. My thoughts and prayers are with the family. May she rest in peace