Agatha C. Miller

is honored with a Medium Paver from Dorothy C. Miller.

My mother was born Agatha Muller in New York City, the Bronx, on November 29, 1914. A few years before her parents had immigrated to the U.S. from Germany. She had two older brothers. She was feisty, quick, funny, and greeted the world with enthusiasm. Agatha's parents were harsh and strict, and her father abusive. Her growing up years were difficult and exacerbated by the way her parents seemed to favor her brothers. Yet her zest for life never died. She excelled in high school and played basketball very well, even though she was 5 foot two!

Agatha was working as a secretary in a manufacturing firm when a young salesman, Walter Miller, arrived in the office one day. Walter lived in Brooklyn and theirs was a "subway" courtship. They married in 1938 and settled in the Bronx. In 1940 my sister Connie was born and I was born in 1945. In Parkchester, Bronx, our parents were surrounded by a warm group of friends who supported each other, helped each other raise their children, cope with the war and its aftermath, and have fun through it all.

Much of her life, Agatha was anxious about doing the right thing, raising her children properly, doing her job, as a housewife, in her paid work as a secretary, and as a Roman Catholic. Her own mother, an abused wife who had had her own problems getting used to a new country, was of little help to Agatha's need for reassurance and guidance. Agatha looked to the church to help her make difficult decisions in life and to give her comfort during the hard times. She needed her children as well to help her feel right with the world and not be so scared. She also continued to have a lot of friends, people to help her cope and to give her courage. I think it was with these accepting friends that she was able to express her true, passionate, fun-loving self.

My mother and I were very attached to each other and as these attachments go, sometimes the ties felt, to me, too tight. Not knowing that she had all the strength she needed inside of her, she depended on me more than I wanted her to. But the good times were wonderful, laughing together, enjoying a good meal at a nice restaurant, attending musical comedy plays, sharing jokes and passionate interests. I can't click on the weather channel without thinking about how she, a devotee of weather reports, would have loved it. When I watch pro football games there is always a part of me that misses being able to call her at half time to discuss the game, and maybe make a bet against her favorite team.

Agatha died on August 14, 1986. At her funeral, person after person said to me, "Your mother really knew how to have a good time." That is her legacy to me and it speaks to my heart. I miss her a great deal. The good part is that I know that fearless, passionate enjoyment of life is the best way I can honor her.

July 17, 2001