Obituary of Jeanne Brown Bowley

Jeanne Brown Bowley passed away peacefully this morning January 29, 2018 in Red Bank, NJ, surrounded by her children. Born Jeanne Marie Brown on Sept. 17, 1928 in Lakewood NJ to Rose Mary Higgins and Charles Henry Brown; sister to Barbara Cannestro, Patricia Cuccaro and the late NJ State Senator John Brown; married to the late Dr. Joseph William Bowley; mother to Joseph, Cathleen and Barbara; grandmother to Audrey, Ava, Charles, Henry and Stefan. She was an avid reader and lover of libraries, bridge player, bird watcher and bird advocate. She loved sports, especially the Phillies, Eagles, and 76ers, thank you very much. She raised many cats and cat families, though her favorite was Basil. After retirement she enjoyed her photography, watching the snow geese migrate and discovered a Tai Chi class, becoming the instructor in her 70’s. Before moving back to New Jersey she spent five years in Burbank, California, near her children and grandchildren, where she would often be seen cheering at their soccer and baseball games. She graduated from Georgian Court College and became an elementary school teacher in the Lakewood and Westfield public schools. When her children were older, she volunteered and taught for five years at Our Lady of Good Counsel School in Moorestown, where she was also the spelling bee coach. She also spent time as a bookkeeper at John F. Brown and Son and administered family businesses throughout her life. Her journey complete, into the universe she returns; a long and fruitful life to be celebrated by all who knew her. She is to be buried next to her husband at St. Catharine’s Cemetery, Sea Girt. Memorial service is Wednesday, January 31 at Higgins Memorial Home, Freehold, from 1 to 3. Barbara Bowley individual memories Jeanne Marie, what a perfect name for a quietly elegant woman of classic beauty and unique gifts. Yet she called herself just plain Jeanne, and always remarked what an awkward name it was to say. That was my mother, the beautiful long- stemmed daughter of her mother Rose -- a woman of uniquely realized potential, but so modest and self-effacing that she was astonished when I once told her she was my hero. She would say that her greatest accomplishment was to have raised three successful children of whom she was so, so proud. She would marvel at the lives we carved for ourselves, and look at us in almost in wonder, claiming she had very little to do with helping us achieve lives she could not have dreamt of. But she had everything to do with it. She would have stared in puzzlement if someone had called her an intellectual, but she was one, of the most natural kind. Her mind craved information, beautiful writing, and imaginative prose. She was almost never without a book, and I can say with certainty that she loved the written word more than any Ivy League professor I have ever known. Scores of children benefitted formally from her teaching of reading, poetry, and many other subjects. But I was the most fortunate perhaps. She and I spent my first four years in a farm isolated from people, but rich with the stories she read me every day, the animals we played with, the trees and flowers she taught me about, the pies we made from berries we picked. She once said she saw God in nature, and I am so grateful to her that I learned that lesson in our wonderfully blessed time together. I learned from her that there is nothing to fear in being an intelligent woman; it was completely natural to her. From her I learned about persistence in adversity, loyalty, acceptance, and courage. As she grew to become her full self; a journey that took many decades, I remember how brave she was to start a new life in California well into her 80’s. My favorite memories of that final stage of Jeanne Marie’s blossoming was to meet her every week for lunch, walking up to her as she sat in the warm sun, always, always with a book in her lap. We talked about so many things, and I enjoyed her company as I would a best friend. Jeanne Marie, did you know your name meant “God is gracious”? I’m sure you did not, but I will never forget your own natural grace, beauty and quiet dignity in the face of any adversity, calamity or pain. I loved you so, Jeanne Marie. Thank you for being my mother. Cathleen Bowley individual memories My mom introduced me to books and took me to the Moorestown Library every week, which started me on a lifetime love of reading, just like her own. She shared funny poems and commiserated with me on being the "middle child," just like her. She adored my kids. Her last words to me were, "How's Henry?" She appreciated my quiet ways and even keel, just like her. She described herself as a jack of all trades, master of none. I think of myself the same way, but I know in her case she knew the answer to every question I ever asked. (My husband often lamented that I would listen to no one's advice save my mother's.) She was a rock for all of us, which is something I strive to be, and I'm comforted to know I was there to support her when she needed me. I'm satisfied that she lived her complete life, finally finding time to do all the things she ever dreamed of: maintaining lifelong friendships, making new friends everywhere she went, travelling to Europe and Alaska, becoming "popular!" at Leisure Village, enjoying hobbies and activities (Charlie's pizza after Tai Chi), becoming a beloved grandma, and most of all, 85+ years of reading. It's not too far of a stretch to say she came into this world with a book in her hand and went out with one too. I'm grateful to be able to say she was reading until her very last days. And I'm grateful for all she's brought to me life that's made me who I am today. Joseph Bowley individual memories I was as close to Mom in these last years as I was when I was a little kid when she would sing Peter Paul and Mary's "I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane" and I would start to cry because I was afraid it was true. Fortunately for me, she stopped singing it. She encouraged me to play soccer, which became a lifelong joy, and we listened to hundreds of Phillies games on the radio together and later watched them when cable TV started. My love of Philadelphia sports is all due to her as was Long Beach Island, our cherished vacation spot where we had so much fun with our aunts, uncles and cousins in the 70s. She was my badminton partner in countless games in the yard, carrying us to victory on many a mosquito bitten night when we only stopped playing because it got dark. She played hours of card games and board games with us, never letting the kids win, always playing by the rules and instilling confidence that we could rely on ourselves to achieve and be successful without help. The simplicity and tastiness of her meal preparation when I was a child was on another level. The smell of hot home cooked meals wafted out of our kitchen windows every night down Chestnut Street in Moorestown: Shake N Bake Chicken, Spaghetti with meat sauce, Meatloaf, Pot Roast and on First Fridays, fish (Jersey Corn and Tomatoes on the side when in season - frozen spinach and mashed potatoes for the rest of the year. The next week would be the same - consistent, anything but exotic, but excruciatingly comforting and reliable (and I now realize it was likely so simple to cater to my stubborn eating habits). When dinner was ready she would call out the window..."Joseph!" three times and I would come running in to find her in the kitchen with three of four cats circling her feet - also waiting for their delicious meal and the plates on the table. Once a month at OLGC there was a half day and we would go to McDonalds and get a Fish Filet, which was a joy of hers and the only thing she ever ordered there. She sacrificed so many things for us that it brought me great joy to take her on trips later in life and explore new places, imaging that if she could have, she would have loved to have taken us as kids. She came to stay with me in London with her partner in crime, her sister and our beloved Aunt Pat. We took the Chunnel to Paris and drove to Normandy as she wanted to see where her peers had fought in the big deuce, passing the beautiful countryside of France that served as Monet's canvas along the way. Later we would explore Hawaii (which unfortunately accounted for one of the 9 times I accompanied her on a hospital stay, and certainly the most exotic one) and fairly recently the Caribbean, on a Disney Cruise, with extended family. I remember at my and Victoria's wedding she said to me, "I feel like this is my wedding - the one I never had" as we danced our first dance and it both surprised me and melted my heart. In these last years, it was difficult to find a mystery novel or legal thriller she hadn't read. I always assumed she was escaping each day to another place helping solve some crime, although for some reason in the last month there was one book she stopped reading with one chapter to go and I asked her why. She said, "I am too scared to read the ending" so she moved on to another one. My sister Cathleen said it was a rewrite of a book from 60 years ago, so she probably knew the ending already. We spoke each week for the last 15 years, in the last 5 years almost daily and I was fortunate to have lived nearby to her for most of my life sharing Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter as much as possible. We always asked her to cook or at least for her advice on how to make the meal just as she would have. We went to Christmas Mass this past December at Holy Cross and then home for a wonderful Victoria orchestrated feast - although she directed the mashed potatoes and had half her plate empty before we could even say grace. These last years back in NJ were also special for sharing time with Ava and Audrey, whom she adored, reconnecting with old friends, seeing her cherished sisters, Barbara and Pat, and the amazing extended Cannestro and Cuccaro families that meant so much to her. Her reliance on, adoration of and love for my wife, Victoria, which we often talked about, at times made me envious but mostly showed me how incredibly blessed I was and how proud she was of me to have found such a special person. She was excited about the Eagles run for the Super Bowl and was relentlessly reading books until the very end. We even sat and did a crossword puzzle together two weeks ago, so she was fortunate to be mentally with it as everything else became a challenge. Lately we would sit, have dinner together, and watch Jeopardy and I would keep talking until I could get her to laugh at least once and then she would say, "Go home go Joe, go be with your babies and Victoria." I would tell her I loved her and go. In the last weeks I felt like she softened up and was making sure I was acutely aware of how much she loved me saying, things like, "I love you baby. You are my baby." and "I love you to pieces" and that it brought her great comfort that I was there with her. Things she hadn't said but which I knew from the look on her face when I walked in to her room to see her. She even pouted on last Wednesday when I said I would see her in a couple of days due to a family trip. Ultimately, she became my best friend and I miss her. I realize how important it was for me to be near her, especially these last years when I tried in vain to give back a portion of the happiness and support she gave me.