I delivered these remembrances of my mom at her funeral on October 15, 2026 at St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral in Minneapolis.
Before I start, I want to say I’m delighted by how many of you are wearing some red today. I know Mom would be thrilled to see it.
I want to tell you some things about my mother, Cindy Beukema. As much as talking about the things she did in her life, I hope I can share something about how she loved the people in her life, which will tell you something about why we loved her.
She was born into a Navy family. Her father, Everett Parke, served in the Pacific during World War II, and after marrying Margaret Rebok, they settled on the east coast. But his Naval career took them to London for several years while Mom and her younger sister, Ellen, were quite young, and later for a period in Saigon in the early 1960’s. Once her family settled in Washington DC, the Parke household became a hub of activity and fun. The Parkes were a family who loved travel, drinks before dinner, and all things French. Even as an adult, Mom enjoyed countless trips, good meals, and fierce Scrabble games with her family. They adored each other and I hope they are finding joy in being reunited.
For high school, Mom went away to St. Catherine’s School in Richmond, Virginia, as a boarding student, and made many lifelong friends. That was almost the only kind of friend she made, lifelong ones. She was visited earlier this year by a friend she had known since elementary school. She maintained a lunch group with other moms from our neighborhood, years after most had moved elsewhere in the cities, and they came to see her at her apartment as recently as days before she passed.
Part of keeping these relationships was the great importance she placed on celebrating friends’ birthdays and anniversaries by sending a card every year. One friend who wrote to us this month said that even when times were rough, “I would always receive a card from Cindy reminding me that I was loved and not forgotten.” Mom was rigorously organized about it, and kept detailed desk calendars each year that didn’t just note dozens of days to be celebrated, but reminded her three or four business days before each to mail a card. It was a deep value for her that the relationships to the people in her life, no matter how distant in space or time, formed her community and were worth the effort to maintain.
She threw herself into volunteering with the same dedication, especially when it was a role that involved some planning and creativity. Friends who served on volunteer boards with her, like the Junior League of Minneapolis or the St. Catherine’s alumnae board shared with us their memories of working with her. One wrote “if one wanted something done and done well, you wanted Cindy on your team.” I remember there always being meticulous notes and folders for whatever project she was working on around the house. Maybe a fundraiser for Sheltering Arms, or a Cub Scout Blue and Gold dinner. Whatever the work, she took pride in the work, and she enjoyed it. Another teammate told us, “I never had to ask twice when I needed her help with something, and often I didn’t have to ask at all - she just volunteered.”
When I went away to college, Mom found new community in her dream job, working at The Paperback Exchange used bookstore in south Minneapolis. She likened this to working in a candy shop with an insatiable sweet tooth. She loved talking with customers about what they were reading, offering suggestions for their next good book, and decorating the store for holidays. She made wonderful, close friends at the store, and continued to work there into the pandemic, until her physical limitations became too much.
All of this kept her very busy, something else I saw in her desk calendars. She recognized the privilege and opportunity in being a homemaker, and was determined to make the most of it. That meant giving that time generously outside the home, to support the communities she was connected to. It also meant keeping all of us well-fed and cared for, including her grandchildren who she and my dad would help babysit in the pre-preschool years. She just made things happen. She made meals happen. She made Christmas happen. Every Thanksgiving there would be three different pies for seven of us. She kept our lives running and did all she could to make sure we were happy.
I want to go back to the pies for a moment. My mom described piemaking as a meditative activity, almost spiritual. She’d set up in the kitchen, put on some music — usually 1960s folk music like Peter, Paul, and Mary — and get into her happy zone. For years here at St. Mark’s, she auctioned off a pie of the month club, and would bake twelve pies of the winners’ choice over the course of a year. Her pies were coveted, and bidding wars would ensue. Some years she would also offer Pie School, passing her methods on to eager pie fans. Lesson one was always that you have to have a really good crust. She swore by Crisco.
Through it all, there was my dad, John, alongside her. They were married 52 years ago, celebrating with a legendary party that drank the Army Navy Club in Washington dry of champagne, and where somebody knocked over the clarinet player with their overexuberant dancing. They eventually settled in Minneapolis and built a stable and warm home for David and me. Throughout their years together, they loved watching baseball, listening to oldies, and once Dad retired, taking cruises with family and friends. After Mom got sick and moved to assisted living, Dad spent every day with her. Their devotion to each other over more than half a century is an inspiration.
The height of COVID and Mom’s increasing health problems meant that we lost a lot of good time with her over the last six years. One of my few fond memories from early in COVID was that, about once a month or so, she would come around to deliver books and a loaf of banana bread for Melissa, the kids, and me. She’d open the windows of her minivan and I’d sit on the sill of the sliding door to visit with her for a while. These were small moments, but I treasured them. Even with the world in disarray, she wanted to take care of us, and to stay connected.
It is impossible to sum up a life in just a few words, but Cindy Beukema undeniably lived a good one. She cared about her friendships and deeply loved her family. We may feel a bit lost now that she’s gone, but she will live on in all of us whose lives she touched. We are all the more fortunate for the ways she did. We will miss you, Mom, and we love you.
