A Legacy Layered in Love

Some people enter our lives like the scent of something baking—steady, familiar, and undeniably here. Mary was that presence—strong, complex, sometimes hard to figure out, but always unmistakably part of the family.

She had layers—like pie, like life. She wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, but her presence was felt, her impact lasting. You didn’t always know what she was thinking. However, you knew where her heart was. It was clear in calls about Renninger’s in Mt. Dora, in the pride she took in her home.

Mary loved her sons fiercely. Her love extended beyond them. It reached Jackie and Christina, the women who became part of her family. Her grandchildren also undoubtedly brought her joy. She lived life on her own terms, but her family was always at the center of it.

And when the family gathered, Mary always brought her deviled eggs. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about tradition, about consistency, about the subtle ways she made her mark. Those eggs, like her presence, were expected—always there, always part of the celebration, always unmistakably hers.

Grief is layered, just like pie. It has its fragile parts, its bittersweet bites, its moments that spill over. But the heart of it—the filling, the presence, the love—it lingers.

So today, we honor Mary not just in remembrance. We also recognize the life she lived, which was special. We acknowledge the space she held and the legacy she leaves behind. Because love, like pie, isn’t always soft—it can be strong, structured, and deeply rooted. And that kind of love? It doesn’t fade.

To Mary. Her strength, traditions, and love for family will always be a part of us. We will also remember the deviled eggs she leaves behind.