STEFICA LOVRIC
2/11/1934 - 22/8/2024
STEFICA LOVRIC
2/11/1934 - 22/8/2024
THE FUNERAL OF Stefica Lovric - september 5, 2024
THE FUNERAL OF STEFICA LOVRIC - SEPTEMBER 5, 2024
THE FUNERAL OF STEFICA LOVRIC - SEPTEMBER 5, 2024
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Eulogy - By Maryan Lovric
Mum was born on 2nd of November, 1934 in Batina Donja, a small village north of Zagreb in Croatia. Mum was the second child and first daughter to her parents, Veronika and Stjepan. She grew up with her 10 siblings in a small house that had a bit of land where they grew their food, raised chickens, ducks and pigs, had a cow for milk; and a stream running at the edge of their property for fresh water and cleaning.
Her father sadly passed away when she was 15 and with money becoming tight she was sent away to work for a well-off military family in Zagreb. She would clean their house and take care of their young daughter. In the evening she would retreat to the small bedroom they had set up for her. One fateful day the father suggested that she keep herself entertained by reading the newspapers that had been left in her room.
And it was absolutely a fateful day because it was while reading these papers that she came across a notice about a school in the coastal town of Opatija offering free cooking classes for young girls. It was fate that this brave young girl would then cut out that ad, promptly tell the family she could no longer help them, go home to her mother and tell her she was going to Opatija to become a cook.
After mum graduated she spent summers cooking in restaurants along the Croatian coast and later spent years working at the popular Lovački Rog restaurant in Zagreb. She would always tell us that she was the “main one” there and I have no doubt that she was.
It was also fate that Mum would end up living in Australia after a young man living in Melbourne wrote to his mother in Croatia asking if she knew anyone who would want to be his wife, as you do. The call was put out, the aunties talked, the stars aligned and Mum was found. Mum and Dad corresponded through mail and after Dad sent her the most handsome photo he could find of himself, Mum took herself to the Italian Port of Genova, boarded the SS G. Marconi and after a 3-month trip, arrived in Melbourne on the 24th of January, 1965.
Mum and Dad got stuck into life together straight away, getting married right here in this church and having their first child, Marijan, all by the end of 1965. They were renting in Kew but soon wanted to buy their own house. And Mum knew exactly what she wanted.
So, Dad found a real estate agent, who, with a list of properties in hand, drove them to the first house. Mum took a quick look around and said, No, not this one. So the agent took them to the next. No, not that one either. Down the list the agent went, taking them from one place to another, mum knowing quickly that each place wasn’t right. In one case she didn’t even bother getting out of the car to take a look inside. The agent, getting more and more frustrated with this young couple wasting his time, finally got some limited English out of them: Mum wanted a brick house. And so he took them to a brick house. A house that no one wanted. A house that for years he just could not sell. A house where the kitchen, instead of having cupboards, had wooden vegetable crates for storage. A house that had rubbish piled high in the backyard because it had been vacant for so long that the neighbours had started throwing their own trash over the fence. But within minutes of seeing this house at 24 Brinsley Road mum said to a probably shocked but relieved agent, This is the one.
She moved into that house in 1966 with her husband, Tony, and infant son.
This house became her home for nearly 60 years.
In 1971 she brought into this home her first daughter, Vendi and a couple of years later her second daughter, me, Marijana. She invited her sister Milica and her family to live in the home when they also immigrated from Croatia in the 70s. The backyard was a mini version of her childhood home, complete with vegetable garden and chickens. And like most homes around the world, the kitchen table was where everything happened.
Mum played chess at the kitchen table with Dad late into summer nights, and when sensing loss, she would knock the pieces down with her arm and demand a rematch. It was at the kitchen table she fed her family and friends the foods that she had spent hours making.
It was there that she stretched out the pastry of her famous apple and cheese strudels. She would of course make the pastry by hand. Beating and pounding it before pulling and stretching it until it was paper thin, almost transparent and covered our entire kitchen table like a table cloth.
After she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, the kitchen table was still one of her favourite places. She would sit in her spot and help prepare food with us. She would peel potatoes, cut cabbage or shell beans. It was where she found calm and comfort colouring in. And of course it was where she loved to eat her food. And she did love to eat – especially cakes or anything sweet.
It was also sitting beside her at the kitchen table where I first winked at her. And one day at that table she winked back. And then one day she initiated the wink. I was thrilled to think we shared this little secret between us ... until my brother told me how cute she was one day when she winked at him. Soon she was winking at everyone – her kids, her carers, I think even some doctors!
They say Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease; and it is. It took a lot. But it also gave us the most adorable mother. She brought me joy every time I saw her. From first thing in the morning when I would enter her bedroom and she would laugh to the last thing at night when I would tuck her into bed and ask, Will you sleep well? and she would reply, I will.
It was fate that mum found that cooking school notice in the paper all those years ago because anyone who knew Mum knew that her soul lived in the kitchen and her love language was feeding people.
eulogy - by wendy lovric
This is the first time I’ve ever had to write an eulogy and the words are so difficult to put on paper.
My most precious memories of mum are of her cooking and the enjoyment she received when everyone would eat her food. She made the best gnocchi, apple strudel, pancakes and potato chips. Often I would eat the pancakes and chips before they even had a chance to cool down. However, the leek soup (poriluk) I could have lived without. She tried to teach me how to finely chop vegetables like she could do, but I was unable to master it. She was so quick cutting vegetables and the sizes were all perfect. She had so much strength in her hands when making dough and kneading or mixing foods. If she had been on “My Kitchen Rules” or “Masterchef” she definitely would have won.
My mum also loved gardening. She grew tomatoes every summer, pumpkin and parsley both in large amounts. One year my mum and dad had a growing tomato competition to see who could produce the most tomatoes. Needless to say there were so many tomatoes that year and Maryan was kept busy making passata. All this and mum didn’t even like tomatoes that much. Once mum was in the garden it was difficult to get her back in the house. She could be out there all day.
In her later years she found the Croatian club which she visited two to three times weekly. Here she socialised with her sister Milica and friends. They often would have lunch, do day trips around Victoria and travel interstate. This brought her so much joy and happiness. She loved these adventures much like the adventure she took when she left her homeland of Croatia to come to Australia via ship for three months back in 1964.
My mum to me was more than a chef or gardener. She was my comfort and my world. I love you mum and I miss you. Wendy xx
EULOGY - by tony lovric
Moja ljepa mama
Ja te puno volim mama. Zauvijek
I love you and I miss you so much.
You were the best mum I could have asked for. Once you married dad and had us kids your number one priority was to care for and nurture your family and you loved being a mum, that became your calling in life and you gave all you had to us and for us.
I’m sure that in the early days it wasn’t easy being immigrants in a new land with a foreign language and customs and being so far away from the support of your extended family, but you did an amazing job in raising 3 children who love you so much.
As a child I remember just how much effort you put into all the domestic duties, inside the house, outside the house and in the vegetable garden. You sacrificed so much of your own needs to put your family first.
But by far your cooking was your greatest talent and you put your heart and soul into providing your family with a great variety of nutritious food and wonderful cakes. The inspiring part of this was that you made everything from scratch, there were no short cuts taken, which often meant that you were working long hours in the kitchen just to make sure we had fresh meals every night.
Bolognese sauce, barbeques with cevapcici and Ražnjići, punjena paprika, spinat, goulash, orehnjaca, palacinke, fasirane schnitzel, sarma, pita od jabuka, pita od sira, strudel are just some of the wonderful dishes you made with love for decades. There were never any left overs or anything thrown away.
We were truly spoilt.
In later years dad was very keen to celebrate any birthday or special occasion with a meal at a variety of eastern European restaurants that made similar dishes to those that he was used to. The expectation was always high going in, but almost 100% of the time he would pull faces as he ate the food indicating his dislike for the food because it wasn’t to the standard of your food.
Once we realized that there was a possibility that your memory was going to start fading, there was the fear that this culinary knowledge and skill you had was likely coming to an end. So in a desperate attempt to keep some of those traditions going, we got you to teach us some of those recipes and recorded them to keep them alive. You taught us well. Unfortunately making that super thin pastry for the apple strudel by hand and stretching it over the entire kitchen table is something that we may never be able to replicate.
We will do our best to keep as many of those dishes alive to celebrate you at future family gatherings.
Once the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s was made apparent it was very difficult to watch your memory ever so slowly slip away. However, you were so strong to keep fighting despite every little setback that came along. I can only wish to be half as strong as you.
We did everything we could to try keep your mind active by playing games like Yahtzee and Trouble and other dice games with you. I’ve never seen someone so determined and rejoicing at rolling a 6 as you, even if rolling a six was the last thing you needed. Playing those games you showed your cheeky side in trying any tactics to win. I loved seeing you so rejoiceful at winning.
Despite all the health setbacks you endured, especially with memory loss, I am so grateful that your loving nature and your happy and cheeky personality never faded, it was there every day. Even your selflessness never faded. Many times when we would place a plate of food in front of you the first thing you would say is “Do you want this?” or “Where is yours?” or “Is there enough for you?”. You were always putting others ahead of yourself.
There came the time when you forgot our names and maybe even who we were, this was difficult for all of us, but deep down there was always a connection that you trusted us as being part of you. I loved it when I would ask you what your name was and you would reply “Stefica” (with a big happy smile), sometimes it was Stefica Lovric others it was Stefica Kadoic (her maiden name). I was so happy that you always knew who you were.
I still remember the day when I left home to start living on my own away from the family home you created. I remember you cried so hard as I drove away and at the time, I didn’t really know why this was a sad thing. I didn’t understand. I understand now.
It is difficult to be away from your mum, and not so long ago you started asking for and searching for your mum, I know you are now reunited with her and you are both looking after each other and cooking up a feast for all your family in heaven.
Ja te puno volim mama.