Eulogy for Irene "Reni" Scheidt Finnican

Good morning, everyone.

Thank you so much for being here today to celebrate the life of someone we all loved so deeply—a mom, a grandma, a friend. Most of us lovingly called her Reni. And if she could see all the faces in this room right now, she'd be so touched—and, let's be honest, probably giving instructions to make sure everything was just right.

Reni was a proud New Yorker, born in Glendale, Queens. She was a city girl through and through, always moving, always on the go. That energy was with her from the very start.

She worked on Wall Street from 1946 to 1955, at the New York Stock Exchange—a time when women wore hats, gloves, and heels, and no one wore them better than Reni. She thrived in that hustle and bustle, and she stood out—so much so that she was crowned Miss Subways in 1950. Yes, she was truly a beauty queen. That win even earned her a trip to Bermuda with her mom. And that photo of her as Miss Subways—graceful, radiant, and confident—is one we all treasure. It's truly iconic, a timeless reminder of her beauty and spirit.

She later moved to East Meadow, Long Island, with her husband, Henry Finnican—the love of her life. Together they raised two kids—Nancy and Mark. And Reni never slowed down. She worked as a driving instructor, teaching people how to drive—not just cars, but motorcycles too. How many people can say their mom did that?

Eventually, she returned to Glendale and started working with special needs children as a paraprofessional. It was a job that showed her heart—always patient, always giving. Somewhere between all of that, she managed to play tennis, go swimming, raise her family, and make everyone she met feel special.

In 1990, Reni made a big move to Florida, settling in The Meadows in Martin County. She went to help raise her grandsons, Luke and Jonathan—but she didn't just help. Reni co-parented. She was there for everything—homework, dinners, baseball games. She was a constant, loving presence in their lives, and those years were some of the happiest of her own.

She worked at Holy Redeemer Catholic Church, a rehab center, a nursing home in Stuart, and babysat for friends. She also cared for her Aunt Wanda for many years. That's who Reni was—always taking care of others, never expecting anything in return.

She had her traditions. Her famous drink that we all here know was vodka on the rocks with two olives, best enjoyed at Palm City Grill, surrounded by friends who meant the world to her. After many of them passed, she didn't return. Those evenings had become something sacred—irreplaceable.

Some of our most cherished memories are simple ones—like watching her stroll around the pool in the Florida sun, four little dogs following her everywhere she went. That was Reni: full of life, love, and always in motion.

She was the queen of texting. Most of us here probably got several "I love you" messages from her every single day—sometimes all before lunch. And if you didn't answer fast enough? "Did you see the photo?" or "Hello??" would quickly follow.

She loved raising her grandsons Jonathan and Luke. She showed up for everything, never missing a moment. And just when it seemed her heart couldn't stretch any further, along came her great-grandkids: Andrea, Mia, and Noah. Andrea was her little sidekick—they were inseparable. Then came Mia, who was named after her, and Reni absolutely loved that. "Of course she's special," she'd say, "Just listen to that name!" And then Noah, her sweet little charmer, who could light up her whole day with just a smile. She adored each of them with her whole heart and never let a day go by without making sure they felt it.

In Reni's final chapter, there were so many people who helped lift her, love her, and carry her when she needed it most. We want to take a moment to thank them now.

To her grandsons, Luke and Jonathan—thank you. Your presence, your help, your constant care meant more than words can ever say. She loved her boys, and everyone knew it. You brought her pride, comfort, and joy every step of the way.

To Sharon Beiser—a gentle, heartfelt thank you. When Reni was taken to the hospital, Sharon was with her. And when she came home, Sharon was there again, making sure everything went smoothly. There was something comforting about her presence—a quiet reassurance, like a daughter standing by. Reni felt safe with Sharon because she knew Sharon would never let her down. Their bond was one of trust and tenderness, and we are so grateful for it.

To Andrea—thank you. Nancy would not have been able to bring Reni home without your strength, your compassion, your round-the-clock care. You were by Reni's side every moment, through the good days and the hard ones. And in the end, you were the last thing she saw before taking her final breath. That kind of love stays in the soul forever.

And now, a very special thank you—one that deserves its own space, its own breath—to Nancy, Reni's daughter.

Nancy, none of this would have been possible without you. Every single day, you showed up. You cared for Reni in every way imaginable—with patience, devotion, and the kind of love that doesn't ask for anything in return. Because of you, Mia had the beautiful, dignified, love-filled life she did. Because of you, Reni was able to stay in the comfort of home, surrounded by those she loved most. You allowed Mia to be exactly who she was—unapologetically, joyfully herself. And Reni knew that. She felt it. She saw the sacrifices. And she never stopped being proud of you.

You were her full-time caregiver, her voice when she couldn't speak, her hands when she couldn't move, her strength when she was tired. You were the constant in her every day. The one who noticed the small things, stayed up through the long nights, and never once complained. And that does not go unnoticed.

There is something sacred about the love between a mother and daughter. Something unspoken, deeper than words. And what you gave to her, Nancy, was nothing short of sacred. In her final days, she knew she was safe. She knew she was loved. Because of you.

We want that to be remembered. Honored. And held with the reverence it deserves.

Reni was many things—a devoted Catholic, a lifelong romantic, a true New Yorker—but more than anything, she made people feel like they belonged. She loved big, laughed loud, and never did anything halfway.

She'd be so happy to see us all gathered here today. Her friendships meant everything to her, and this would've meant the world.

So to our mom, our grandma, our friend—our forever Miss Subways—thank you. You filled our lives with joy, laughter, wisdom, and above all, love. Now you're walking around that big pool in the sky, sun on your face, peace in your heart, and four little dogs right at your heels.

We love you, Reni. Ten times a day. And then some.