A curious comparison occurred to me in the days around my mother’s funeral.

My mother was one of those rare people who was really loved by everyone she met. She was about as kind and loving as it’s possible to be, worked with groups like St. Vincent de Paul to help those in need, personally reached out to people, and so on. It doesn’t really convey what she was like to just list the things she did. As an example, there was a man at their parish who was both mildly handicapped and didn’t seem to have any family of his own. So, for years he was a regular guest at our house for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and just any family gatherings, simply because my mother and father didn’t want him to be alone. Eventually they tracked down relatives of his, so he was able to have the support of his own family. But that’s the kind of thing my mother would do.

She was happily married to the same man for forty-six years who was holding her hand as she died. She had four children, and I can say confidently that not one of us had a single bitter feeling toward her, nor approached her passing with a single mercenary or materialistic thought. Two grandchildren who knew nothing but love from her. And countless friends for whom her passing leaves a hole in their lives.

After the funeral, some of my father’s friends from his Navy days came by to visit, and they ended up swapping stories, as people will do in such times. My father told us about some of his experiences working with Carl Icahn, who, for those who don’t know, is a well-known investment banker worth billions and who had gained a controlling interest in the company my father worked for. My father was in Employee Benefits, and among other things, Icahn wanted him to gut the company pension fund and eliminate retiree healthcare in order to drive his own stock values up (my father managed to stall on the latter for five years by pretending they needed assess the legality of it, so about 40,000 retirees got five extra years of healthcare coverage thanks to him). He’s the kind of guy whose office wall is covered with framed newspaper headlines of his various corporate takeovers, exactly as another man would have hunting trophies.

To give you an idea of what kind of man Icahn is, he was one of the main models for Gordon Gekko. The ‘Greed is Good’ speech was even patterned after a real speech of Icahn’s.

Anyway, it struck me forcibly, listening to these stories, how much more successful my mother was than this famous billionaire. Her name will never be in the papers, or the history books unless in reference to one of her children or grandchildren. She mostly gave up working after having children, only taking part-time jobs.

But I wonder: when Carl Icahn dies, will anyone feel that there is now a gaping hole in their lives? Will he have family and friends gathering to lament what a special person he was? Will his children feel pangs of agony when his casket is closed for the last time? Or will they all make insincere speeches about his ‘impact’ before descending upon his bank account like starving jackals?

My mother led a happy, fulfilled life, loved Jesus with a simple, straightforward love, was devoted to her family, gave freely of herself to others, had a great sense of humor, was humble, cheerful, and beloved by everyone who knew her.

To adopt a rather lame colloquialism, this is what it looks like to ‘win at life.’