Marian Sweeney

Marian (Fallon) Sweeney, beloved mother, grandmother, friend, and a gentle leading light of San Bruno, died peacefully on June 30, at the age of 92.

A San Francisco native, she was born in 1927 to Mary and Archie Fallon. She attended St. Cecilia School, Presentation High School, and City College of San Francisco. Through a Catholic singles social club, she met the love of her life, Jim Sweeney. They married in 1950, moved to San Bruno in 1953, and became active in St. Robert’s parish. They celebrated the births of six children.

With Jim’s death in 1961, Marian was a 34-year-old widow with a full house and little money. She smiled in the face of adversity, found sources of joy everywhere, and lived a full, inspiring life.

Once her children were all in school, she worked as a high school registrar—a job that allowed her to be present for her children when they returned home from school in the afternoon. She became a fixture at each of her workplaces—Peninsula, Capuchino, and Burlingame high schools. Students lingered at her desk to confide or complain, knowing Marian would be a willing listener and wise counselor. She loved being with young people.

Marian had an extraordinary capacity for friendship, starting with her devotion to seven girls from St. Cecilia—who stayed friends from second grade until death. As an adult, she often had close friends decades older or younger than she was. Seeing her resilience, priests at St. Robert’s would ask her to connect with women who had just lost their husbands; those initial meetings led to more friendships. Marian wrote tens of thousands of letters over the years, most by hand using regular mail. She wrote to family, friends, and strangers. She wrote to console, to congratulate, to maintain ties, to share stories and photos. She wrote faithfully, often enclosing cartoons and inspirational quotes. Most of her letters in the past decade included an Irish blessing: “May the blessings of each day be the blessings you need most.” She could often sense when someone needed a kind word, and she would say it—aloud or in writing. She lifted spirits and loved occasions to do so. Each June, young visitors who were graduating that year were made to wait on the porch before entering. Marian would cue Pomp and Circumstance on the stereo and bid them enter—marching.

Marian was practical. She chose a used pink station wagon as the family car so she wouldn’t lose it in a crowded parking lot. (She never did.) She laughed at herself. (She joked that her kids who went off to college loved dorm food.)

She had an entrepreneur’s spirit, sewing teething toys and quilted bell-hangers for placing on doorknobs, selling them at craft fairs and boutiques. (Business was good: she once ordered 10,000 bells from India.) For decades, Marian handcrafted christening stoles and candles for baptisms at St. Robert’s, and knitted prayer shawls for people living with cancer. She volunteered as a docent at St. Mary’s Cathedral in San Francisco, a role she cherished. She took up painting in her fifties, mostly watercolors now prized by friends and relatives.

She lived independently until she was 91, then moved to Westborough Royale in South San Francisco, where she raved about her loving caregivers. In the last few months, she mourned the loss of social contact.

She leaves behind her grateful children, Patrick (Ellen), Aileen, Terry Walsh (Pat), Anne de la Rosa (Max), Kevin (Jennifer) and Kathy Fitzpatrick (John). She is also survived by 13 grandchildren, 8 greatgrandchildren, a large extended family, and more good friends than seems possible.

When Pope John Paul II celebrated mass in San Francisco in 1987, Marian was chosen by St. Robert’s to represent the parish and receive communion directly from the Pope. Her faith sustained her. She left this world confident she would be reunited with family, old friends and her love, Jim. To the many who received her letters, her passing evokes the last lines of Charlotte’s Web, which we paraphrase here: It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Marian was both.

A celebration of her life will take place when it is safe for large gatherings. To honor Marian, please consider reaching out—with a note, call or donation—to someone you miss or who might need a kind word or a helping hand.