Sandra Eleanor Rainone

Sandra E. Rainone, 76, a retired school teacher for the Providence School Department passed away Monday, January 29, 2024 at home. Born in Providence, she was the daughter of the later Carl M. and Beatrice (Muscente) Rainone. Sandra was the beloved mother of Jason C. Arabian (Lynne), and Wendy Arabian; loving grandmother of Benjamin, Rebecca, Rachel, Graham, and Victoria; loving great-grandmother of Parker and Palmer.
Her funeral will be held Wednesday, February 7, 2024 at 9:00am from the Thomas & Walter Quinn Funeral Home, 2435 Warwick Ave., Warwick, followed by a Mass of Christian burial at 10:00am in St. Kevin Church, Sandy Ln., Warwick. She will be laid to rest with her parents in St. Ann Cemetery. Visiting hours Tuesday, 4-7pm. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions to HopeHealth Hulitar Hospice Center, 1085 North Main St., Providence, RI 02904 will be appreciated.
Sandra's Eulogy
I imagine Heaven means different things for different people. For Sandra, which is the only way I have addressed her since I was 16- it probably looks and smells a lot like Cape Cod. And by looks and smells, I don't mean a golden beach and the fresh smell of ocean air. I mean that scrawny foliage, sandy topsoil, and humid sort of ocean smell when you're on the Cape but like a mile from the actual water. My mother loved going to the Cape when we were younger. I am scarred by our childhood trips there and still cannot bring myself to return.
The ground in my mom's Heaven is covered with pinecones and princess pine. If you don't know what princess pine is, it's a small weed that almost resembles a pine tree. My sister and I were driven to remote locations and forced to scour the woods for pinecones and princess pine. I think my mother thought it was an enriching time in the woods; we viewed it as torture or punishment, child labor in its purist. She used these items to create baskets which became decorations and gifts. Any acorns we found would later be painted with little faces and glued to a stick figure made of toothpicks. They would end up resembling skiers with winter hats on.
In this version of the afterlife, all of the Christmas Tree Shops that ever closed have been reincarnated and reopened. Every street corner has a store that sells nothing but wooden spoons, my mother's disciplinary tool of choice.
From what I could tell, her upbringing was strict. Her mother, my grandmother, from the sounds of it, had a very difficult upbringing as well. The maternal figure in my grandmother's life was very stern. It caused my grandmother to be challenged in how she showed affection for my mom. I vividly remember the constant arguing, usually around my mom's parenting of us. The tension was impossible to miss, and I am sure it was difficult for my mother to deal with. She mimicked those traits at times as we got older, but mostly with my sister. It seemed to be a mother/daughter trait carried down from the Muscente side of the family. I am positive that in some odd way, it was how my mother's affection manifested itself. She spoke highly of Wendy to everyone, except Wendy. I also know, without a doubt, my mother would have been very proud of Wendy's care in her final weeks. She did an amazing job and definitely exceeded any expectations Mom could have ever had.
You may or may not know that we grew up relatively poor. Food Stamps and 5lb blocks of government issued cheese were part of our daily lives. Luxury was a bag of Smartfood from the bi-weekly Stop & Shop run - but my mother made sure we never went without. We always had what we needed. More often than not, we always had what we wanted. That came with great sacrifice, all my mother's. She always put us first. For all that we lacked financially, we never felt like we were poor. Around the holidays, we could go to the Salvation Army for a free toy. It was meant for families that did not have the means to buy gifts for children. I never understood why we did that, I felt guilty and out of place there. It's probably the greatest testament to my mom's efforts. We simply never felt the hardships we were under. We were well dressed; the house was always clean and neat.
She would take on jewelry work to be done at home. We all pitched in - assembling and sorting countless necklaces, clasps, findings, and pendants. A gross is one dozen dozen, or 144 pieces, if you didn't know.
I recall my friends being shocked when they would see me use a food stamp to buy food. That's another byproduct of the effort she put forth in providing for us, most people didn't realize how poor we were. She eventually worked her way out, getting her master's degree and becoming one of the highest paid educators in the state. She never gave up. She never wallowed in misery, no matter how difficult, she never quit. She was a fighter.
Visits to restaurants back in those days were rare. Takeout food was for special occasions only, maybe a handful of times a year. I remember watching in horror as she would send something back to the kitchen that wasn't prepared to her liking. I recall doing the walk of shame back to the fruit stand on Chalkstone Avenue, as many as three 3 times for one purchase. Returning the pound of Italian ham that wasn't sliced thin enough. Not easy for any 10-year-old. I was dragged back to the barber frequently she would demand they correct the awful haircut they just gave me. Painful as all of this was, the lesson was that you needed to stick up for yourself. Speak up. We didn't have much and if something was less than acceptable, she did not accept it.
She was fierce when it came to protecting us. Neighborhood bullies never wanted to be confronted by Sandra. Teachers, principals, and other parents all got a piece of her mind at one point or another if she thought we were being treated unfairly. She was not shy.
Her reputation among my friends led them to refer to her as the CIA. When we returned from our ventures, she knew where we had been and who we had seen. They were astonished, impressed, and perhaps a bit scared that my mother knew all of this in almost real time. Mind you, this was long before cell phones and GPS tracking devices. She had her ways. Like any top CIA agent, she was a master of interrogation. A seemingly harmless inquiry into how your day was could quickly slide into a barrage of trick questions. I do believe she enjoyed watching us squirm as we tried not to hang ourselves but always did. In my mid-teens, I realized she already knew the answers to the questions she was asking.
She was an expert with mental torture too. She could layer in sarcasm and guilt with such ease and depth that could easily be compared to painting by Renoir or Monet. It was both horrific and impressive at the same time.
My friends also called her the Ice Queen. She was judge, jury and executioner. And Sandra was what they call a hanging judge. Justice was swift and often public. Again, my friends were scared and astonished to witness this. But like watching a train wreck, it was hard for them to look away. They almost seemed to enjoy it. That always led me to believe I had the strictest parent. But when we would get in trouble, the kind of trouble that required us to tell an adult, they would unanimously agree that it had to be my mother we told. I came to realize that as bad as my punishment would be, my friends would have had it much worse.
Christmas at 11 Alden Street meant Christmas cookies. Not one or two kinds, but twenty different varieties that would be used to make elaborate cookie trays which would be handed out to friends and family. Sugar cookies, peanut clusters, almond bars, the "stuffed birds" which was dough stuffed with cooked prunes. Sounded and smelled incredibly unappealing. I get the shivers just thinking of them. This was a sizable operation and required a lot of labor. Child labor. Once again Wendy and I had a duty to participate. This endeavor took weeks. The attic would be filled with trays of cookies just out of the oven, using the cold winter air to help them cool. I would stroll out of my room on a Saturday night and be asked what I was doing. "Going out with my friends" I would reply, "they are all on their way here to meet. No Sandra, I do not want to spend the night rolling butterballs in powdered sugar". As my friends would arrive one by one, they were delighted and impressed to see the scale of this production. Many times our night out became a night in as they gladly accepted the invitation to assist. Their parents didn't do things like this, and they enjoyed being a part of it.
People have commented to me over the years about my achievements. Always saying it is amazing you did this or that coming from nothing. It dawned on me a few years ago, this is not accurate. I am now quick to correct someone when they make that assumption. It is true, we did not come from wealth or financial means. But we did come from a good upbringing. That's far from nothing. My mother gets the bulk of the credit for that.
She loved and adored her grandchildren. It transformed her and she excelled at it. She was amazed and proud of everything they did. She was not afraid to shout out to the world their accomplishments, from their first dirty diaper to their first good grade.
My mom leaves behind a legacy of traditions, some are not so great, but most are wonderful. She taught us how to speak up and stand up for ourselves. If you want something, you need to make it happen. Be assertive. Always be polite, there was no room for anything but. "Shit or get off the pot" was one of her favorite sayings. There was no tolerance for "woe is me". Accept it and move on. You don't like it, make it better. You can't cry if you don't try.
I'm a grown man, almost 54 years old. I feel every day of that and then some. Truth is, I am still very much a little boy, who loves and misses his mom.
Jason Arabian