Hannelore Al-Dainy

Eulogy of Hannleore Al-Dainy – by David Oliver Thank you all for being here today to celebrate the life of my mother, Hannelore. To our family and friends watching from Germany and Luxembourg - especially her beloved sisters Monika and Karin, and her best friend Karinlein - we feel your presence with us. Mum always held you close to her heart, no matter the distance. And while our family never won the lottery, we hit the jackpot with the mother we had. She was a woman who touched countless lives with her kindness, her warmth, and her boundless generosity. Today, we honour her memory and the indelible mark she left on all of us. One of my earliest memories is of her telling me bedtime stories—the classic Hans Christian Andersen fables—in her gentle, melodic voice. Sometimes, it was in German, sometimes in English, complete with a gentle German accent that could make even a troll or the big bad wolf sound oddly charming. She had a gift for storytelling - the kind that made you hang on every word, no matter how many times you’d heard the tale before. And now, Mum, it’s time to tell your story. Once upon a time, there was a girl named Hannelore, lovingly called Hanchen or Lörchen by those closest to her. Her story began in Luxembourg in October 1943, during the dark days of World War II, when her parents fled the bombings in Berlin. They found sanctuary with a remarkable and generous woman named Schwertzi Dumont, whose kindness would forge a lasting bond between our families that continues today through Silvie Dumont and Christian Pierrard. Hannelore’s life began in a time of turmoil, but it was also a time of resilience, hope, and the kindness of strangers—a theme that would echo throughout her life. After the war, Hannelore and her older sisters, Rosemary and Karin, returned to Germany, where their mother remarried and brought Monica into the world. Monica and Hannelore were inseparable— two halves of the same soul. Together, they navigated childhood mischief and teenage dreams, and, most importantly, Hannelore’s biggest dream: to explore the world beyond Germany’s borders. And explore, she did. After completing secretarial college, her adventures began. She met my father, an Iraqi student, and their marriage brought three children—Samye, myself, and Jinan. Their life together was a globe-spanning odyssey across the Middle East, including Iraq and Turkey, before they finally settled in Australia in 1970. Though their marriage ended, Hannelore’s journey was just beginning. Life presented its challenges when she became a single mother, but these challenges only revealed her extraordinary strength. Her heart was so big that when her sister-in-law passed away, she opened her arms and her home to her two children, Iman and Sahra Brown. Suddenly, she was a mother of five. Chaos, yes—but also so much love. But through it all, she remained a pillar of strength and resilience. She approached every challenge with both determination and a good dose of humour. Despite the hardships, she kept us entertained on a shoestring budget, turning ordinary weekends into magical excursions—museums, art galleries, zoos, theatres, the beach, or simple trips to the local library. We had so many VHS movie nights that would make Blockbuster proud. Despite her gentle demeanour, this woman loved horror. Stephen King, Clive Barker, B-grade horror movies - she devoured them all. And to balance it all out, she’d often curl up with a German romance novel, with a smirk on her lips. Mum was a lifelong learner, returning to school in her 40s to complete her HSC, a Bachelor of Social Work, and degrees in German, Italian, and French. Not one to stop there, she also pursued postgraduate studies in Library Science and German translation. Academically inclined - absolutely. But also the kind of person who’d laugh hysterically at a joke, then admit she had no idea what the punchline meant. She worked tirelessly, from her days as a switch operator at Telecom to her administration role for the Department of Defence at Paddington Barracks. After her retirement, she finally indulged in her lifelong passion for music, joining the German Choir as a soprano. She would often practice singing at home, much to her cat’s horror, who were, shall we say, less appreciative of her vocal talents. She also became a card-making extraordinaire, crafting intricate, handmade masterpieces for every conceivable occasion. Her cards weren’t just cards; they were works of art, infused with love and an almost obsessive level of detail. Beyond her academic and artistic pursuits, Mum and I shared some… let’s call them unconventional interests. The doom and gloom of world politics bored her to tears, but talk to her about paranormal phenomena, spiritualism, UFOs, ghosts, alien conspiracies, past lives, or astral travel, and you had her full attention. She had a mind that was open to the mysteries of the universe, and our long discussions about the unknown remain some of my fondest memories. She was a woman of contradictions—one moment listening to opera, the next nodding along to house music. She liked to say that it wasn’t the genre that mattered but how it made her feel. She was an animal lover to her core. Our home was a veritable zoo—cats, dogs, lizards, pigeons, budgies, rabbits, guinea pigs… but cockroaches? Those were the enemy, and we were united in our lifelong phobia. Mum was fiercely independent but never lonely, thanks in part to her beloved cats, Jazz and Leo. And while her German cooking was…let’s just say her schnitzels had a tendency to become charcoal, she had a few signature dishes that were absolutely delicious. Her German dumplings with Goulash were very popular. She loved her chocolate and liverwurst, possibly the only duo she consumed with equal delight. She also had a truly unique way with words. She didn’t just mix up idioms—she reinvented them. “Stop counting all your baby chickens,” she’d say, or “We better stone some birds,” “throw the baby out of the water,” and my personal favourite, “enjoy the grass over the fence.” We teased her endlessly, but those quirky expressions are now some of my most treasured memories. And then there were her texts—epic essays filled with emojis that could brighten even the darkest day. Mum embraced her German traditions but also embraced the diversity of our family, celebrating every occasion regardless of its cultural origin. She was everyone’s champion, always making people feel seen, valued, and loved. She was the queen of organization, lists for everything, including lists of things she wanted to discuss with you when you visited. She never forgot a birthday, an anniversary, or even a random holiday you didn’t know existed. She was deeply thoughtful, always keeping in touch with her family and friends, especially her sisters and her lifelong best friend, Karinlein. Mum had an incredible way of making everyone feel like the most important person in the room. She was our family's peacemaker, our champion, our foundation of endless encouragement, and our source of unconditional love. Her resilience in the face of adversity taught us patience, acceptance, and the importance of always finding the bright side. She was the first to offer a smile and a warm hug. She often reminded me I was her favourite son—though I was her only one. Mum, thank you for inspiring me to stay curious, for teaching me to laugh at life’s absurdities, and for showing me the power of perseverance. You were my rock and my biggest supporter, and the heart of our family. Thank you for your endless love, your wise counsel, and for instilling in me a love of learning. I will miss our Sunday visits, your heartfelt texts brimming with encouragement and emojis, and the brilliant way your laughter would fill an entire room. I will miss the family gossip delivered with your unique flair, and your (admittedly feigned) interest in my academic ramblings. I will miss our outings to live shows. I will miss the way you always greeted me with “Hello Sweetie.” But most of all, I will miss you. Mum, though your story ends here, your legacy lives on in every act of kindness, every warm smile, and every moment of joy we share. So today, let’s not just mourn—let’s celebrate. Let’s laugh a little louder, love a little harder, and live a little brighter, just as you did. Because that’s how we keep your spirit alive. Mum, I love you. I wish we had more time. Ich Liebe Dich.