Joan Goggins Nalls

“Your poor mother, she must be a saint.”

That familiar refrain has echoed in the ears of the eight Nalls boys for as long as we can remember.

Joan Marie Goggins Nalls was most certainly not poor. She also wasn’t perfect, and she would not be happy if we tried to pretend that she was.

But hers was an earthly life that is worthy of remembering.

She was born in Flint, Michigan to King and Genevieve Goggins. The year was 1929. King was a successful dentist, so despite the Great Depression, they had all they needed. She was raised in a devout Catholic family and attended Catholic school, where she developed a deep faith that almost never wavered. Little Joan had a happy childhood.

But sometimes life gave her opportunities to become ‘poor Joan.’

Her brothers, Jim and Jack, tried to make her a tomboy, catching critters, playing in the creek that ran through the golf course near their house, exploring a cave nearby too. She loved them dearly.

But it didn’t work.

Joan collected holy cards—and teacups. She learned to play the piano. She was especially close with her younger sister Janet, and she remained so throughout her life.

Her best friend as a child was Gini George, and as was typical with folks who knew Joan well, they remained fast friends for life. But it was a bit of a rivalry too. Somehow Gini always got the best of her. Remarkably, Joan had eight sons. Gini had eight sons too… and a daughter.

Poor Joan.

As a child, Joan set up a hospital for her dolls in the hallway of their house. It was the beginning of a lifelong passion for nursing—the ideal outlet for her incredible capacity for caring. In the year 1950, She graduated from the Mt. Carmel College of Nursing in Columbus, Ohio and worked in a wide variety of positions over many years, most often as a visiting nurse or in the newborn ward.

Her nursing skills made it relatively easy to find work, which allowed her to explore another passion, travel. Her cross-country trip with her friend Peggy Bowers and her time spent in Long Beach, California were a lifelong memory. She ultimately visited all 50 states. She loved Georgian Bay in Canada, and she enjoyed trips abroad to Ireland and Switzerland.

Then she met James T. Nalls.

Poor Joan.

Grandma Goggins was taken with Big Jim from the start, but the beautiful young Irish lass was not so sure.

“All he does is laugh… and I’m not that funny.”

JT was probably laughing at his own jokes, of course, but after several dates Joan began to see his charm—and his goodness. As legend has it, the tipping point was a Valentine’s Day gift.

Thoughtfulness? Providence? Dumb luck?

The world might never know, but somehow the cocky salesman from Washington, DC got it right—he bought her a teacup.

Joan and Jim Nalls were married in December 1953. At the time, Joan only knew how to cook one dish, tuna casserole, which was banned from the Nalls family dinner menu shortly thereafter.

Poor Jim.

But they got by. More importantly, they truly loved one another.

The couple immediately began creating perhaps her most remarkable legacy, the Nalls family: James Jr (Kathy), Timothy (Joan), Anthony (deceased), Patrick (Julie), Michael (Tricia), Daniel (Molly), John (Suzie), and Joseph (Heather). She has 28 grandchildren and 41 great grandchildren.

At the urging of her friend, Margaret McArdle, who was near the end of a battle with cancer, Joan welcomed Marge’s son Rich into her home as the ninth son. She also developed a bond with Anne McArdle—who became the daughter she never had.

Take that Gini.

As a mother, she had a knack for making every child feel like ‘her favorite son.’ Maybe that is the secret sauce when raising nine boys: somehow making each one believe that they matter most.

She did all the little things that needed to be done, and she did them with great love. Amidst a stable full of wild ponies, her grace and her calm belied a fierce tenacity. She once said to Patrick:

“You didn’t get your temper—or your toughness—from your father.”

Somehow ‘Generic Joan’ found enough bargains to keep us all fed and clothed. She could stretch a dollar farther than anyone we knew. We didn’t have everything—but we did.

Despite the chaos of the homefront, including two devastating fires, Joan remained active in the community surrounding her beloved home parish, St. Jane de Chantal in Bethesda, MD. She helped Jim organize and sustain the Gonzaga High School ’44 Club. She also gave up nursing for a while when she helped Jim take ownership of the Lockwood Dental Company, serving in just about any capacity that was needed.

Joan valued friendships, and she forged many that stood the test of time. A few of her favorites were Wilma Cantrel, Fran Schive, and Gloria Keehan.

What Mom valued most of all was her family, not realizing—or not taking credit for it, anyway—that she was the binding force that made us a family. You will rarely meet a soul so full of love and so capable of giving and receiving it.

When that pure soul found the dead body of her cherished son Tony King, who was named after her father, it was a crushing blow that changed Joan forever. She once wrote that the greatest sorrow of her life was not her loss, but being unable to help him. It wasn’t, why did this happen to me?, it was, why couldn’t I help?

It is hard to imagine that someone so well-loved, so bright and so beautiful and so accomplished, could possibly suffer from depression. But our inner worlds and our outer worlds are often different realms, and it happens. It happened to our mom. In yet another example of her tenacity, Joan looked it in the eye. She got help from Dr. Alfred LeBlanc, then she literally walked her way through it—and kept walking.

Shortly after Joan’s first grandchild, Amy Michelle Nalls, was born, “Mema” was born too.

And Joan was the ultimate Mema.

She loved her daughters-in-law. She welcomed them into our family. Every year she hosted a collective ‘birthday brunch.’ She made them feel special. She did the same for her grandchildren, then her great grandchildren.

The family kept growing, and somehow there was always room for one more person at the table—and one more person in her prayers.

Joan lost her husband Jim after 64 years of marriage. She mourned. She missed him. She missed his sense of humor, but she didn’t lose hers. At a recent gathering of her sons, she said:

“Some of these boys need a tummy tuck… or two.”

After our father died, she didn’t stop living. She was too strong. And she loved too many too much.

Mema liked to play bridge, and to play the piano—and she liked her walks. She was always in the middle of a book. She liked hosting luncheons. She would still travel sometimes and famously appeared on Bald Head Island in 2021. She made the invitations for the annual Maplewood Football Banquet. Not sure if she liked that, but as always, she continued to do the little things with great love.

Mema and Aunt Janet never lost touch. They shared a weekly virtual ‘happy hour.’ The meeting was virtual. The cocktails were not. Mema may have invented the Sunny D and vodka seltzer.

In the very end, her body didn’t get sick, it just wore out. Mema was tired, and she was ready for the next life that she most surely deserves. It made us all sad to see her lose her energy that way, but her love never weakened, and that was always her greatest strength.

The life of Joan Nalls was a testament to the power of faith and love. But we will not try to canonize her.

Mom would not have put up with that.

We will honor our mother and remember her as she requested: as a good wife, a good mother, and a good friend.

And yet, as we look back on her life, we understand why people often wondered if our poor mother was a saint.

Not because she was perfect. But because of how she loved.

She loved her family. She loved her husband. She loved her children. She loved her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. She loved her friends. She loved God.

And when life asked more of her than what was fair, she kept walking, kept laughing, kept giving, kept praying, and kept loving.

Maybe that isn’t sainthood.

But it’s close.

And so, holding to her steadfast faith, we will say no goodbyes. Instead, we will borrow a line from one of her favorite shows, and offer a toast to a new way of being, a tribute to our poor wonderful mother:

“To Joan Marie Goggins Nalls—the richest woman in town!”