What She Left Us

Melissa didn’t leave behind riches or gold

No mansion on the beach, no treasures to hold

No, what she left us can’t be bought or sold

She gave us her time, her hands, her care

Always making room for any of us there

Her needs came last, but her love came first

She filled every hurting heart

Always doing more than her part

She had a spark, an endless drive

A limitless energy so alive

Always there beneath the rink-side lights

Cheering for her boys, win or fall,

Her voice the heartbeat through it all

She carried a pride that she couldn’t contain

For the love of her life, who coached, taught, and trained

Over 39 years beside the ice, 

She was his strength, his calm, his advice

They built a life, a family, a dream

Together, they were the greatest team

She taught us patience, kindness and grace

How to find good in every place

Although she’s gone from where we stand

Her love still holds us hand in hand

For what she left us wasn’t small

She left her heart within us all

Love you forever- Patti B. Dodds

Speech for mom’s celebration of life

Thank you everyone for being here and for showing your love and support over the past weeks and months.

All of this is a reflection of how much love Mom, how I call her, Melissa B. Dodds, poured into each of you.


I remember when I met her for the first time. I was nervous and didn’t know what to expect, but soon that feeling disappeared and was replaced by warmth, coziness, and love.


I’ll never forget my first memory with her, the one that broke the ice and started our bond. We were in the middle of nowhere, and I really needed to pee. It was still during the time when no one wanted to let you use their bathrooms because of COVID. That’s when she introduced me to the “pee container,” a big Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee cup! She taught me the trick, because if you knew her, you knew she always had a plan B, C, and D for everything, especially for going to the bathroom.


After that, whenever I came back to New Hampshire, she already knew all my allergies and my favorite meals. She always took the time to get to know me better, and I got to know her. We became friends, and my husband’s dream came true, his mom and his wife became besties.

She became home, that warm and safe place to go. She made the holidays joyful. She made my homesickness disappear. She became my mom, even though my own was far away. I couldn’t call her anything else but “Mom.”

One of my favorite memories of her is seeing her become “Nona.” The day after we told her she was going to be a grandmother, she went out and bought a bigger car so she could carry her new grandchild around. The love and joy on her face when she first held Thomás will forever be imprinted in my heart. I always tell my husband, the best thing I’ve ever done was giving his parents their first grandchild.


Another memory that shows just how deeply she supported me happened when Thomás was about to be born. She asked about one of my doctor’s appointments, and I told her the doctor had asked what I wanted to do with my placenta. So, just to tease her, I said, “Well, in my Colombian culture, we make a soup with it and drink it.” I wish you could’ve seen her face, she was speechless! After a long pause she slowly said, “Ohhh… sure.” I couldn’t hold my laughter anymore and said, “Of course not! I’m just kidding! I told the doctor to do whatever they normally do with placentas.” She was so relieved and said, “Thank God! I really didn’t want to cook a placenta in my kitchen!”

But that was Mom. So supportive and loving that even if I had meant it, she would’ve gone along with it, just to make sure I felt respected and accepted for who I am and where I come from.


We all have different memories and connections with Mom. Mine with her was like that of a daughter and a mother. For the past four years, all I wanted to do was follow her around. Those were my favorite times, going shopping together, hanging out at the house, listening to her stories, watching her play with Thomás. I tried to support her, but I think she supported me even more.

She became someone I will always look up to. Her strength, her kindness, her humor, her ability to love so fully. She taught me so much just by the way she lived and cared for others.

She was the most caring and selfless person, our social butterfly. She worried about everyone else and always put herself last, making sure we were all okay. Even now, as we go through paperwork and stress, she still finds ways to surprise us. We keep finding her little notes, reminding us what to do, still guiding us, still helping us, still taking care of us from heaven.

Mom and Dad taught me what a loving home truly looks like, one filled with support, kindness, and unwavering care. They showed me what a healthy marriage is and how beautiful it can be to share your life with the person you love. I am so thankful for that. Watching the two of them together, seeing how Dad was there for her with absolute devotion and love until her very last breath, has been a powerful example of strength, commitment, and pure love.

It was my honor to be with her until the end, and to be part of this beautiful family she built. In our last conversations, I promised her two things.

First, that we will never let Thomás forget his Nona. We’ll keep talking about you, Mom, and singing You Are My Sunshine to him, just like you did every night before bed.

And second, that we would always be there for Dad.

So, Dad, I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re kind of stuck with us now… and from now on, you’ll be receiving double the love. Mom created this beautiful family, and in her memory, we will keep it together, always.

Tati Dodds

Speech

Thank you all for being here. Seeing this room filled with family and friends brings us so much comfort. Our mom was a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a friend, and the center of our family. She was also someone people could depend on, someone who showed up, someone who made life feel warmer and more manageable just by being there.

She was a hockey mom at heart, but what she brought to the rink was simply who she was everywhere. She showed up early, stayed late, froze on the bleachers, celebrated championships, and weathered losses. But it wasn’t about hockey. It was about us. Her support never wavered. She loved without judgment, cheered without hesitation, and stood by us without conditions. That carried far beyond the rink, into every part of our lives.

That same strength carried her through the hardest chapter of her life. The way she faced cancer revealed the depth of her courage and grace. And even as the challenges grew, she made a choice to create memories. That was her gift to all of us. I’m especially grateful for the memories she created with Steph, Niko, Gianna, and Danica. I’ll never forget making s’mores in the backyard together, or the night we played golf and had dinner with Marco the magician. She even traveled down to Connecticut to watch each of the kids play one of their sports. This was at a time when her bad days were outnumbering her good, and even walking up a hill was difficult. Those moments mean more to me than I can express. I’m so grateful the kids were able to know her for the beautiful person she was.

It is impossible to summarize someone who showed up so completely in every part of life. But looking around this room, it is clear her love didn’t just shape us, it touched all of you as well.

Our mom was many things to many people. But to everyone, she was love, she was kindness, and she was the steady presence you could always count on

I want to take a moment to honor someone who stood by her with a level of devotion that showed us what unconditional love truly looks like. Our dad. For 39 years, he was her partner in every sense. The way he cared for her, protected her, and stayed by her side through every moment is something my brothers and I will remember for the rest of our lives.

Trevor Dodds

Missie’s Celebration Speech

Hi. I’m Chelsea, Missie’s niece.

But as most of you know, growing up, the Dodds family was so big and so loud that it was often hard to tell which kids belonged to which adults.

To Missie, it didn’t matter.

We all belonged to her.

I spent a huge portion of my childhood in Missie and Dick’s living room

watching movies, doing homework, eating ice cream and EBAs.

We ordered so much pizza that the delivery guy used to send Missie and Dick Christmas cards.

There were two things you could do at Missie’s house that you absolutely could not at mine:

(1) eat unlimited ice cream

(2) sleep in on weekends

My parents had a notorious rule:

“8 a.m. feet on the floor.”

I can’t even tell you how many weekend mornings I biked to 10 Reservoir Road under the guise of “hanging out with my cousins,” only to immediately crawl into bed and go back to sleep.

Missie would just smile like she was in on the secret — which, of course, she was.

And it wasn’t just me.

So many faces here grew up feeling as at home on Missie’s couch as on their own.

Missie and Dick had a revolving door for local kids

You didn’t need to knock.

You didn’t need to be invited.

It was never too late or too early.

You were always greeted by Dick happily shouting your name, and Missie rushing over with a hug… and snacks.

She made every one of us feel at home.

Now, as an adult with kids of my own, I’ve watched her living room become that same escape for them.

Mini hockey in the hallway?

Encouraged.

Wrestling on the couch?

Allowed — just no head shots.

Ice cream?

Limitless.

Missie believed in joy — real, messy, chocolate-stained joy — and she made sure everyone who came through her door felt it.

Missie never fought the chaos or the noise.

She embraced it.

When she was sick, she said that nothing made her happier — while she rested in her room — than hearing everyone running around and laughing in the living room.

Missie made love look effortless in the middle of chaos.

And, God, did she love.

Missie loved Dick like it was still their first date.

Growing up, whenever we piled into their living room for movie nights, Missie would always be tucked right under Dick’s arm.

I remember getting into their car and finding mixtapes — actual mixtapes — that Dick had made with songs that reminded him of her.

We’d giggle.

Trevor would take notes on lines he could use with his middle school girlfriends.

Those two wrote the book.

Except for that year Dick cut Patrick and Cody from the hockey team.

Then love looked like sleeping on the couch for a few weeks.

But really — Missie and Dick had the kind of love that made all of us believe in the good stuff.

In Missie’s final days, Dick moved her bed into the living room.

Family and friends came and went.

We called and FaceTimed, watched old home videos…

And Dick and the boys camped out every night right by her side

In the livingroom.

And what began as only devastation slowly intertwined with something else…

something familiar.

We were teenagers again at 10 Reservoir Road.

Ordering pizza.

Eating ice cream.

Doing homework.

Laughing, telling stories

Finding comfort in each other.

And true to form, Missie took what we were told would be 24–48 hours…

and turned it into over a week.

I think she hung on to remind them —

to remind all of us —

one last time

exactly what she was leaving us with:

each other.

And that is where we will continue to find Missie.

She will be right there in how her boys love their families.

Right there in how Dick looks at Thomás.

Right there in how we all continue to show up for one another.

And she will be right there

in every extra scoop of ice cream,

every smile in a storm,

and every Christmas tree

taken down by 8 a.m. on the 26th.

Chelsea Dodds 

In honor of Melissa’s memory, we invite you to share your photos and special moments in our memorial Google Photos album using the link below.

https://photos.google.com/sha…

Thank you. 

When I think about Aunt Missie, I think of a lifetime of moments stitched together with love and laughter. She wasn’t just my aunt—she was one of my heroes.

At two years old, I sat in my grandparents’ kitchen as she taught me how to make English muffins with peanut butter—the only way I eat them to this day. At four, we baked peanut butter cookies in a tiny kitchen, and years later, when my niece was born, I remembered that moment and knew exactly what kind of aunt I wanted to be.

As I grew older, her influence only deepened. At fourteen, I watched her come home from work and vacuum crisp, straight lines into the carpet with care. That simple act taught me something unforgettable: clean house, clean mind. At twenty-five, when I was broken-hearted, she handed me a pie plate and said, “Bake something. It will help.” And it did.

She surprised us on trips, taught me to golf, and filled every moment with joy. Last week, at forty-five, I lost her—my beloved aunt, a guiding light. My heart will never be the same.

Aunt Missie taught me that life’s beauty is found in the small things: a shared meal, a surprise adventure, a quiet conversation. Her love was steady, her spirit adventurous, her kindness endless. I’ll forever carry her lessons with me: Bake—or clean—when life feels heavy. Sneak onto the bus for an adventure. Eat your peanut butter. And above all, love fiercely and show up for the people who matter.

Thank you, Aunt Missie, for every moment. I cherished them all.

Missie was the first to came out to talk to us the day we were viewing our house and when we moved in, she was the first to welcome us to the neighborhood with a giant pot of mums in tow. Her kindness, warmth and exuberant smile will always be remembered. 

Our deepest condolences to the Dodds and Barrett Family.