I am going to miss walking into your house and, with a jubilant voice, saying "MOTHER!!!". You and Dad are the 2 greatest influencers in my life. You both are the epitome of love, kindness, selfless sacrifice, unwavering devotion to our Lord, the shining example of what parenthood means, and everything that anyone could aspire to attain. What you have given to and shared with us, now, we will continue to bring to others. You have touched so many lives in so many ways...and your example will live on in us, in our kids, and for generations to come. Though I feel "broken" at the moment, I know your love, from Heaven, will heal me and allow me to be everything you have always hoped for in me. I love you and I miss you...so, until we meet again, know that I believe, that "what you take with you, is what you leave behind". Eternally, your loving son, Anthony.

Jim, Tony, and family, I am so sorry to hear of Connie's passing. I met her in Tarrytown when she came up and she was so lovely to all of us. You have my heartfelt sympathies. Mary Crookston

Dear Uncle Jimmy, Joe, Anthony, Bobbie and Gerry, Aunt Connie was one of the greatest women I have ever known. Her gentleness, her kindness, her warmth were everything that made her so welcoming and made you want to spend time with her. I looked forward to getting my broken down old cars fixed just so I could spend time with Aunt Connie in the kitchen. Our Lord must have decided it was time for her to enjoy that perfect reward in Heaven of which she was so worthy. I'm praying so hard for those of us left behind because we will miss her so. Nancy Muenkel Rosati

Oh, Mrs. Levens - I so remember her as the sweet, quiet and gentle mom of my beautiful friend, Bobbie. The mom of "all those boys". and Bobbie 🙂 - she was a lovely person, and I can vividly see her tiny body behind the wheel of the big tan Suburban which often took us from place to place. I remember her sisters and brother greeting Bobbie and I for meals at their home when Bobbie was at Hofstra. They too were so kind, you always felt so loved and special while in their company. I am so very sorry for this profound loss, but I know that she is seated at the table in God's Perfect Kingdom, until we all meet again. Much Love - Barbara Boccia

Levens family, I am so sorry for your loss. Your mom was such a kind and loving woman. I remember sitting in your driveway on many more than one occasion as Jim and Anthony worked on my various cars. You mom would always ask if I wanted a drink or anything else. Reading the memories above brought back some great memories but reading "Goo", really put a smile on my face. With love, Kevin Thies

My favorite memory of Aunt Connie (we were not blood relatives but she was absolutely our Aunt) was when our junkie cars were being fixed by uncle Jimmy and Connie invited us in to her kitchen table. We knew what she had in store; coffee, cake, and conversation. How is everybody she would say. She genuinely wanted to know. Her smile was a reflection of Our Blessed Mother. Kindness, sincerity, love. We know she is now home. Jesus has said to her, well done my faithful one, now enter into the place My Father prepared for you since the beginning of time. Our prayers are with Uncle Jimmy, the Levin's children and grandkids... Bill Muenkel

My Aunt Connie aka my 2nd Mother who accepted me into her household my entire childhood. This really hurts but I know you would only want me to feel joy. There are not enough adjectives to describe your beauty. I turned to you for advice more times than I can recall. You always had a way to comfort whoever turned to you in pain. It may have been as simple as cut knees when I was a child to helping me grieve after Michael's death. You helped me! I tried to help you but as "Goo" says above, you managed to always turn the topic from yourself to others within a minute. As Joey says, you had a crowded house but you and Uncle Jimmy always made room for me. Your home was an oasis. I don't know how to thank you for a lifetime of genuine love. Your answer would be that there's no thanks necessary. If I haven't told you enough, I love you. To Uncle Jimmy, Joey, Anthony, Bobbie and Dr. "Goo," Thank you for sharing your lives with me. I love each of you so much. I want nothing more than to ease your pain. Anything I can do, let me know. Your wife and mother was and is a saint. I will be praying to her to comfort all of you, which she's already doing. Hang in there. All my love, Chris

Forever my Lamchop. Forever my first best friend. I will forever be grateful for being abundantly blessed with her love and kindness I love you Mommy ❤️

I am the youngest of my mother's 5. My mother never once made me feel anything but the most special person in the world. She is the most selfless person I have ever met. Her joy is your joy. Her happiness is your happiness, and her single greatest comfort was that her children were happy, safe, and healthy. Any conversation centers back on you rather than herself in less than a minute. She lost a son. She lost her parents, close friends, and all her siblings; Annie, Mary, and Barney. These hardships quieted her, but somehow made her love in her soul grow. What an amazing woman. An incredible mother. And the single most inspiring figure in my entire life. In a time of no role models, heros or mentors, my mother was all of these. To heal this world, we need more of her.

Growing up, Grandma Connie's house was the one with the sweets. She had the white tic tacs, light green tic tacs, and then my favorite: the orange tic tacs. Grandma would reward us with these. Or at least, it felt rewarding each time we got some. She would tell my brother, cousins, or myself to take the chair, stand on it, open the cabinet, and grab what we wanted. Little did she know, we'd soon grow big enough to sneak a few without her knowledge. Once, I got caught. She laughed, and she told me about how much I've grown. The earliest memory I have is bathing in her sink. I don't think I can remember anything else from then on until I'm 5 or 6. It's just that one memory that floats in my head, looking up, smiling and laughing. I consider myself more than blessed to have had Connie as my grandmother. And I know I am more than blessed to have her looking after all of us—whatever more than blessed could be; she must now know. Love, Kk

Jimmy my condolences go out to you and the family. You are in my thoughts and prayers. Wish I could be there for you all. She was a very loving and caring woman. I can remember a lot of good memories of her. With love Linda and Anthony Tiso

My mother spent the first half of her life in East New York, Brooklyn, and for some years was a dressmaker on 7th Avenue. Then my father Jim came along, followed by me and my four younger siblings, and we moved to the suburbs of Long Island. My mother's manner was surely one of the gentlest I have ever known. She was devoutly religious, attending Mass online when she could not be present in-person. "There's a car for sale in the King Kullen parking lot," she told me, three weeks before I started college. "Why don't you go have a look at it?" Three weeks before attending a local university where I would be commuting and I hadn't thought of a means of getting me to and from the school every day. It was she who first taught me how to drive. Our 1964 Pontiac Star Chief frequently and unpredictably ran at high idle. "As soon as I take my foot off the brake," I said to her my second time behind the wheel, "the car takes off. I'm scared." "It does that sometimes," she said in the passenger seat. "Don't worry about it." We could call her the Patron Saint of Grand Central Station East. Let me explain. I am one of five children. We all had friends, some of us, many. We'd gather in the house, in the kitchen, the living room, the backyard. We fixed each other's cars in the driveway on weekends, in the street, sometimes double-parked. We were a family of auto mechanics. We'd gab while emptying half-gallon boxes of Friendly's ice cream as my mother sought to make sure we'd had a proper dinner, always at the ready to cook us up a meal. The house seemed as busy, the commotion just as great, as 42nd Street and Lexington Avenue. Two things you could always rely on my mother to achieve, aside from her acts of love and adoration and care for her children and my father, were her ability to consistently burn the stuffing on Thanksgiving, and her accurate prediction to the endings of television movies. She would always foresee, before the final scene, what would ultimately happen. She was always right. When my own kids were young, Friday night was Movie Night. We'd typically rent a VHS tape from BlockBuster and fall into the drama. Well aware that their grandmother was the queen of divining the resolution of a film, they would ask me as the show came near its close, "What do you think Grandma Connie would say is going to happen?" I suppose it's obvious to say that we would not be here without the presence and care and kindness of Saint Connie Levens, now looking down upon us all in new and extraordinary ways. Love, Joey