Archive for the ‘Grandma’ Category

This Eulogy for Grandma Jean was written by her youngest daughter Susan and delivered at her memorial event in April.  Susan shares some of Jean’s final reflections and insights on death and the afterlife…

Thank you all for being here today, to help celebrate Mom’s life.  Mom was a great one to collect and quote poetry.   Recently I was going through her wallet and came across this very dog-eared newspaper clipping – had likely been in her wallet for years.  It’s entitled “Nobody is Perfect”, and I’ll read you what it says: 

“Each one of us is a mixture of good qualities and some perhaps not so good qualities.  In considering our fellow man we should remember his good qualities and realize that his faults only prove that he is, after all, a human being.  We should refrain from making harsh judgment of a person just because he happens to be a dirty, rotten, no good son of a bitch!”

It’s so like Mom to have saved this quote – shows her impish sense of humour.  I don’t know if anyone has ever done a formal study, but I believe that all Newfoundlanders are born with a humour gene – Mom certainly loved to see the funny side of things, loved to laugh. 

...with her four daughters and first husband, Wib

In the last couple of years Mom’s memory was beginning to fail.  She would get frustrated by this at times, and ask me why it was she couldn’t remember anything – I’d explain that she was having little strokes and that they affected her short term memory.   One day she said to me, “You know it isn’t all bad, not being able to remember – I’ve even forgotten who I didn’t used to like!”   I would tell her that from time to time, as she had forgotten she said it, and she got a kick out of it every time.

I spent a good deal of time with Mom in these last 3 months, and it was such a gift.  Not always easy, but as time went on, very rewarding.  Mom died the way she lived her life – curious about what was happening, but asking for nothing; being as independent as she could be; and appreciating whatever it was that people gave her.   She lived, and died with dignity and strength. 

Mom believed very much in not looking back – only forward.  Yet, over these last few years whenever I tried to engage her in discussions about what might be next for her, she did not want to go there either.  She would just say, “Oh well dear, everybody’s got to kick the bucket some day.” – and I knew that was the end of that topic. 

The highlight of Mom’s life in these last few years was her monthly trips to the casino with Aub.  Although she did ‘donate’ far more money than not, she also won from time to time.  The last time she won a pot we decided not to put the money in the bank – that way every time she looked into her wallet (which she did quite often) and saw all that money, she was delighted anew!   So in December, when Aub asked her if she wanted to go gambling, and she declined, we knew she really wasn’t feeling well.   She was admitted to hospital a few weeks later.

Most of you have your own memories of Mom, involving perhaps her grit, her sense of humour, her independence,

...with her first two grandchildren

generosity, love of family … today I’d like to share with you some highlights of conversations I had with Mom in these last few months, which demonstrate the grace and dignity Mom displayed making the transition from believing she would recover and go home, to accepting her death. 

Mom was raised in the Anglican Church in her youth, but had not been a church goer for most of her adult life.  In the past few years she had begun to seriously question religion, and even the presence of God.  We have had many conversations in which she asked “It says in the Bible that Jesus is the son of God; but it never says where God came from.  Now answer me that.”  So I’d tell her my theories about a Higher Power, discuss infinity, offer thoughts from theologians far more intelligent than me … but she always seemed unconvinced.   After she was admitted to hospital in January, she brought up this issue again, and for a change I said the first thing that came into my head – that I didn’t think we could understand God with our heads, only with our hearts.  I said, it’s like love Mom – you can’t see love, you can’t touch it or paint it – but you know it’s real – you can feel what a powerful force love is.  She seemed astonished at this thought and said, “Oh, I see now.  So God is Love.  Yes, I see that now.”   Mom’s memory was such that she would not have consciously remembered that conversation 5 minutes after it was over; but it is interesting that she never asked me that question again.  

For about the first month and a half that she was in hospital every day I went in she would ask me why she was there, and when she would be going home.  I would tell her that she had almost died at admission, and then once again and she would be astonished, then say – “Well, everybody’s got to kick the bucket some day.”

In early February she began quoting a poem I’d never heard before – it’s a hymn and it’s written on the back of your program.  It’s called “The Lost Chord”.  Mom remembered the lines:

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease.

My fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.

I knew not what I was playing, or what I was thinking then,

But my fingers struck one chord; it was the sound of the Great Amen.

She said to me that what the people were talking about in that poem was death.  But she made it very clear that SHE wasn’t dying – it’s just what that poem was about.  I said that I understood.   Over the next weeks, after Patti had found the hymn on the internet and I printed it out, I would read it to her in its entirety, which she seemed to enjoy.  

One day in early March she asked me, “When I’m finished here, where will I go?”  I said, “You mean here, like on earth?”  And she said yes.  I said, “You’ll go to heaven Mom.”  She said, “Heaven, like up in the sky?  Do you really think so?  Do you believe there’s a heaven?”  I said that I certainly did think so, but then her face darkened and she said, “What about Hell? – maybe that’s where I’ll go.”  And I said, “Oh no Mom, Hell is here on earth.”  Despite her frailty her eyes widened, she drew herself up and with pointed finger she said, “You are absolutely right about that!”  So we talked about heaven, and who all would be there waiting to see her.  Finally she said, “Hmm, I guess nobody really knows.  I mean, you have to die to find out.”  I confirmed that that was true, and then with a twinkle in her eye she asked me – “If I get there, do you want me to send you a sign?”  I said I definitely did.  I’m still waiting.

Jean at 92

A few days later she asked me what will happen when there is only one person left on earth.  I explained to her that it was very unlikely due to our population growth.  She wanted to know what would happen when we ran out of room here on earth, and I said “Well they’re doing space exploration all the time – I suppose when Earth gets full, lots of people will go to other planets to live.  She seemed fascinated by this and said she was really glad she’d asked me this.   But she continued to ask that question over and over, finally asking this – “But if there WERE only one person left on earth, it’s unlikely that it would be somebody in my age bracket, isn’t it?”   I said, that simply wouldn’t happen, that someone as old as she was would not be left as the last person on Earth.  She never asked me that question again. 

She had stopped by this point asking why she was in hospital, or when she would be going home.  She seemed very content, and enjoyed visiting with whoever came to see her.  One day when my sons went in to visit her she immediately called for a nurse.  When the nurse came in she said, “There you are.  Two young bachelors – take your pick.”  

The day before she died I spent quite a bit of time with her, reading to her, listening to music, talking of this and that.  She was drifting in and out of sleep but awoke once and said, “I heard it Susan – The Great Amen” – I asked her what it sounded like and she said it was absolutely beautiful.  I said that the next time she heard it she’d be in Heaven, and she said, “I’m ready to go – how do I get there?”  I said she just needed to let go.  Just let go.  Then she asked if I was coming too.  I said, “Uh, I don’t think so … not for a few decades.”  She just said, “Oh, okay.” 

The next morning when I went in she was weaker yet, but still talkative.  I fed her lunch and she drifted off to sleep, then woke suddenly and said, “They were wrong.  It isn’t the end.  It’s a beginning.”  With tears in my eyes I asked her if she meant Heaven, and she said, “Yes, I think so.”  We talked again about who all would be waiting to see her and she said that would be lovely, just lovely.  Then she sent me off home for lunch, saying she was going to rest.  I kissed her forehead and told her that all her daughters loved her.   I got the call about 40 minutes later that Mom had died peacefully in her sleep.

I’m going to close by reading you a note I got from one of the nurses who cared for Mom on 1^st floor.  Llori used to work in the community with the VON Friendly Visiting program, and now works in hospital.   She wrote:

“I just wanted to send you a little note to say how much I really enjoyed all of my interactions with your mom Jean.  Everything from her being filmed for TV with those in-home exercises, to all of the fun she was in her hospital bed.  She was such a pleasure to care for – so bright, lively, funny and very witty.  She was one in a million and my life is richer for having had those experiences with her.  I miss her.  The hospital hasn’t been the same without her but she’s in a better place and I smile when I think of her.”  

I’m honoured that Lori took the time to write this note, and filled with admiration for my mom, who even in her dying days made such an impression on the people caring for her. 

After Grandma died, when my aunt was sorting through her belongings, she found a well-worn paperback novel on the bed stand.  Inside the jacket cover, in Grandma’s distinctive handwriting, was inscribed: “My favourite book of all times”, signed: “Jean Thompson”.

For a family of curious women, this old book with Grandma’s declaration has intrigued us.  I don’t remember Grandma mentioning this book yet it obviously had great meaning for her.  Since discovering it a couple of months ago, we’ve passed this old book around the family, each of us wanting to read the actual copy that Grandma had obviously paged through many times herself. 

The book is called “A Woman of Independent Means” by American novelist and playwright Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey.  Released in 1978 and her first novel, it was an unexpected bestseller and later became a play and TV miniseries.  The story is told exclusively via letters written by the main character Bess Steed Garner throughout her lifetime – primarily in the first half of the 20^th century at a time when the art of letter-writing was a regular and meaningful conduit between people. 

Bess is a memorable character – strong, sometimes overly domineering and opinionated but always loving and optimistic even after facing great tragedies.   One actually has the sense of having walked in her shoes by the end.  A prominent woman who loves travel and adores family, her need to control extends well into her twilight years demonstrated when she buys crypts for the entire family and writes her own obituary for the Dallas Morning News years before her death.  Outliving two husbands and one son, she revels in the new life of her family as she bonds with her grandchildren and marvels at the arrival of great-grandchildren, commenting: “It is such a miracle to see another generation coming to consciousness.” (p.273) 

Having read this book now myself, I concur that it is a great novel and well worth picking up if you haven’t read it.  However, a woman of 92 who had read countless books in her lifetime has credited this as her “favourite book of all times”.  This is a large statement and I wonder what it was that spoke so deeply to my grandmother.

The era of the story, the fascinating female character, and the lens to her experiences through a lifetime of personal letters must have all appealed to Grandma.  The main character, Bess, was born almost 30 years before Grandma so I also wonder if she was intrigued not only by commonalities with her own life experiences but also by a view into the life of a previous generation of women, possibly connecting her with her own mother or grandmother. 

Grandma actually underlined in dark blue ink, three completely different and unrelated passages within the book which provide some more clues:

p.84: “But do not count on others to convince you your life matters.  All of us are finally alone with only a single opinion to sustain us – our own.”

- Like Bess Steed Garner, my grandmother Jean Earle Perry Thompson was never shy about expressing her opinion and many of her descendants share that trait.  Although, this passage is really more about being self-sufficient ‘emotionally’ and self-confident… advice I will take to heart.

p.170: “It is my opinion that every couple contemplating marriage should be required to sign a contract before being issued a license.”

- Similarly to Bess, Grandma’s second husband was not the father of her children which might give one a different view of a marriage contract, even for this earlier generation…  also, perhaps Grandma related to the idea of a first marriage being for love and a second, more practical in nature..

p.176: “I would like to believe that the soul sets out on a journey of its own long before the body ceases to breathe so that by the time those left behind begin to mourn, our traveler has already embarked in another country.”

- no doubt, Grandma was introspective about death and what would come afterwards although she never shared those thoughts with me.  Whenever I would ask her how she was, her most common response was: “Oh, I’m fine dear, let’s talk about you…”

Another interesting angle to me is that Mrs. Hailey has credited her maternal grandmother as the inspiration for “A Woman of Independent Means”.…and now, here I am inquiring about my maternal grandmother’s passion for this novel…

As a writer myself, I don’t think there could be a greater compliment that anyone could give a writer than the one my grandmother inscribed in her paperback - so I must find a way to deliver this one to Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey.