After The Funeral
Jennifer
We had the funeral for my aunt Beatrice . The funeral seemed to be exactly what a Catholic funeral ought to be.
After the funeral, one sister, one daughter, and I returned to the house to resume the sorting-and-taking-stock task. Around dinner time, a girl appeared who had just learned of Beatrice’s death that afternoon. She was very upset and kept saying how close they were. Did we need any help? We had her come in. It turned out that she was a junior in high school and lived a few blocks away. Moira met Beatrice last summer when Cranberry was loose in the evening so she brought Cranberry to the address on the tag. Beatrice was on the floor, and “was not well†or “had been drinkingâ€. They became good friends.
Beatrice told her all about: growing up (Moira’s grandmother grew up in the same place), her first marriage (but not more than we’d figured out already from the wedding album), all the schnausers (we had remembered them all, but Moira knew that Groucho was the one that they “adopted†, I vaguely remember that), the Frost work (and Moira’s English teacher was going to have Mrs. Smith in when they did Frost in the spring; not yet because the teacher didn’t want the end of the year to be anticlimactic; yes, Moira does have a copy of her published book on Frost), the current book (Moira was glad the literary executor would try to publish it), St. Ignatius (Moira was relieved the funeral was there, Mrs. Smith loved it there), step-sons by name, and children thereto.
We kept expressing surprise that Beatrice had opened up to her so much, and Moira explained that she was pushy but had sometimes stayed away because she worried she was too pushy. She was extremely upset that she hadn’t been around since , well, obviously since late March. She had tried at some point(s?), but when Beatrice didn’t answer or something she didn’t go over and insist on going in as it sounded like she often had in the previous months, because she was busy getting ready for a trip. (School vacation trip?) Often when Beatrice didn’t answer the phone or told her not to come over she said she wasn’t well and Moira thought she had been drinking (and sometimes Moira visited anyway).
Just before Moira left, we asked her if there was anything we could do for her, and she said, “Don’t give away the coffee table, her husband made that, she told me all about that.†We assured her that we were not planning to get rid of it, it was one of our favorites, but what did she know about it? And she explained how “Bill , no, Mr. Smith†, had collected tile from demolition sites and he hadn’t glued the pieces down until Beatrice made him do so when they got married. (Another thing I once knew, but had forgotten.) She was quite amazing. I think she was the ONLY person who knew Beatrice both drinking and sober. And she liked all of her.
Beatrice’s first wedding.
View larger image
View larger image
There’s a sweet addendum to the Moira story. She responded to a card (on a copy of a pen-and-ink andwatercolor by my uncle) from me with (among other things) the comment, “I hope she could have considered me a friend.†I didn’t quite know how to answer that, not knowing why she seemed not to have mentioned Moira to anyone, and then Saturday I found a jewelry box in a drawer labeled “Moira, for her graduation†, that’s not until NEXT year, by the way.
Jennifer, do you suppose Beatrice knew she would not live long enough to give Moira the gift herself, or do you think she came upon something she thought Moira would like and marked it to make sure she remembered, or did something else entirely prompt the choosing and labeling of Moira’s gift? And have you given the gift to Moira or will you wait until next year?
Comment by Fierce Baby — May 28, 2005 @ 4:54 pm
Honestly, I think Beatrice had an addiction to buying things on the Home Shopping Network (as well as to alcohol), and when she received this she said — oh, I can give this to Moira. (I do have abundant evidence for the first part of my statement.)
I will give it to Moira later this weekend, along with the cute little china schnauser and some of the photos — I’m thinking of the wedding album from her first wedding and the 3 professional portraits — from her childhood, young adulthood, and one of a schnauser. What do you think? But maybe I’ll hold on to the photos for the memorial service that will happen this summer (designed to include people who knew her writing). NONE of her contacts go back very far; no one really wants the old photos, but there would be passing interest at the memorial service.
Comment by jennifer — May 28, 2005 @ 6:26 pm
Too bad this is a private story. How nice would it be to hear what Beatrice meant to Moira, from Moira? Why Moira pursued a relationship with someone she first met on the floor? Then, too, what Moira added to BeatriceÃs life, besides the return of her pet. There are big elements here…not made for Hollywood necessarily, but made for people like us.
Comment by michael — May 28, 2005 @ 6:40 pm
As nice a eulogy as evidently Beatrice could have hoped for.
Would that we could have read Beatrice’s story as told in her own words…of the evolution (devolution?) from attractive, shy lady on the beach, through failed marriage to handsome military guy, turning to Schnausers as the only reliable companions, and eventual descent into booz.
Which then makes me think that perhaps we be documenting our own devolutions for curious progeny years hence.
(Jennifer, could I be so bold as to recommend more paragraphs to increase the reader-friendliness of your next story?)
Comment by smiling — May 29, 2005 @ 9:53 am
The pictures help to make a stranger more known, but they also pose all the questions asked by Fierce Baby, michael, and smiling, and more.
Funny how the personas we build of people of whom we know but little — and mostly from obits like these — surprise me when their pictures show another person: the grinning [N]oland, the bathing-suited Beatrice. Even the late-in-life Beatrice and Schnauzer, smiling in the yard. An insight into bigotry, perhaps, that one can allow onesself so two-dimensional a sense of any person.
Comment by adam — May 29, 2005 @ 11:02 am
More paragraphs. Got it.
Comment by jennifer — May 29, 2005 @ 12:06 pm
Throughout this Beatrice saga, I have been forced to think about the people I have known and loved who have pickled themselves in alcohol, several to the death. And, you know, I do not define any of them by their addition to the “creature.” Perhaps Moira, while aware of Beatrice’s illness, saw a lot more. And perhaps that is why Beastrice was so open with her. And perhaps — and this I choose to bellieve — Beatrice saw something she thought Moira would love on the shopping network, or in a store, or in her own jewelry box and set it aside as a gift for her young friend.
Comment by Fierce Baby — May 29, 2005 @ 12:20 pm
I guess the key phrase is “known and loved”. I didn’t have a reason to get to know her 40 years ago except that my uncle married her. Her treatment of her step-children (not invited to the wedding for starters, and escalating from there) as well as her public interactions with my uncle (“Bill, do you love me? Say you love me Bill, why won’t you say you love me?” This in a shrill voice, in a restaurant, clearly audible by neighboring tables) were probably defined by the alcohol which neither of them would admit she was consuming — but the smell of her breath on her return from the bathroom 30 minutes after disappearing into it belied that.
So, that’s the backdrop. But clearly, yes, many people started with her in a different place, and loved her. Absolutely none of them except Moira have been under the age of 25 when they got to know her, though.
Comment by jennifer — May 29, 2005 @ 3:11 pm