Eleanor Supin

My father officiated my Nanny's (his Mother) funeral last week with such elegance and beauty., extemporaneously from his heart.  Many others also spoke lovingly.  I wrote my words down, of course ('cause I can't think otherwise) so here they are:

Well, this has been a wild week, couple of months in a way, something we all theoretically knew would happen but never quite imagined that it actually would.  We used to joke that Poppop was like Lazarus, breathing life over and over into moments we thought would be his last.  But, really it was Nanny we secretly knew would live forever.  

So I must admit, I am sort of bewildered to be here.  Yet comforted, too, knowing she passed from this life exactly as she wanted.  Peacefully, quickly, after 95 lovely years, without much drama or fuss.  And leaving us blissfully with a mountain of memories.  

For me it’s 50 years full of random moments.  Walking through their huge garden and apple orchards at the farm.  Swimming at the gorge.   The first time she played baseball with us and didn’t know to drop the bat so she’s gripping that bat with all her might as she runs the bases, all us grandkids screeching with laughter. 

Nanny loved to laugh, a push-over really, even laughing at my ridiculous stories that weren’t intentionally funny.  I’d tell her about life’s absurdities mostly, work woes or travel mishaps, and more than once we swapped foibles about men since my divorce and her widowed-years overlapped.  Nanny loved attention, just any of us sitting with her and sharing stories or gossip or funny little things.  And while I know I didn’t shower her with enough or as much as many of you in this chapel, I cherish each moment.

Oh, she could be inflexible, too.  Stubborn about things that drove us nuts.  It’s true, she used to flat-out lock us kids out of her farmhouse when we got too rambunctious.  And I swear I shucked more peas than I thought humanely possible.  Every single time I sneezed – from infancy right on up through age 49 -- I got her evil eye warning me with swift retribution if I dared get her sick.  And every one of us often wished she would occasionally – maybe on Thanksgiving or Christmas perhaps? -- eat her main meal at a more convenient time than exact noon.    

But I realize now that her stubborn insistence about certain things was also her greatest strength.  For she built this family, almost from scratch.  We are a small bunch, strewn all over the country these days.  But we are exceptionally close, full of love, every one of us delightful, interesting and good.  And that was Nanny’s doing. 

She came from a different family, close but also fraught with dysfunction and alcoholism.  Her parents divorced early and abandoned their only child to be raised by her grandmother and collection of childless aunts and uncles in a large Brooklyn brownstone.  She was loved, to be sure, but there was also Stuff she had to endure.  

We have heard these stories, of course.  And, frankly, we witnessed a handful of strong neuroses she carried as a result.  But we, her progeny, never lived these stories or these neuroses ourselves, precisely because of her.  Many families just repeat the same mess, generation after generation.  But not ours.  At age 15 my grandmother said enough.  She left home, married a good, loving man and they stayed happily together nearly 70 years.  She raised her two children with the stability and consistency she never got.  She flat out stopped the heredity of alcoholism, absolutely determined that none of us ever endure that craziness.  When us grandkids were born, she and Poppop bought that big rambling farm and we spent 15 years playing in their fields.  She attended almost every single baptism, graduation, wedding, and family holiday.  And she loved us fiercely – all of us - her two children, her five grandchildren, and her passel of great grandchildren -- always, unconditionally, without a moment’s waiver.  

We are her legacy and looking around this room I’m guessing she’s very very proud.  We are all – every one of us – kind, loving, interesting, and creative, and we each offer lovely contributions to this world.    We will hold Nanny’s memories for a very long time.  They are so many, so varied, so rich, so intricately woven into my life that I’m certain she will pop up often in my images and conversations.  

But I will hold her legacy most dear.  She created this, she created us, a family who gathers together for all reasons, good and bad.  Who cries together or yells at each other sometimes, but mostly a family that laughs together, plays together, and champions each other.  And loves each other without fail and with unlimited grace.   

I am so grateful for her gift.  And in her honor I will do my best to carry her legacy forward.