My Granny, Ina Prentice (neé Pert), was born in 1920 in the small town of Montrose in the north of Scotland and died last Tuesday. She lived through nine decades, and I have roughly five minutes to talk about her life. So rather than bombard you with biographical details or standard-issue meditations on love and loss, I would like to recount her life as she would: with a few anecdotes. Consider them as slides held up to the light, in which her spirit can perhaps be glimpsed.
Anyone who knew Granny can attest to her stoic determination—she braved debilitating arthritic pain for as long as I've been alive. But let's bypass her neck and knees for the moment, and harken back to the onset of World War II, when the British authorities sent out an alert that Montrose would be a potential target of Nazi bombing due to the Aerodrome (an RAF training ground) built nearby. Upon hearing this announcement, Granny grabbed a shovel, rushed outside, and started digging a bomb shelter in the backyard. The rest of her family scoffed at this project and refused to help, and the marshy seaside ground pooled water almost as quickly as she could dig. Undeterred, she continued digging until after dark because, as she said, "somebody had to do it, and if they were all going to stand there and laugh, I thought I'd better do it myself."
This hardnosed determination served her well for the duration of the war, as she served her country as a telegrapher, transmitting and receiving Morse code for stints of up to 24 consecutive hours. She liked to joke that her prolific typing skills earned her the title of "fasted girl in the company."
She had a keen sense of fun in addition to her hard work and determination. A more playful wartime memory that she once recalled to me was of going to a dance with her boyfriend from the Canadian Air Force. As they walked home in the fog, with some song and dance lingering in them, they would swing arm-in-arm around every third lamppost. She knew neither the rhyme nor reason for this; perhaps it had to do with happiness at being alive. He was killed in action a few weeks later, but she quietly carried that vivacity onward into her old age.
A happier love story, and further evidence of Granny's indomitable spirit: near the end of the war, she was out for a walk with a friend in the country and bumped into a handsome young man on a bicycle. "That's the man I'm going to marry," she thought to herself. And she was right—the handsome bicyclist, a gifted musician named Evan Ridley Prentice, married her in 1946 and they settled in Bristol, England.
Let us take the image of the bicycle and shift from the distant past to more recent memories from my lifetime. One summer, our family was about to leave on a camping trip when car troubles struck. Granny instantly suggested that we take her car instead. "But how will you get around?" Mum asked. "Oh, I can ride a bicycle," she said. This from an 80 year old with two artificial knees, who probably hadn't ridden a bike since the 1960s. And she was thoroughly offended at any doubts as to the practicality of this arrangement. "I can manage," she hotly insisted.
We were blessed to have Granny move to the USA in 1990, to be near us kids as we grew up. All her interactions with us—bicycle-related or otherwise—were marked by unfailing generosity and sacrificial love. She learned the rules of baseball so she could watch it with me; she sewed wonderfully intricate Irish dancing dresses for the girls; she managed to throw games of Scrabble to let us win, in spite of her being skilled enough to go to the Irish National Championships the year we lived there. She showed her love particularly in feeding and taking care of us, which meant that not being hungry wasn't an option—she would dig through her supplies until she found something to give you. Tea and cookies? No? Well how about an omelet? There's some juice in the fridge... and those sausages... shall we cook up these sausages? Would you like a bowl of ice cream? I could make some soup. Have a bit of whisky—go on...
Because of this giving instinct, she found her augmenting physical limitations to be particularly frustrating. She still did everything she could—the morning I was flying back to school in January, I was awakened by her slowly bustling around the kitchen in the pre-dawn darkness. She had gotten my flight time mixed up, and had gotten up at 5am to make egg sandwiches for me to take on my trip. In the past month, when she was finally no longer able to move about on her own and do things for others, she seemed to set herself to the task of dying with the same determination and sensibility with which she lived her life.
Speaking for my brothers and sisters, we were unusually blessed to be able to spend so much time with Granny in our lives as we grew up. She is present in our memories, our traditions, our recipes, our vocabularies, and our understanding of what love looks like.
One of Granny's earliest memories was of going nightswimming in the North Sea off the golf course in Montrose with her father when she was a little girl. He would swim out under the moon and keep her afloat in his arms. After today's ceremony, and in accordance with her wishes, her remains will be sent to Scotland and be interred there, where she painted and golfed and swam and dug bomb shelters, and thus the final "slide" of her life that we see before us today will fittingly mirror her first.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Alison's Eulogy
6.18.2009
Ina Prentice, known to all who loved her as Granny, died ten days ago, but in a very real sense I feel she is with us still. I have been thinking about some of the qualities she left with us:
• She was unfailingly hospitable, always ready to welcome a guest with a cup of tea, a radiant smile, and a shortie.
• She was tremendously strong and courageous in adversity.
• She had a special love for Andrew. He was two weeks old when she saw him for the first time. “Oh Ali,” she said, “He’s beautiful!” He in turn was always especially solicitous with her.
• She was always interested in her grandchildren and their friends. On the last day of Granny’s life, Sheila held her phone to her ear so her cellist friend Peter in Cleveland could say goodbye. Sheila thinks the reason why Peter was Granny’s favorite is because he has an insatiable appetite: as much food as Granny would prepare for him, he devoured enthusiastically. She made food to show her love, and when people ate it, she was happy.
I want to talk about her last days. This was the first time I’d been with somebody at the end of her life, and there was something very beautiful about it. She had expressed a fear that she would die in pain as her own mother had done, and I had long prayed that God would grant her a good death. He answered my prayers. She, who had lived with pain for as long as I can remember, who had baffled pain specialists in Everett and Ventura, needed no pain medications during the last two weeks. She was completely comfortable, and tenderly cared for at the Casa Bella, with the assistance of Hospice.
The end came swiftly: in early May, she was still living independently and playing Scrabble; by May 20 she was in a wheelchair; June 1st, she was confined to bed; and June 9, she died. In mid May, she told me she had had a baby. I asked her to tell me more, and she said firmly, “You know, you were there!” She wanted to call him Timmy—did I think that was a good name? She was upset that some of the other residents didn’t believe she’d had a baby. “Don’t you mind them,” I told her, “you just have a good time hanging out with Timmy.” Her last clear sentence to me was, “You are feeding him, aren’t you?” She looked relieved when Fiona and I assured her that Timmy would never go hungry.
She lost the power of speech soon after that, but she always recognized the family and welcomed us with her trademark smile. I’ll never forget the intensity with which she looked at me. All the world was in those eyes, and she was at once letting go of it all, and telling us that her love would stay with us forever.
We will miss her, of course, but the best of her lives on in her grandchildren. I know that when the six junior Bernhofts get together, as they did on the last day of her life, she will be remembered in the best, strongest, and most loving way possible. She loved music and dancing, and here, as our final tribute to her, is “The Laughing Song,” by Johann Strauss.
Ina Prentice, known to all who loved her as Granny, died ten days ago, but in a very real sense I feel she is with us still. I have been thinking about some of the qualities she left with us:
• She was unfailingly hospitable, always ready to welcome a guest with a cup of tea, a radiant smile, and a shortie.
• She was tremendously strong and courageous in adversity.
• She had a special love for Andrew. He was two weeks old when she saw him for the first time. “Oh Ali,” she said, “He’s beautiful!” He in turn was always especially solicitous with her.
• She was always interested in her grandchildren and their friends. On the last day of Granny’s life, Sheila held her phone to her ear so her cellist friend Peter in Cleveland could say goodbye. Sheila thinks the reason why Peter was Granny’s favorite is because he has an insatiable appetite: as much food as Granny would prepare for him, he devoured enthusiastically. She made food to show her love, and when people ate it, she was happy.
I want to talk about her last days. This was the first time I’d been with somebody at the end of her life, and there was something very beautiful about it. She had expressed a fear that she would die in pain as her own mother had done, and I had long prayed that God would grant her a good death. He answered my prayers. She, who had lived with pain for as long as I can remember, who had baffled pain specialists in Everett and Ventura, needed no pain medications during the last two weeks. She was completely comfortable, and tenderly cared for at the Casa Bella, with the assistance of Hospice.
The end came swiftly: in early May, she was still living independently and playing Scrabble; by May 20 she was in a wheelchair; June 1st, she was confined to bed; and June 9, she died. In mid May, she told me she had had a baby. I asked her to tell me more, and she said firmly, “You know, you were there!” She wanted to call him Timmy—did I think that was a good name? She was upset that some of the other residents didn’t believe she’d had a baby. “Don’t you mind them,” I told her, “you just have a good time hanging out with Timmy.” Her last clear sentence to me was, “You are feeding him, aren’t you?” She looked relieved when Fiona and I assured her that Timmy would never go hungry.
She lost the power of speech soon after that, but she always recognized the family and welcomed us with her trademark smile. I’ll never forget the intensity with which she looked at me. All the world was in those eyes, and she was at once letting go of it all, and telling us that her love would stay with us forever.
We will miss her, of course, but the best of her lives on in her grandchildren. I know that when the six junior Bernhofts get together, as they did on the last day of her life, she will be remembered in the best, strongest, and most loving way possible. She loved music and dancing, and here, as our final tribute to her, is “The Laughing Song,” by Johann Strauss.
Ina Prentice R.I.P. August 5th, 1920 - June 9th, 2009
Forty-three years ago, death took her beloved husband Evan; today she went to be reunited with him.
All her life was devoted to helping others. She was a marvelous cook, and her greatest pleasure was to prepare food for her family and friends. What would our Thanksgiving be without her roast potatoes and bread sauce?
As is the case for so many, she never fully recovered from the losses she suffered during WWII. She left her native Scotland to serve her country in London, where she lived through the blitz and endured the hardships, as well as the camaraderie, of wartime.
She spent most of her married life at Clifton College, in Bristol, where my father was Director of Music, and after his death in 1966, worked at the music department of Bristol University. In 1992 she made the permanent move to the U.S. to be close to her six American grandchildren, Iain, Andrew, Fiona, Lorna, Sheila, and Evan, in whose lives she was deeply involved. She also enjoyed the unquestioning devotion of our dogs, Phoenix and Enkidu.
In America, she resumed painting. She was an extremely talented artist, and has left a tremendous legacy, which lives on as well in her son Ian and her English grandchildren, Helen, Hannah, and William, whom she loved greatly. She enjoyed Scrabble with a passion, and generally won, thanks to her almost endless knowledge of obscure, 3-letter Scottish words she always managed to tuck into a triple score square.
Once she was unable to help those she loved, she seemed to lose the will to go on fighting to live. She waited for Iain to come home from Boston, and Sheila from Idyllwild, and three days later she was gone. Her last days were peaceful, and blessedly free from pain.
She gave so much to our whole family. We will all miss her deeply.
Alison Bernhoft, June 9, 2009
All her life was devoted to helping others. She was a marvelous cook, and her greatest pleasure was to prepare food for her family and friends. What would our Thanksgiving be without her roast potatoes and bread sauce?
As is the case for so many, she never fully recovered from the losses she suffered during WWII. She left her native Scotland to serve her country in London, where she lived through the blitz and endured the hardships, as well as the camaraderie, of wartime.
She spent most of her married life at Clifton College, in Bristol, where my father was Director of Music, and after his death in 1966, worked at the music department of Bristol University. In 1992 she made the permanent move to the U.S. to be close to her six American grandchildren, Iain, Andrew, Fiona, Lorna, Sheila, and Evan, in whose lives she was deeply involved. She also enjoyed the unquestioning devotion of our dogs, Phoenix and Enkidu.
In America, she resumed painting. She was an extremely talented artist, and has left a tremendous legacy, which lives on as well in her son Ian and her English grandchildren, Helen, Hannah, and William, whom she loved greatly. She enjoyed Scrabble with a passion, and generally won, thanks to her almost endless knowledge of obscure, 3-letter Scottish words she always managed to tuck into a triple score square.
Once she was unable to help those she loved, she seemed to lose the will to go on fighting to live. She waited for Iain to come home from Boston, and Sheila from Idyllwild, and three days later she was gone. Her last days were peaceful, and blessedly free from pain.
She gave so much to our whole family. We will all miss her deeply.
Alison Bernhoft, June 9, 2009
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