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.