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From:
Daniel Beugnet
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Tuesday, November 21, 2017
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A Eulogy for My Grandmother, Eugenia Elizabeth Wright Beugnet
by: Daniel Beugnet
The world into which my grandmother, Eugenia Elizabeth Wright Beugnet was born was far different from the one we inhabit today, and it profoundly shaped her and exerted tremendous influence over how she lived her life. She was born into a working class family in 1927, born of a father who worked variously as a cook, a sailor and, for a brief time, in the Swisher cigar factory on the north side of Jacksonville. Her mother was a troubled woman, and their life would have been difficult under the best of circumstances. But within the first two years of her life, the world would begin its rapid descent into that prolonged period of hardship that began with the Great Depression and continued for nearly two decades through the end of the Second World War. It was difficult to persuade her to speak of her childhood, but on the occasions when she relented, she sketched a picture of incomprehensible hardship: days when, as a small child, her only meal was a can of sardines, days spent living in hotels and dreary rooming houses, days spent alone while her parents descended into alcoholism. It was this dire hardship that shaped her, that strengthened her, and that made her resolve to lead a life devoted to her family, striving to ensure that her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren would not endure the same hardships that she did.
To anyone who knew her well, their first thought of her must be of the exceptional generosity that she showed to her family. Ever practical, she sought out ways to ease our path, to help us make our own way to the sort of independence and self-sufficiency that she exemplified, and that had given her so much security and contentment. On my eighteenth birthday, as I was applying to colleges and fretting over how I’d come up with the money to pay for the first year, she revealed to me that she’d worked for years to save enough to send me. Later in life, I’d learn that she amassed what amounted to a small fortune for a woman of limited means then nearing the age of seventy by looking after the children of vacationers for a few hours at a time, a few nights each week, over the span of a decade or more. My grandmother gave me the gift of an education that I would otherwise not have had the opportunity to pursue had it not been for her support. Truly, I owe all that I have done to my grandmother because without her support I would never have had the means to realize my dreams. And this is but a single example of the depths of my grandmother’s pure kindness and generosity. There were good works she performed and sacrifices that she made that far exceeded that which she did for me. And it was just this sort of selfless act that typified the central project of her life, to give those around her the opportunity to have the security and the richness that she did not have the opportunity to experience throughout much of her life.
But perhaps even greater than the generosity she showed in sharing her material possessions was her generosity in spirit. To those who were closest to her and those she’d only just met, she was ever the willing listener, eager to engage anyone she met in conversation and to do what she could, with her words and her warmth, to make their passage through the day just a little bit nicer. True to her generous spirit, my grandmother was a frequent giver of small gifts to those she cared for. She loved to knit, and if you visited her, you might just find yourself carrying home a pair of handsome hand-knitted slippers or, if you were really special, an intricately crafted afghan. In the days since her passing, condolences have arrived from childhood friends who tell me they still have, and frequently use, the well-worn handmade afghan that I'd forgotten she gifted them, and that in doing so, they've thought of her often, of her warmth and pure kindness and unbridled generosity. And this was her aim in bestowing these diminutive and utilitarian but unique gifts. In doing so, she hoped that the one upon whom the gift was bestowed would use it often and remember that someone had cared for them enough to expend such care and concern in making it by hand.
But the life of Betty Beugnet was not merely one of austere self-sacrifice and devotion to her family. To imply so would do a disservice to her legacy. Perhaps it was the deprivation of her childhood that also inspired in her a desire to make all that she could out of the life that she was given. She was ever a woman of her times. She bore witness to seismic changes in the world around her and, ever the optimist, she welcomed change, and she changed, and allowed the world to shape her. She was, variously and at different times in her life, a child of the Depression, forced to make her own way in the world far too young, then a mid century homemaker, dutiful, a devoted mother who doted on her four beautiful daughters, stitching dresses together by hand and preparing daily meals that sometimes grew, according to family lore, from six people to eight, or maybe even a dozen at a moment's notice. In her forties, as women across the country were leaving the home for the workplace, she too felt drawn to the challenge of embarking on her own career, and she would spend nearly two decades first as a secretary and then as an accounting clerk for the pulp mill, a position in which she took great pride. Among some of my earliest memories are of watching as she readied herself for work, taking care in donning smart floral working woman's dresses, circa 1985, complete with dangling gold jewelry and the occasional color-coordinated neckerchief. In perfect contrast to her earlier role as 1950s homemaker, she was the picture of the late twentieth century working woman, strong, independent, and proud. With the meager salary she drew, she purchased the tiny two-bedroom home that she loved dearly, paid the mortgage in full years before it fell due, and travelled widely throughout her beloved old South, exploring the historic places of Natchez, Charleston, Savannah, and throughout the Carolinas and Tennessee. Well into her seventies, she even took off on a cross-country road trip with an old and dear friend, seeing all points of interest from Florida to California and returning with many stories to tell, and also happy to report that she'd found no place better than Fernandina, so the rest of us need not go out and see for ourselves; we'd do better to stay at home right here near her.
But aside from her travels, her favorite past-times were simple ones that brought her great joy. She was a lover of games, card games in particular, and an avid, and quite serious, player of bridge. Chief among her past times was walking on the beach. In her retirement, as long as she was able, she logged about three miles each afternoon, amassing a collection of shark’s teeth large enough to fill five glass gallon novelty jugs, which she proudly displayed in her den, and still had a stash left over to pass on as gifts to those who visited her at home. She also was a lover of parties and, well into her eighties, she was unashamed to grow tipsy around the holidays on a single glass of red wine or beer, and when she did so, she quickly became the life of the party, often to the chagrin of the family member who might be accompanying her at the time. Indeed, as I was visiting her for the last time, in the hospital, holding a Styrofoam cup for her while she drank water from a straw, she looked up at me and said, “Wish would go find some beer to pour in this cup.” Certain she was joking, I laughed, assuming that, as usual, she was doing all that she could, even as she was in the final days of her life, as she well knew them to be, to ease the way of those she loved. Then she raised her eyebrows, and said, in a clear voice that bore not a trace of irony, “I’m serious.” Though in all things sensible, my grandmother constantly seized upon opportunities, even to the last, to live her life well, to enjoy her life, and to make the most of all that she was given.
For me, my grandmother's life serves as a model of a life well-lived, one of generosity and service to those she loved, but also one of happiness, contentment, and fulfillment derived from simple pleasures and the authentic satisfaction that comes from self-reliance and personal accomplishment. Hers is a life that serves as a model and an example to us all. The great project of my own life has been, and ever will continue to be, to live up to the example that my grandmother set, and though I doubt that I shall ever get there, her example serves as a model that I strive to live up to. Above all else that she made possible in my life, I owe her most greatly for this one most magnificent gift, to have born witness and been so close to a life so very, very well-lived.
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