Josie's Eulogy

Below is the eulogy i delivered at my great-grandmother's funeral last April. I thought it was pertinent, and so, I'm sharing...





“For Mum”


When I look back at the many seasons of my life, the sunsets, the summers, and the years of lessons and trials, I look back as if I’m opening an old photo album. And in that album, taped firmly into place are the memories, the happenings I’ve held onto. The events and the people that have made me who I am today. 
It’s curious to me, as I remember my transition from adolescence into adulthood, how the simplest of gestures, the unintentional love of another can transform someone. Can mold them and shape them, their actions weighing heavy on a heart. I think, these are the things most commonly forgotten. These are the things that daily life can sometimes steal away from us. 
We go about our days, so wrapped up in our routines that we forget to stop and thank our lucky stars. We forget to remember why and how we’re here. That is why, today, I’d like to take the time to have everyone stop for a moment. To sit back and help me remember. A woman. A friend. And the brilliant legacy she’s left behind. 
I could stand here for the rest of my life describing our beloved “Mum,” but somehow, I feel, that all the kind words in the world wouldn’t be enough. There’s only so much any one of us could say about what Mum delivered to our lives. She’s certainly touched mine with her compassion and generosity of heart. She is undoubtedly, the greatest influence I’ll ever know. 
Her life reads like the pages of an unpublished novel, and in this story of life and love, Mum’s chapters have always been the most interesting, and by far, the most compelling. 
We’ve all been fortunate enough to add color to Mum’s story. We’ve all run to her for advice, for schooling, and for guidance. I remember many times as a child, staying with her on the weekends and listening delightedly as she talked for hours to my grandmother, Linda and my mother, Diane. I’d be pretending to play, I’m sure, but all the while I was taken aback by Mum’s capacity to listen. Her eagerness to help. And from then on, it was obvious to me, how important the notion of family was to her. How, without fail, for the duration of her life, she’d be there for the family.
And family, is an ideal that we as parents, as children and grandchildren put on the backburner sometimes. We forget to call. We forget to write. But not mum. I can’t recall a single instance where she was too busy to call or too busy to care. She was always right there when I needed her most, and whatever problem I had, whatever ordeal or issue I’d struggle with, she’d make it right. Her sage wisdom and country girl charm were just a few of the reasons I looked up to her so much. 
Everything about her was endearing, and honest, and she had no problem telling it like it was. A strong-willed and brave woman, she endured many ups and downs throughout her life, but never seemed to lose her shine. I remember her fondly for her warm ways and cheerful disposition. I remember so very much about her.
From the time I was a young boy, I spent as much time down Jefferson Orchard Road as I possibly could. I used to beg my parents to drop me off at Mums on the weekends and during breaks from school, for it was the one place I felt consistently loved as a child. Truth be told, my parents always did their best to show me how much they cared for me, but Mum. Mum let me get away with so much more. And for a seven year old, the freedom I felt at her house and in her life, was empowering and alluring. Some of the sweetest photographs I hold in my memory were taken out there in Kearneysville. If I close my eyes now, I can still see a smaller version of me, lugging around that little red wagon. My first little red wagon. The one Mum and Granddaddy Vernon bought for me. I can smell the sweet smells of pie and buckwheat pancakes wafting across the breeze brought inside through the open screen door. I can see a familiar car pulling up to take the two of us to town. Usually it was Trudy with Justin. Or Pete. And the conversation. How I loved listening to the conversations as a little man. 
For those of you who’ve had your lives touched by my great grandmother, it should be easy for you to understand why I wanted to spend so much time with her. It wasn’t just that Mum allowed me to be mischievous. On the contrary, she was firm when she needed to be, but I never felt restricted by her. I never felt fenced in or controlled. Being with her, I was my freest, and where I first learned to cook. Where I first learned to sew. And where I first learned of love. 
And that love, I saw displayed in the countless albums and scrapbooks Mum had collected over the years. I used to flip through them in amazement, for they seemed to be a portal, a doorway to the past, and in those pages, proudly she’d displayed pictures and newspaper articles, all of which honored the family she cared so much for. 
But pictures were not the only keepsakes Mum surrounded herself with. In an old curio cabinet in the living room, one that showed its age, were a group of varied items. Items that had been given to Mum over the years. Predominantly, it was full of trinkets and souvenirs that Aunt Nan would bring back from Myrtle Beach each year, but there were Home Interior candles she’d ordered from Sharon, my Happy Meal toys, and even a washcloth Easter Bunny I’d fashioned in first or second grade. 
This is how vital the idea of family was to Mum. She was a sentimental person, who believed the same thing I’ve come to know. Those you surround yourself with are the ones that affect you the most. Those you care for and cherish, are your gateway to the past, as well as the gateway to your future. 
And with that in mind, I have to applaud her for her loyalty and stance on unconditional love, because regardless of one’s choices or mistakes, Mum’s adoration did not wane or taper off. She is still the only person I ever knew who was able to love with her entire heart. 


Mum is probably the first person I ever knew who made me feel that who I was as a person was totally acceptable. She’s the one who never let me falter, and was steadfast in her efforts to make sure I had the support I needed. She was also the first person I ever shared my writing with. Always interested in my creative side, Mum did her best to encourage me to aim for the stars. And whenever I doubted myself, or lost the will to soldier something out, she would repeat these words to me over and over. “You won’t be little forever.” 
At the time, I have to admit, I didn’t think too much of these words, as they seemed small didn’t directly remedy my problems. But now, as an adult, I have to say, that sentence is one of the most profound things anyone’s ever said to me. Mum was right. I didn’t stay small. I saw the actualization of many of my dreams. I’ve moved on and gotten stronger with age, and it’s amazing to me, almost ironic, now that I think about it. How five little words could have changed my life. That is what I strive for now as a writer, more than anything else. To use the power of words to change the lives of others. I wouldn’t have ever had the desire, if it wouldn’t have been for this woman, lying before us today. 
The greatest thing I could ever hope to achieve with my gift, a gift my great-grandmother helped me hone, is pay tribute to her on this day we send her up to meet our savior. I firmly believe, that regardless of beliefs, life choices, and mistakes, we are all cut from the same cloth, and we all deserve the same respect. This is something else taught to me by our beloved Mum. 
Her influence on all of us has been incalculable, and without her presence, none of us would be sitting here today. Now, I’m not speaking solely about our physical existences. I’m referring to so much more. We have all been shaped, either genetically, or through the process of behavior we’ve learned from Mum, and that is why, I’m not here mourn. I’m here to celebrate the life of a very special lady, and relish in the fact that, because so much of her personality and heart have been divided up amongst everyone in this room, Josephine Bagent is never really gone. She is very much alive and lives on through the pieces she’s left behind. Pieces and fragments of time and memory, that are pieces of us as well. And together, we must remember. We weren’t just born of mum or influenced by her. In reality, even in the smallest measure, we ARE Mum.
This is why I’m sure today would be the ultimate comfort to her now, as she is finally at peace: looking down upon the ones she taught, and cherished, and loved and realizing that her time in this world, a long and wonderful 86 years, was certainly not wasted. God gave Mum a mission in 1924, and since that time, she has helped to make us all better than we ever thought we could be. So for that, we should all be grateful. For her contributions to our lives and the fact that she always served a greater good, for the fact that she lived her days an everyday angel, let us remember together. The strawberry fields. The Charlie Pride songs. The homemade baked goods. The advice. The love. And the heart of a woman, who’s heart was filled with us.