Jennifer Beck Furber

Today is my mom’s birthday, and as I think back on her life, I turn to the eulogy I wrote for her almost two years ago.

The Eulogy, or “funeral praise,” is the oldest and least valued literary form. Eulogies have a natural magic to them, reflecting both the force of loss and the struggle of the eulogist to come to terms with the loss.

My mother loved to read, especially anything I had ever written. This eulogy is her final gift from her favorite writer.

Carol Ann (Mercik) Beck loved the clouds, the silent hours past midnight with popcorn, and The Grand Canyon. She loved to stare at the sea when the wind and waves skewed the horizon with whitecaps. She’d sail in all kinds of weather, even twenty foot seas. She wore Chanel #5, religiously left the house in mauve lipstick, and kept her bed unmade while never missing a chance to remind me to make my own.

My mother was a superstitious clairvoyant who believed in God as much as she believed in omens; I believe she knew death was at hand. She didn’t spend her final days thinking about what she had achieved, but rather what she wouldn’t manage to do. She wanted to know about her granddaughter’s birthdays and the cake flavor they currently loved, evident in her final words, and a testament to how she celebrated their whole beings every day, all days.

She wanted to come closer, to the PNW, when she had more strength, but in her final hours she tried not to blink as her granddaughters continued to grow, ever so slightly, and had a final, lasting smile on her face at the mere mention of the girls’ names. Her granddaughters were her everything. In the eighty-three years of her life, Carol Ann spent nearly fifty of them as the wife of Robert Nicholas Beck and as my mother.

Raised in Versailles, CT in a mill town on the banks of the Shetucket River. She played in her father’s tomato fields and across the street in her grandfather’s greenhouse. She loved her sister, Elvis, Rhode Island beaches, and stock car races. She dreamed of being a nurse, styled and cut hair instead. As my mother, she excelled at keeping watch over fevers and flu-s.

(Continued in comments)

I decided I had some prewriting to do in my head for the current chapter of my memoir so I woke up, made a coffee, positioned my favorite chair beside our record player & between the two gigantic speakers we bought got two decades ago, started knitting on my current sweater project, & grabbed a few local albums. I realized I know some pretty badass songwriters & talented musicians & I haven’t just sat to listen to music like this in a long time. ⁣
⁣
When I was in high school I used to lie on my bedroom’s mint green carpet & try to figure out the meaning of life as I rotated side A to side B & back again. I’m happy to report this old pastime is still a favorite pastime, minus the s**g rug & Massachusetts address. ⁣
⁣
I highly recommend the stillness of listening to a record play through & the pause of flipping the album to the other side.⁣
⁣

Happy last 1st day to our sweet Betty. ⁣
⁣
She’s a senior at Gonzaga University, a double major in Political Science & English Writing.⁣
⁣
16th grade is going to be awesome. We’re so proud of her.

Friendship goals.

Camping on Shaw Island is a magical place where time stands still. ⁣
⁣
It feels extra special these days to press pause on the busyness of summer & to savor the final weeks when all our kids are home. ⁣
⁣
Watching our kids grow up together is a dream. ⁣
⁣

Red Lodge, MT elevation 5,588 ft above sea level. Home of Champions Rodeo, family events, Luke’s parents’ 80th birthday party, & the 4th of July kept us busy.

Happy Father’s Day, Luke. Our girls hit the jackpot with you. Thanks for loving us all fiercely, being so hardworking, having the greatest sense of humor, & instilling adventurous spirits in our girls. Love you.

My body knows it’s been two years since my dad died before I realize the date. I wake in a panic, but I wasn’t having a nightmare. I check the date on my phone & my heart is in my throat.⁣
⁣
I keep birthdays & death anniversaries separate; their rituals don’t overlap. ⁣
⁣
I allow myself to be sad, write a letter to my dad before I get up for coffee. ⁣
⁣
I listen to his favorite band, Pink Floyd. With a coffee I go to the ocean. I take a nap in the sun, make a sandwich he’d love. ⁣
⁣
I think about his love of marmalade, & remember how he loved to make jam from our Italian plum tree. ⁣
⁣
Most of all, I think about missing him, amid all the complications of our relationship.

“I’m a little wide open⁣
Most of these days”⁣
⁣
Absolutely beautiful show, as always.⁣
⁣

We spent most of the day on our new (1985) boat at the marina. We had a picnic, read, knit, played games, took naps. ⁣
⁣
I’m so thankful I’m their mom. I’m so grateful for Luke.⁣
⁣
My absolute favorite thing is when all five of us are together, passing time doing ordinary things, laughing, telling stories. ⁣
⁣
Happy Mother’s Day ❤️🔮⛴️🦭