Marguerite Plante, 1922-2008

This is my eulogy to my dear grandmaman. It was really tough to get through, and I'm quite exhausted emotionally, but I did it for her, because she was so deserving.

Eulogy for my Grandmother Plante

There is a saying that goes “Grandmothers hold our tiny hands for just a little, but hold our hearts forever.” That saying resonates true for me when I think of my Grandmaman Plante.

I’m a pretty lucky guy. Not lucky in the sense that I’ve won the lottery or blackjack, but life lucky. I’m lucky to have found and married my best friend, and have two beautiful children with. I’m lucky to have two wonderful parents who have supported me in more ways than I can describe. I’m lucky that I have two aunt’s that mean the world to me, and a sister and brother-in-law that I cherish more than I can say.

I’m also lucky because for the past 38 years, I’ve been blessed with knowing my grandmother, who passed away last Friday. Not many of my friends can say they’ve had the chance to have their grandparents around so late in life. I’ve had my grandparents for most of mine, and it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve had to start saying goodbye, first with my two grandfathers, and now my Grandmaman Plante. So, in that respect, I’ve been very lucky indeed.

It’s still amazing to me that at 18 years of age, she and my grandfather were married. I’m sure there are a few of us who would rather forget what we were doing at that age. At 18, the furthest thing from my mind was marriage. In fact, I wasn’t really sure what direction I wanted my life to take. But those were different times she grew up in.

When I hear stories from my aunts or my dad, I picture a time when things were much simpler, harder, and romantic. I love knowing the fact that my grandmother lived through WWII, the invention of the television, man landing on the moon. There are those of you here today that have memories about that time in her life, and the people that were touched most by her grace, kindness, and unique sense of humour , but those are not my memories.

No, my memories of her are like snapshots of really happy moments in my life, and they mean the world to me. If I had to describe her to a stranger, I would say she was a lady in the truest sense of the meaning. I want to share some of my memories of her with you, because we should be celebrating her life, not mourning her passing.

I was telling my wife Lisa about a month ago about a time when I was in Shoppers Drug Mart. I could smell this perfume, and it was the same fragrance my grandmother wore, at least, it was the scent that instantly reminded me of her, and it filled me up with such warmth and happiness.

I wanted to go up and give that lady a hug, or go to her and say “excuse me, but you smell like my grandmother,” but then I decided that would probably have been too weird.

My earliest memory of my Grandmama was visiting her at work at Sears. It was always a special treat, because she had her own desk, and a special cubicle where she would greet us (she worked in billing). It was rare when I didn’t leave without a $10 or $20 bill in my pocket, and a lipstick mark on my cheek.

My other early memory starts at their Playfair apartment. I can almost describe in detail the floorplan. I can tell you how, as you walked into their apartment, on the left was a humidifier that was large and brown. I remember this because I loved looking inside and seeing the big sponge wheel turn, and wondered where all the water came from and why it was there in the first place, and my parents telling me to stop touching it and put the lid back on!

I remember the balcony and the faux grass carpeting outside, but I guess everyone had that back then. Grandmama would worry sometimes that I would fall off or that I’d be blown away.

I remember the T.V. room down the hall, the closet that held the doll that once belonged to my aunt Denyse, and how it somehow got adopted by me during my visits.

My grandmother always loved to remind me of how, as a little French boy, I would lead her into a darkened room and say “Illes fait noire, eh?”

I would love how when we went to visit, there were always wooden bowls of potato chips and peanuts, the Planter’s Dry Roasted peanuts, and Coke. Always Coke. This was a big deal for Chantale and I, because my mom always bought the Diet stuff, so it was a real treat.

She had a dining room table that always held a place for me and my sister, a glass for tomato juice, and dishes that held all kinds of pickles. I don’t much recall her having a ‘kid’s table’.

She wasn’t a typical grandmother, in that she didn’t spend her days baking pies and roasts and cookies, but what she did make I always enjoyed. I think she’s the reason why I have a special place in my heart for canned peas and chicken salad sandwiches.

I learned how to play backgammon in that apartment. I still have a passion for it, I just can’t play against my wife because apparently, I gloat too much!

When I was a teenager, I didn’t see my grandparents nearly enough. Part of that was because I was too wrapped up into being a rebel, hanging out with my friends, doing what typical teenagers did. The other reason was because I did things that were not particularly good ‘life choices’, both in attitude and physical transformations, and of all the people I didn’t want to disappoint, it was my grandmother. Whether she knew all the things I did when I was younger or not, she never judged me. She still loved me despite the safety pins and spiky hair.

As I grew older, I began to appreciate how important family was to me. We have a famous Plante saying that goes “we may not have a big family, but were close. We’re clannish.” It was important for me to reconnect with my grandparents and get to know them again. It is around this time that I began to really see how special my grandparent’s relationship was, and how much my Grandpapa Gerry loved his Maggie. I’d like to think that if there were ever a sitcom that reflected their relationship, it would have been a Canadian spin-off of “I Love Lucy”.

When my grandfather passed away, a big part of my grandmother went with him. How do you say goodbye to your soulmate? And soon, she started to change. She began to forget things, as some seniors tend to do. But I think Grandmama knew it was more than just her getting older. Everytime I would visit her or she would come to see me, she would always present me with a gift. It was sometimes a badly drawn picture, or a note written by a child, and I realized she had saved everything I had given her as a little kid, and she was giving them back to me!

At first I didn’t understand why she would give these things back? If she held on to these things for so long, why wouldn’t she keep them? But now I think it’s because she wanted me to have them before she forgot where they came from.

When I was a child, I told my grandmother that when I grew up, I was going to be a fireman and that I would save her. Well, I never did become a fireman, and in the end, there wasn’t much I could do to save her. But I think I made her proud of me, and I know this because I knew, I felt, that she loved me the way only a grandmother could – unequivocally, unconditionally, and without prejudice.

I had a chance to say goodbye to her, but I look at the people here and realize she never really left. I see her in my dad, Monique, Denyse and my sister. I see her in her great-grandchildren, my children. But most of all, when I see my reflection, I see her because I truly believe that all the good that was a part of her is a part of me.

The history of our grandparents is remembered not with rose petals but in the laughter and tears of their children and their children's children. It is into us that the lives of grandparents have gone. It is in us that their history becomes a future. ~Charles and Ann Morse