A Perfect Sendoff

How to celebrate a century of life

Our family’s centenarian matriarch performed the nightly lowering of the flag at Overlake with members of the sixth generation (photo credit: Bill Horton)

Don’t call the event that I recently witnessed “a funeral.” It was the perfect celebration of life for a remarkable woman who had spent each of her 100 summers at our family summer home on Mallett’s Bay in Vermont. My father’s oldest sister, Eleanor, was the constant presence at each of our visits to the family enclave. She presided over spectacular views of Lake Champlain more than any other member of the six generation clan that has stewarded “Overlake” since 1898. It was fitting that her sendoff was attended by more than 125 family members, each of whom will hold a piece of her in their hearts every time they watch the sun go down over the Bay. An extended family that is closer than most had the privilege of feeling her presence longer than most.

Camp Overlake is a special place and Aunt El was its symbol. It was right and natural that a place that for nearly 130 years has hosted weddings, graduations, birthdays, anniversaries, and so many other important family events would be the site of El’s sendoff. The family summer home was built by my great grandmother and her sister. That it has lasted for six generations makes it, as I have written, a Unicorn on Mallett’s Bay.

El spent each day of her one hundred summers at “Camp.” She would always be there as I brought my family back for our summer return to Vermont. We were regularly greeted by her smile and a hug, her warm sense of humor, and inquiries about what we had been up to. She seemed to be as permanent as the pine trees that shaded our circle of Adirondack chairs. The image we will share of El has her sitting in her rocking chair sipping a marguerita (or two) gazing out at the sailboats on the bay. She always said she wanted to die by being struck by lightning while rocking on the porch. Minus the lightning, she nearly got her wish, as she was sipping margs at Camp right up through her 100th birthday celebration.

When asked by anyone how she made it all those years, she had the same three answers: “I didn’t smoke, I had a margarita a day, and I didn’t exercise.” When she told me that, she had dirt on her knees. El managed the gardens at Overlake right through her 90s. No exercise indeed!

As more than 125 relatives gathered to say goodbye to Eleanor on this Saturday in July, I marveled at the size of the family that came to honor her. Not all of her extended clan could make it, but you could feel the love of all the people who called her just “El” and the grandchildren and great grandchildren who called her “Dang.”

She did not want the “falderal” of a funeral parlor or service in church. She said that this would be hypocritical. Instead, she wanted a celebration in the summer at her beloved Camp. There was a parade of her grandchildren and great grandchildren, each of whom carried an item that reminded them of her. They placed them on her rocking chair as a memorial. We followed the parade by singing a custom verse of “No-El” to the tune of the Christmas song. This was as requested in her last will and testament.

El’s rocking chair on the porch at Camp Overlake served as a fitting memorial with remembrances by her grandchildren and great grandchildren

El’s ashes were spread over the hedgerow of hemlocks she planted with my father years ago, just as she had cast his ashes over the bank five years earlier. She said in her will that she wanted my father to spread her ashes. She did not know then that she would be spreading his. The planting of the hedges was hard work and the two siblings jokingly commiserated that they would be buried there after their labors. They have now both joined the bushes that protect the embankment of the bluff, and the camp itself, as it looks out over (the) lake.

The remainder of El’s ashes were buried next to a rare lady slipper plant that grew by a pine tree near her former campsite. Family members took turns tossing handfuls of dirt over her urn. The tearful hugs that followed were the closest thing to a funeral that afternoon. Afterward, more than a dozen people shared some funny stories about the mother, surrogate mother, sister, grandmother, and aunt that defied all stereotypes.

The mood turned more festive as the margaritas flowed and a taco truck fed the crowd. There was sure to be one of El’s beloved campfires to cap off the evening. Many a marshmallow was toasted in her honor. More stories were shared and relatives who had not seen each other in years were able to reconnect. When I told some friends about a celebration of life with margaritas and a taco truck, they said to write that down as their final wishes, as well.

After the ashes were scattered, we were sure to perform the same ritual we did as kids whenever anyone left Camp for the weekend and drove past the fence that predated the hedgerow. We completed the family tradition of a “Bye at the Fence.” You would not normally see anyone screaming a full-throated “Byeeee” at your typical interment. This hollering was perfectly in place for this occasion, though.

The event that Saturday had all the elements that El would have wanted. As I said, don’t call this a funeral. With goodbyes perfectly sent, we will now just have to figure out what this place will look like without her.