Instead of a 75th Birthday Party, My Kids Presented Me with a "Living Eulogy"

Pearl Gregor looks back on her unique birthday celebration.

The author with one of her 75th birthday cards.

In May, 2020, I turned 75. In accordance with our usual family tradition, my three adult children planned a Big Family Party. But Covid was just really getting underway, so we settled for a smaller guest list: my kids, their kids and Buddy, my Australian shepherd.

We gathered on the front lawn of the Gregor Ranch. The grandkids were ages 6 to 24; six boys and one girl. It was a fun gathering, filled with loud hilarity, conversation, soccer, and entertainment provided by Buddy chasing a drone. Then a spring rain storm sent us scurrying into the garage.

I soon learned about a different approach to a “diamond” birthday party. Turns out my kids had gotten creative with the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition of the word “eulogy.”

“Mom, we’re gonna do this differently,” began my second son, Jason. “You know how there is always a eulogy at a funeral? A lot of great things are said. We don’t want to wait until you are dead for obvious reasons. You wouldn’t hear how much we appreciate you. So, we thought we’d tell you now, on your 75th birthday, how much we treasure your support, your wisdom and strength. You have taught us to live according to our own standards! Thankfully, you are very much alive now and we hope you will continue to be for a very long time to come. We are going to have ‘A Living Eulogy.’”  

I soon learned about a different approach to a “diamond” birthday party. Turns out my kids had gotten creative with the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition of the word “eulogy.”

I had never heard of this ritual before. I was stunned.  

Colin, the eldest went first. He spoke of support: the farm as supportive home base, my support for his family, and what would be a theme for the afternoon, his mom as a living example of a woman’s strength. Amid a lot of laughter and some seriously tearful moments, each one of my kids, their spouses, and each grandchild spoke their thoughts about their grandmother. My daughter, Rachel, and my daughters-in-law, Traci and Elise, and granddaughter Ava all spoke to my love of learning—my getting a doctorate at 63; writing three books in my early 70s; and continuing to do dream work even now, on Zoom. They went on to talk about my independence, staying on the farm I loved after my husband of # years, Bill, died, and travelling often on my own to so many countries on pilgrimages, or work. Common refrains: “You don’t let fear stop you.” “You push through.” “Love that you are so independent.”

When it was his turn, Jason said, “You were the perfect mother for me. Even when I messed up you had my back.  And when I said I was starting my company you were 100% supportive. I will always be grateful for that. That small gesture changed the path and fortunes of my life.”  He also referenced my “thirst for knowledge.”

Son-in-law Eric: “Once a teacher always a teacher! You have taught our boys your love of the farmland and the environment.”

“Mom, we’re gonna do this differently,” began my second son, Jason. “You know how there is always a eulogy at a funeral? A lot of great things are said. We don’t want to wait until you are dead for obvious reasons.”

Grandsons Liam, Noah, Ethan, Ian, and Owen spoke of learning how to work on the farm, my never-ending support for their hockey and any other sport they’ve played. One grandson’d comment sticks out clearly: “I always feel better after coming to visit Grandma,” he said. Taking last place with impatience, an air of dignity, and much wiggling, Beckett—the youngest and our kindergarten star—stood and, looking straight at me, told me how much he loved me, Buddy, the farm, his special crackers when he visits, our games of marbles, checkers, and Uno and my stories. And so it went.

I was delighted and as befits a Crone, in awe. (I am respectfully, and with honor, claiming the appellation of Crone as defined by women—not as defined by the patriarchal system, which fears of the immense power of old women.) One regret? We did not turn the video on!!

A Living Eulogy. Forever etched in my memory, a cherished and beautiful ritual. It strengthens and dignifies the life of an aging mother. It acknowledges the role of the young in honoring the life of their grandmother, and I like to think it shows them there is life and a lot of laughs in eldering!

I am glad my children presented me with a living eulogy on my 75th birthday. I would like to think it was very premature; I plan to live until I am 96.

An added bonus: my one and only granddaughter tells me she hopes her hair turns the color of mine when she’s old. This is especially meaningful to me, because I have been resisting coloring my hair since I was began prematurely graying at 16. When I was that age, a hairdresser offered sweetly, “Shall we dye that gray streak out of your hair?” My mother had gorgeous white hair. I was not about to be coerced into spending money, energy and power investing in slowing the signs of aging.

“No,” I said. “That streak is well earned. My brother, Tony smacked me with a hammer when he was 3 and I was 6.”

***

I am glad my children presented me with a living eulogy on my 75th birthday. I would like to think it was very premature; I plan to live until I am 96. I woke up to consciousness at age 43. I began, then, to walk a heart path, speak my truth, constantly transform, listen more deeply to my intuition, and live with deep amazement and awe. Now, I intend to be old on my own terms; not those of cultural ageism.