Tomorrow, October 11, is Eleanor Roosevelt's birthday. We grandchildren called her Grandmère. She learned to speak French before she learned English. Born in 1884, she died on November 7, 1962, at the age of 78. A few days or so before she died she told me she was ready, even impatient, to go: no more usefulness, no more pills. She had a lifetime full of meaning. I hope she knew that at the end.
She was a model for her children and grandchildren, despite her own upbringing and therefore her expectations as a young mother. She and PaPa (FDR) had a daughter (Anna, my mother - with her mother, one of a long line of Anna Eleanors) and four boys (James, Elliott, Franklin Jr, and John).
I wish her children, especially the boys, had been more prepared to recognize her values and practice in their own lives. Hardly her fault,* and only in some measure theirs. Growing up as a Roosevelt was both privileged and difficult, as those of us in the following generation know, and I hope have forgiven their parents, as we must if we are truly to become grown-ups.
At the time of her death and long before, Grandmère was regarded as one of the most admired women in the world. Her funeral was attended by four presidents, former, current, and to become (Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson). She is buried with her husband in the rose garden of Springwood, the Roosevelt family home in Hyde Park. Unknown to most visitors to Springwood and the FDR presidential library, my mother's cherished German Shepherd, Chief, is also buried in the rose garden, with a small memorial plaque. Fala, my grandfather's Scottish terrier, is also buried at Springwood, but not in the rose garden.
Memorably, it fell to a twice-nominated presidential candidate, Adlai Stevenson, to say at her memorial in the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York, "She would rather light a candle than curse the darkness."** She would, I imagine, have been pleased, as she admired Stevenson's careful eloquence and supported his candidacy for the presidency, not only in 1952 and 1956 but in 1960 as well.
I remember a biography of Stevenson in her bookcase at Val Kill. It had been written by Stuart Brown and was called (with a little exaggeration) Adlai Stevenson: The Conscience of the Country (1965). Stevenson gave a copy to Grandmère, inscribing it "To Eleanor Roosevelt, my conscience, Adlai Stevenson."
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* A grievous word, as used here.
** Throughout the world, lighting candles is a sacred ritual. We light a candle for many purposes: to illuminate darkness, dedicate prayers, solidify intentions, offer blessings, evoke Spirit, connect to inner stillness, nourish grateful living.