Stories were always a big thing in my family. It’s no wonder I write them, read them, live them as much as possible. And there’s no great story without a character at its center.
Marie-Jeanne Beausoleil was from a Canadian French family who had immigrated to New England two generations prior. She spoke French until she left her French elementary school at age nine and was finally forced to learn English in grammar school. She came from a long line of notoriously strong women. Her ancestors had left France and migrated to Canada, survived the voyage and worked at the stubborn soil for their livelihood before coming to the U.S. in the late 1800's.
Her mother, Lucina Brida Champagne was rumored to have been the first trapeze artist to perfect a triple back flip in the air- But it was during a practice with her brothers, so no one can be sure. The young Lucina was married to Hormidas Adelard Beausoleil and they had four children.
Marie-Jeanne, or ‘Jeanne’ as her friends called her, was their youngest daughter and had inherited all the hot headed stubbornness that seemed to be passed down through the French bloodline.
It was to everyone’s surprise when she set her sights on a soft spoken young man named Richard Mills. A man of English-Irish descent. Up until then, most Canadian French liked to stick to their own kind. The Irish, French, and Italians were in constant competition over which language the Roman Catholic mass should be read in and each of them clung to the cultures and languages of their forefathers- which meant they preferred not to mingle with other dominate immigrant groups.
But Jeanne was taken with the young man. Maybe it was the way he played the banjo. Or maybe it was because they were so different. In either case, when she’d decided they would be married, he didn’t stand a chance. She reluctantly agreed, however, to wait until after the war to wed.
When Richard was sent away to serve in the Navy during WWII, the time grew too long for Jeanne. Patience was not one of her strong suits. She started to doubt he’d come back to her at all. More and more time spanned between his letters.
So, like any rational young lady in waiting, she decided to start seeing another beau- to secure a man in case her Richard had changed his mind. She saw this new beau for three months and accepted his proposal of marriage.
Richard showed up at the house when his service was up and Jeanne knew in her heart that she still loved him. He was the only man for her. She conveniently forgot to mention that she was engaged to another and they agreed to marry that very week. It was a whirlwind wedding and they left right away on their honeymoon.
Her beau showed up at the house the day after she left and her brother had to break the news to her ‘fiancé’ that she was already on her honeymoon!
Sixty years later, she still laughed when she thought about how that conversation must have gone. No, she didn’t feel any remorse. She did what was right for her. She knew the young man would go on to find someone who loved him truly. And she and Richard lived happily.
For the most part.
There are stories of a time when Jeanne took to drinking and smoking. If Richard didn't bring her a six pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes when he arrived home from work, there would be hell to pay. So like clockwork, he'd arrive home with a six pack in hand and a resigned expression.
He explained to his youngest son that "If your mother's happy- everybody's happy."
Then he'd heave a sigh and look heavenwards with a small smile "....and you know very well, if your mother's miserable- everybody's miserable."
But something must have happened to make Jeanne realize that alcohol and cigarettes could be detrimental to a happy life. For one day, she quit both. She put a pack of cigarettes on the arm of her chair and a pack of beer in the fridge and they remained there for over a year. She never touched either again. Her resolve and stubbornness put to good use.
They had six children and were married for over sixty years before Richard died in 2002.
Marie-Jeanne outlived him by eight years. Despite having Parkinson’s and diabetes, she still talked, walked, and went to bingo twice a week. She wasn't judgemental- probably figuring she had her own sins to atone for without worrying about everyone else's. And she followed day time soap operas or 'her stories' with an almost religious fervor.
She always swore up and down that she’d never live with any of her children. She wanted to be independent and believed a child shouldn’t have to take care of their parents in this way. Maybe this is due to the way she took care of her own mother for a number of years. In any case, when the decision was made that she would leave her home to live with her daughter, she died before the move could take place.
Even in the end, she got what she wanted, how she wanted it.
As some might have guessed, Marie-Jeanne was my grandmother. She passed away this week and she will be sorely missed. She had her flaws like anyone but she was the strongest woman I’ve ever known and I can only hope to have inherited a fraction of her verve. She loved to laugh, no sickness could dim her sharp wit and she had a resolve that could move mountains. She was also the last living family member who could speak French with my husband’s family and a part of me hopes I’ve done her and Lucina proud- moving back to France and renewing traditions and a language that would have soon been forgotten.
It occurred to me that no imagined character, no matter how well described, how many impossible adventures they go through or words attached to their name- no character can ever compete with the people who have really lived. Try as we might, our characters are but shadows- trying to capture a glimmer of the life that pervades from the real thing.
My grandmother was quite a character.
