Ode to Mary Elizabeth Burpeau

My grandmother epitomized class—poised, intelligent, cultured, and quietly strong. She was deeply independent, well-traveled, and always well-informed, effortlessly holding her own in conversations about sports, politics, and pop culture. She was the first in her family to graduate from college, something she was incredibly proud of, and she carried that sense of accomplishment with grace throughout her life.

My grandparents together and a friend.

She was the perfect foil to my grandfather’s larger-than-life personality—calm, steady, and unwavering in her strength. She wasn’t overtly demonstrative, but she showed her love through presence, wisdom, and care. She taught me to have high standards, to be independent, and to carry myself with class. My love for aesthetics comes from her refined taste—I used to sneak into her closet as a toddler, mesmerized by her shoes and elegant clothes, slipping into her heels as if they were my own.

She was beautiful, though she would have denied it. She drove her Mercedes until she couldn’t, because she knew exactly what she wanted, and I find that iconic. I’ll always remember the scent of her perfume lingering after a hug, the tissues she always kept in her pockets, and the way her hands—aged but graceful, adorned with her unique rings—felt when she held mine.

Her love for movies shaped my own. Turner Classic Movies was always on in the background, and we spent countless weekends at the theater together as a family. She found comfort in films, and I feel that same comfort because of her influence. In a poetic coincidence, my mom’s water broke when she was pregnant with me as they were on their way to a movie. And yesterday, as I was about to see Vertigo in theaters—something she would have loved to go to—I received the text that she was in hospice. It feels fitting that movies bookend these moments, as film was something we shared so deeply.

Our trips—New York, Vermont, the Carolinas—were filled with the culture and sophistication she brought into my life, gifts that continue to shape who I am today.

She was so iconic with an ice blue satin wedding dress, despite later telling me they didn’t have white fabric when her dress was made.

My favorite memory of her is how her face would light up when she saw me. She was a serious woman, but that moment of pure love in her expression is something I will always hold onto. I was lucky to see her often growing up—weekly, sometimes daily. Weekends were spent gathering around the dinner table at all times of day, eating pancakes and laughing with my grandfather in the morning, and big group dinners in the evening with my parents playing board games or talking. She held me to a high standard, correcting my grammar, checking in on my education, and showing me the value of intelligence and independence. But she also had a deep well of warmth. Her gentle chuckle, her vivid stories of childhood, and her incredible memory were the foundation of our family history.

She was our matriarch. Though my grandfather took up more space, her quiet presence was the heart of our family. I wish she had let herself take up more.

Thank you, Grandma, for shaping me into the woman I am today. I always will love you, I miss you, and I will carry you with me always.

How I’ll remember her in my mind: elegant, beautiful, and timeless.

Rest in peace. 🤍 10/3/26- 2/16/25