February 6, 1948 - November 17, 2020
Salem- Georgette Rita Pied, 72, of Salem passed away Tuesday evening, November 17, 2020 following a lengthy battle with dementia.
Born and raised in Salem, MA, Georgette was the daughter of the late Emile and Cecile (Marquis) Pied. Georgette was a graduate of L'Academie Ste. Chretienne, St. Anselm College and Simmons College. She received her Nursing Degree and a Master's in French Literature. She worked for many years as a Nurse, Teacher and a Massage Therapist. While she loved traveling, Georgette lived in Salem for her entire life aside from a brief stint in Maryland after nursing school, and she loved being part of such an amazing community.
A Francophile through and through, Georgette adored all things French and spoke it as her primary language. She loved meditation and followed the teachings of Thich Nhat Hahn. Georgette considered herself a Christian Buddhist, and she felt a deep connection with both her weekly sangha group and her Church community of St. Andrews in Marblehead.
Georgette was an environmentalist to her core, and before recycling became commonplace in Salem, she would go around to restaurants and collect their recycling for them. She loved communing with nature, and slept most peacefully out on her deck overlooking the Forest River Estuary, no matter the season. She loved to laugh, spend time with family and friends, and nothing brought her greater joy than helping others, especially those in need.
Georgette is survived by her children, Nathaniel Stafford of Ellington Connecticut, and Rebekah Stafford of Newburyport Mass; her grandchildren, Reave Stafford and Elodie Stafford; her brothers, Paul and Andre Pied; her sisters Claire Pied-Hailu and Claudette Guzowski; and two women she considered her soul sisters, Ellen Galligan and Rosemary White. Along with her parents, Georgette was predeceased by one sister, Bernadette who passed away almost 20 years ago.
Services:
A celebration of Georgette's life will be held at a later date. In lieu of flowers, those who wish may send a donation in Georgette's name to HAWC Healing Abuse and Working for Change hawkdv.org. To send a condolence to the family, or to make sure her family has your contact information so they can notify you when the celebration of life is scheduled next year, please comment at the bottom of this page.
Friends and relatives are welcomed to send a photo of Georgette to share. Mail to: berubefuneral@gmail.com
The following is a eulogy written by Rebekah for her mother:
Your virtual eulogy, my sweet Georgie:
I’ve said goodbye to you in my head countless times over the years. During a visit, I would notice another piece of you had slipped away, and I would lay in bed that night, with Elodie curled up next to me, and tell you how much I missed you and how sorry I was that this had happened to you. I would wish that I could lay next to you, one more time, feeling protected in your arms the way that Elodie was in mine.
That’s the way it is with dementia - a thousand small deaths of the self as the disease robs its victims of self-determination and the ability to connect meaningfully with loved ones.
I wish I could say you did not suffer. But you did. You suffered far too long. Every small death that I noticed, you experienced it too. I know you were in there the whole time, inside that body with a brain that was failing you. We’ve been in this struggle for so long, you and I, that it’s hard to remember what life was like before you got sick. But now that you are finally free, I have the space to remember you more fully.
You were the strongest person I ever knew. At 13, you were diagnosed with Crohns and told that you would have chronic pain and that your life would be very limited. You proved everyone wrong. The pain never went away, but you refused to let it limit your life. You went to nursing school, had two children, owned a beautiful home, learned the guitar and sang in chorales, swam before most people were awake, mastered yoga, traveled, became a massage therapist, and incessantly volunteered your time and energy to the community of Salem. Even cancer in your 40’s could not stop you. You touched the lives of so many people with your love, kindness and generosity.
You were silly to your core - you loved the corniest jokes, laughed easily, and loved to throw a good party. Your smile was so sincere and warm. You had a certain earnest innocence about you, and you always saw the best in people. You were smart and intellectually curious - always seeking to better yourself. You discovered Buddhism and Thich Nhat Hanh, and you integrated mindfulness and peace practices into your daily life. You turned your backyard into a meditation labyrinth for your Sunday Sangha meditation group, but you also never turned your back on your Episcipalean church community at St. Andrews in Marblehead. You proudly called yourself a Christian Buddist. On Sunday morning you would deliver the eucharist to people who could not leave their houses, and on Sunday evenings you would walk the labyrinth with your sangha family.
When Reave was born, you took on your Grandmother role with fervor. I know you loved being a mother, but I can’t deny that having a grandchild brought you unparalleled joy. By the time Elodie was born, you had been afflicted by dementia for a few years already, but you were still present enough to know what you were going to be missing out on. More than anything you suffered through, I believe this broke your heart the most. But please know that about an hour after you died, Elodie said to me “I can feel playing balloons with Meme in my heart mom”. I know it was not the relationship you had hoped for, but it was still a very important relationship and she felt your love keenly.
You would probably tell me I need to wrap this up. You were always so completely honest - both in how you lived your life and with how you felt. I still remember being in first grade and singing you a song I had written, but I told you I heard it on the radio to see if I could impress you. When I had finished you looked at me closely and said “did you really hear that on the radio…?”
I’ll finish by highlighting the trait that defined you most: empathy. You felt other people’s suffering as your own, and you did everything you could to ease peoples’ burdens. Even in your final years in memory care, in the midst of a terrible day, you would see another resident suffering and you would go over to comfort them, for that instant, forgetting your own pain.
This past Sunday was a bad day for you. You were in emotional and physical pain and we were not keeping up with managing that pain. At one point, watching you suffer so profoundly, I broke down. You were curled up in bed and turned away from me, and you hadn’t recognized me in over a year. But when you heard me crying you turned onto your back and reached up to my face and started wiping away my tears. No matter how sick you got, no matter how much your brain and body betrayed you, you were still in there, and you wanted to comfort me.
We had a special bond. We certainly had our struggles, but some of that was me being a teenager, and some of that was you being on medications that so often that impacted your moods. By the time I had graduated from college and had grown up a bit, you were managing your Crohns with diet rather than steroids, and we settled into a beautiful rhythm. We talked almost every day, and I found it the ultimate comfort just to be in your presence - whether on the beach, on your deck, or beside the fireplace reading. I was living a plane flight away for almost a decade, and you would visit me often and send me cards with New Yorker cartoons and little care packages every month. They always made me smile and I could feel how much you loved me. I finally understood just how deep that love was - a love that lives in every cell of your body - when I held Elodie in my arms for the first time. I wish I could have shared that moment with you.
I’ve had a hard time saying goodbye. I thought my primary feeling would be relief; I have spent years knowing that you were suffering, and knowing that this was not how you would have wanted to be living the final years of your life. You were scared of this disease for as long as I can remember - and rightly so. It is a tragedy for anyone who is afflicted. But now that you are gone, I miss you so badly. It’s like there is a piece of me, deep in my core, that is broken and will never be fixed.
I will carry you with me forever, and I will honor you every day that I’m still alive by being the best mother I can be to Elodie. I know I won’t be perfect, but if I am able to make her feel half as loved by me as I felt by you, then I will have succeeded.
On Tuesday night when I kissed your forehead and hand one last time, I told you: “I’ll see you when I see you my sweet Mamasita.” I hope that is sooner rather than later. You always said butterflies were angels and spirits were all around us, so I’ll look for you until I find you. For now, go, and be pain free.
I love you always.
Beckasita
xo