She was born Leslie County, Ky., and spent a large part of her journalism career writing about the mountain culture and history that she loved so dearly, her family said.
“She wanted to show those people as kinder, gentler and how they were hard workers,” said one of her daughters, Bridget Ossmann. “To her, they weren’t hillbillies or rednecks. They were people first.”
Eaton was a reporter until the end, her daughter said. While in the hospital, Eaton talked to everyone, and soon the conversations sounded like interviews, Ossmann said. She wanted to know about their backgrounds and their families.
“She met so many people from so many different walks of life,” her daughter said. “She said, ‘They are all wonderful.’”
Ossmann called her mother “a feisty little egg” and a “wonderful woman.”
Her other daughter, Bekka Eaton, wrote that her mother will be remembered for the “infinite size of her heart and her immense compassion.”
Eaton said she was amazed by her mother’s ability to connect with all people.
“She had a magic about her,” her daughter said. “Even in the hospital, she would take a person by the hand, look them in the eye like she was searching for their story and she would get it. She immediately loved people and was fascinated by them.”
Eaton will be buried in Kentucky, and the family will host a local celebration of life in the future.
She also is survived by three grandchildren. She was preceded in death by her husband, John, who died in 2007.
In lieu of flowers, the family is asking for donations to help launch The Virginia Budge Award for the Creative Arts’ Special Needs category. Make checks out to Virginia Budge Award and send to 2548 Resor Road, Fairfield, OH 45014.
Years ago, in anticipation of her passing, Ercel Eaton wrote this poem:
To My Loved Ones
If it is true that silver-streamered souls
Flit ceaselessly about our air
Gazing with grief or gladness
At our life upon beyond this spinning globe;
If it is true that light and airy scraps
Of eternity contain the mind, the heart,
The soul beyond the faded breath;
If it is true that I, who love you more than life
Can know about your world, your pain
And your delights.
If it is true that I can linger
In my gauzy nothing of a gown; If I am
Given time to find you, wherever
Your life leads you on this earth
(And who’s to say I can’t cross continents
and seas at will with no earth-time spent.)
If it is true that my soul sings onward
Toward the finest of the fine and knows
So many answers to questions
We could never solve…
Then I can shine a day along
The pathways where you walk,
Or sit a night in nearness to your bed.
I, in my silver-streamered soul-dress,
To yearn toward your pain, or share
With you your many-splendored moment.
Then I shall be a silver-streamered shadow
Where you are; and I shall know your
Pain and deepest dreads; and I
Shall sit in my wondrous silence near you
And offer you the comfort your heart craves.
Then while you sleep my silver-streamered self
Will ease your pain with feather-likened
Touch. And if you fancy you can feel
Tender, almost non-existent fingers brush
Across your cheek, then it is I
Who loves you more than life
Who comes to comfort you with all my soul.
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