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‘Devastated’ — Family and City in Mourning Over the Passing of Beloved Matriarch, Vera Bitter
By: Jane LaRue
It’s nearly impossible to live in the greater Nashville area without having heard the name Vera Bitter. Whether you met her through her extensive involvement in the art and music programs throughout the city, her annual gala, whose proceeds went directly toward funding food banks and toy drives every Christmas for underprivileged families; or perhaps her love for all things related to keeping our city green and beautiful, there’s no doubt of the impact Vera Bitter had not only on our lives but on our great city.
Vera Evelyn Bitter, born Vera Evelyn Shuffle to her loving parents Troas and Hazel Shuffle on January 22, 1940, peacefully left the world Wednesday, February 7, 2024 at her home, lovingly called the Bitter House, here in Nashville, TN.
Vera had a lovely childhood, surrounded by her parents and seven brothers and sisters. Vera was ten years younger than her youngest brother and therefore often doted upon. The years of attention didn’t cause Vera to lose sight of things outside of herself or to suffer from youngest-child syndrome. In fact, those who knew and loved her, like Cate Ellison, her next-door neighbor for the last thirty years, say Vera was ‘kind and incomparably selfless’ up until the very end.
From an early age, that selflessness was apparent as Vera displayed an unwavering determination to make a difference in the world. That desire, I’m told by those closest to her, would drive her throughout her very long and very full life.
When Vera was just twenty years old, she married her soulmate, Harold Bitter, and their love story became the stuff of legends and fairytales. The Bitters donated, participated in, and contributed to many of the city’s greatest charitable causes.
The Bitters were blessed with two beautiful children, daughters they loved more than anything. They went on to have three grandchildren as well. Her family was the light of Vera’s life. She and Harold were married for nearly thirty years before his sudden death in 1989.
After, Vera was married to Reginald Mosely for just seven months before their amicable divorce. In addition to her late husband, Vera is preceded in death by her parents; seven siblings; daughter, Christina; and son-in-law, Nathan Lancaster. She is survived by her daughter Jennifer (Marcus) Nolan; grandchildren Bridget Lancaster, Zach Nolan and Jonah Nolan; as well as many friends.
Vera’s passion for philanthropy empowered her to make a substantial impact on our community and, ultimately, the world. But Vera’s greatest achievement and the thing she celebrated with the most joy will always be her family. The Bitter House was a place of shared love and laughter.
Vera Bitter’s legacy is one of joy, compassion, and hard work, and it will forever be etched into Nashville’s tapestry. The world is a little bit darker as of yesterday, when the family and close friends gathered to say goodbye to their beloved matriarch in a small, private ceremony at the Bitter House. Today and forever, we Nashvillians will remember her remarkable life—one filled with happiness, devotion, and an unwavering determination to make the world a better place. Her memory will forever be a guiding light to those lucky enough to know her, reminding us to live and lead with kindness above all else.
PART 1
Bitter House. They got that about right, didn’t they?
The house stands tall and desolate against the gray sky. Gray stone, white accents, with sharp angles and a fierce spire that towers several feet over the rest of the house. It’s grand, spacious, and filled with sadness. Just…not for the reasons you think.
The newspaper lies in my front seat, the article about my grandmother and her amazing, selfless life face up.
The problem? It’s nothing but lies.
Whoever wrote it clearly didn’t know her at all, only what she wanted people to know. Which isn’t unusual. No one knew her. Not even the children she raised. She wanted it that way. She was an enigma, a mystery. A giant question mark. A ghost that floated through that house and her life without ever making contact with anyone.
The funeral that was supposed to happen in a private ceremony yesterday—the one filled with close friends and family? It didn’t exist. If it had, there would have been no one to come. No one who cared enough to say goodbye. In fact, as far as I know, Vera slipped out of the world without anyone noticing at all.
No one’s lives will change in the slightest with her gone except for mine, and only out of a sense of obligation I don’t fully understand.
When I received the news that my grandmother had passed away and that her house—Bitter House—was left to me, my feelings were conflicted at best.
On one hand, she raised me when she didn’t have to, when I had nowhere else to go, but on the other, she was hardly warm. She was nothing like my mother, and I’m still trying to process my feelings about that.
When I graduated from high school, my grandmother all but dumped me on the porch steps of Bitter House with my bags and not so much as a goodbye, and I haven’t heard from her since. Not once.
So finding out the family house was left to me is a surprise at the very least. I make my way down the winding drive, the tall, menacing manor in front of me, iron gate behind me.
As soon as the gate swung closed minutes ago, I felt my throat tighten, and I’ve yet to take a normal breath.
I pull the car to a stop at the end of the long, paved driveway and stare over at the house where I grew up. How many nights did I spend looking out that window right there, second one from the right on the top floor, wondering if there was really life outside of it? If I’d ever actually be able to get away from Bitter House and its influence.
If I’d known the reality of what life would look like on my own, I’m not sure I would’ve been in such a hurry to leave.
I check my phone and spot a text from my best friend, Ana.
I type out a response quickly, wishing I could explain to her how strange this feels. I've
tried to, of course, but it’s not something you can put into words. Bitter House and the memories that come with it are heavy and thick, and wading through them is like swimming through batter. I’m not sure I know how I feel enough to understand it, let alone explain it to someone else, even to the person who knows me the best.
I step out of the car without gathering my bags. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. Edna, the executor, said it was important that I come back before I make the decision whether to sell. If I do—which I really think I will, since I have no desire to ever live within these walls again—she wants me to see the place, go through whatever things I’d like to keep, and give her permission to donate the rest.
She didn’t have to work too hard to convince me, though. Despite all of my conflicted feelings, regrets, and anger about the things that happened at Bitter House, it was still my home once. I’m, for lack of a better word, bitter about how things happened here. I’m angry and empty that Vera could cast me aside so easily, that she didn’t think I even deserved an explanation as to why.
I hate that I ever trusted her, that I let myself rely on her. And, maybe more than anything else, I hate the fact that I still care. That despite the icy, detached way my grandmother raised me, it still matters to me that she was my grandmother. I need to come back here to say goodbye, to find closure on my own terms, maybe even to try to make sense of what seems impossible to understand.
I can’t say goodbye to her without coming back to Bitter House, to the place where she shattered my already broken heart, and I have to say goodbye, even if it comes with a side of good riddance.
I cross the front lawn, walking on the grass and up the front steps. At the front door, I twist the key in the lock. The silver key had been included in the envelope Edna sent over, and it still feels foreign in my hand. I haven’t attached it to my key ring, wanting to do nothing that might allow me to consider staying in this place, calling it home once again.
I push open the front door and step into the foyer, breathing in the familiar scent. It’s lilac
and dust—years of history and memories hidden within that smell—and it makes me feel sad and nostalgic and suffocated all at once.
With the door closed behind me, I tuck my hands into my pockets and stare around at a space that once felt like my entire world. A space that seemed to contract and expand based on my grandmother’s moods, but despite its enormity, it never felt large enough to contain me.
She’s everywhere in this place, though, even now that she’s gone. Even as her body is currently being cremated and I know she’ll never be anywhere else ever again, ...
