My grandpa's funeral was on Tuesday. Here is the eulogy I gave him:
A year ago Mom told me that Gramps asked that I do his eulogy at his funeral. Ever since then I wondered what I was going to say about him. I’ve had a few ideas, but I never wrote them done, and I’ve forgotten a lot of them. I had originally thought I would have written something a while ago, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it when the time came.
But the time came, and of course, I hadn’t written anything down. Bear with me, as I know that I am leaving out a lot of good memories and stories, but I don’t want to take up a lot of time, Grandpa wouldn’t want that. So, I’m going to share only a few memories of Gramps today, hopefully they’ll trigger memories you have of him.
When I heard the news that Grandpa passed away, I immediately began to think of what I was going to say about a man who was supposed to be around my whole life. Nothing was coming to me. I didn’t know where to begin.
How do I talk about someone who has always been in my life? How do I talk about someone who I idolized while growing up? How do I talk about someone who loved me unconditionally? And how do I talk about my Grandpa Bill in front of a crowd of people, most of whom I know, and still feel that I’m going to fuck it up?
Do I talk about the pain and tragedy that he had in his life? The loss of two wives and two children he loved, as well as other members of his extended family.
No. We’ve talked about them before. And since Grandpa didn’t like to talk about that while he was alive, I’m not going to talk much about it here.
But, how does a man who has endured tragedy and loss deal with the pain? He put up a brave front, a suit of amour made of laughter and love.
I remember vividly the day we were in this very room, 5 ½ years ago, celebrating Aunt Shell’s life, when Grandpa leaned over during the service and whispered, very loudly I might add, “They did a good job on her didn’t they? She looks good, hey?” He did the same thing at Grandma’s funeral. Not subtle, but very funny.
A few months ago at Cousin Pat’s funeral, Grandpa got up to say a few words. He started his little speech with, “My name is Bill, and I’m an alcoholic.” He liked to hear people laugh, even if meant that he was reason for the laughter.
A few years ago, he was in the hospital recovering from surgery, and he was in a lot of pain. I remember Mom and I going up to visit him and seeing him lying in bed wearing one of those napkins that the hospital gives patients pretending they’re gowns.
A nurse had come into the room to check on him and she moved him a little bit, or tried to get him to sit up. He then let out this growl of pain, and yelled at the nurse “What the fuck are you doing to me? Leave me the fuck alone!” He was miserable and in pain and didn’t care who knew it. I was trying really hard not to laugh, not just because I thought it was funny, but because I was kind of shocked. I’ve never heard Grandpa yell and swear at anyone before, especially someone outside the family. In our family, yelling and swearing is usually reserved for loved ones. Seriously, it was one of the funniest things I’ve seen Grandpa do.
But that was Grandpa, subtleties were not his forte.
And there was always love. Love for his family.
Throughout the Eighties, Grandpa had heart problems. He had a number of heart attacks, and was in and out of the hospital. I think it was a contest between him and Grandma Fran to see who could best each other. In the end, Grandma won. She always did, she always got her way with him. And Grandpa was perfectly fine with that.
Anyway, Grandpa’s heart wasn’t in the best shape. Looking back, I think that his heart was broken. He was missing something in his life; a piece of his heart was missing.
In February 1993, that piece was found. Betty had come into his life, and brought her family with her, her husband John, and five kids, David, Sarah, Michael, Ryan and Joel.
Within minutes of meeting Betty and her family, Gramps got on the phone and called Mom and Dad, Uncle Dale and Sharon, Shelley and Glenn, and had everyone come over. It wasn’t so much a family re-union, it was a unification. Everyone was there. All of Grandpa’s grandchildren, and now, all his children were all under one roof.
It was times like this that Grandpa loved. He loved being surrounded by his family, whether it be at Easter time, Thanksgiving, Christmas, or the several BBQ’s and deck sittings.
Grandpa was very content just sitting at the dining table at Aunt Betty’s drinking his coffee, chatting with Uncle John about the taxi cab business, or how the renovations were going at the apartment block.
He would take his seat at the head of the table and plunk himself down and not move until it was time to go home. He would watch with a big smile on his face his daughters putzing around in the kitchen, the kids playing video games, and the babies crawling around exploring.
And he and I would usually get into a bickering match at that table. He was always bitching at me about my hair. He’d say “What the hell have you done to you hair?” I would smile at him and say “I like it.” He’d reply, “Well, I don’t like it at all.” “Well, old man, it’s not your hair, so don’t worry about it.” Then he would just sit there with a smug little grin, thinking he got the best of me.
He absolutely hated it when I’d dye my hair, especially if I dyed it blond. I don’t know why he would get so upset. He didn’t mind the tattoos. He didn’t mind the piercings, but he hated the hair colouring. I never really understood it, and I never asked him.
But what made Grandpa the happiest was the birth of his great-grandchildren. He was so proud of all his children and grandchildren, but with the arrival of Evan in 1999, then Khemissa and Emily last year, he was the most proud. I’m not saying that the love for his children or grandchildren had lessened, but it grew even more.
He had lived long enough to see his family and their families grow. He saw the love he had for his children being passed onto their children. And now that love is being shared with a new generation.
Grandpa loved all the grandchildren that came into his life, regardless of how old we were and the circumstances that we appeared in his life. Myself and Shana, then Damian and Amber, followed by David, Sarah, Michael, Ryan, Joel, and finally Evan, Emily, and Khemissa. We all received Grandpa’s love, and all we had to do was look at him and he would break into his huge, toothy smile, followed by a chuckle and a pat on the arm to know it was there. And I think it’s because Gramps was a kid at heart, and he saw a lot of himself in us.
The last time I saw Grandpa was a week ago today. I had gone over to his house to drop some money off for him. He took one look at me and said “Now that’s a haircut I like.”
A year ago Mom told me that Gramps asked that I do his eulogy at his funeral. Ever since then I wondered what I was going to say about him. I’ve had a few ideas, but I never wrote them done, and I’ve forgotten a lot of them. I had originally thought I would have written something a while ago, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it when the time came.
But the time came, and of course, I hadn’t written anything down. Bear with me, as I know that I am leaving out a lot of good memories and stories, but I don’t want to take up a lot of time, Grandpa wouldn’t want that. So, I’m going to share only a few memories of Gramps today, hopefully they’ll trigger memories you have of him.
When I heard the news that Grandpa passed away, I immediately began to think of what I was going to say about a man who was supposed to be around my whole life. Nothing was coming to me. I didn’t know where to begin.
How do I talk about someone who has always been in my life? How do I talk about someone who I idolized while growing up? How do I talk about someone who loved me unconditionally? And how do I talk about my Grandpa Bill in front of a crowd of people, most of whom I know, and still feel that I’m going to fuck it up?
Do I talk about the pain and tragedy that he had in his life? The loss of two wives and two children he loved, as well as other members of his extended family.
No. We’ve talked about them before. And since Grandpa didn’t like to talk about that while he was alive, I’m not going to talk much about it here.
But, how does a man who has endured tragedy and loss deal with the pain? He put up a brave front, a suit of amour made of laughter and love.
I remember vividly the day we were in this very room, 5 ½ years ago, celebrating Aunt Shell’s life, when Grandpa leaned over during the service and whispered, very loudly I might add, “They did a good job on her didn’t they? She looks good, hey?” He did the same thing at Grandma’s funeral. Not subtle, but very funny.
A few months ago at Cousin Pat’s funeral, Grandpa got up to say a few words. He started his little speech with, “My name is Bill, and I’m an alcoholic.” He liked to hear people laugh, even if meant that he was reason for the laughter.
A few years ago, he was in the hospital recovering from surgery, and he was in a lot of pain. I remember Mom and I going up to visit him and seeing him lying in bed wearing one of those napkins that the hospital gives patients pretending they’re gowns.
A nurse had come into the room to check on him and she moved him a little bit, or tried to get him to sit up. He then let out this growl of pain, and yelled at the nurse “What the fuck are you doing to me? Leave me the fuck alone!” He was miserable and in pain and didn’t care who knew it. I was trying really hard not to laugh, not just because I thought it was funny, but because I was kind of shocked. I’ve never heard Grandpa yell and swear at anyone before, especially someone outside the family. In our family, yelling and swearing is usually reserved for loved ones. Seriously, it was one of the funniest things I’ve seen Grandpa do.
But that was Grandpa, subtleties were not his forte.
And there was always love. Love for his family.
Throughout the Eighties, Grandpa had heart problems. He had a number of heart attacks, and was in and out of the hospital. I think it was a contest between him and Grandma Fran to see who could best each other. In the end, Grandma won. She always did, she always got her way with him. And Grandpa was perfectly fine with that.
Anyway, Grandpa’s heart wasn’t in the best shape. Looking back, I think that his heart was broken. He was missing something in his life; a piece of his heart was missing.
In February 1993, that piece was found. Betty had come into his life, and brought her family with her, her husband John, and five kids, David, Sarah, Michael, Ryan and Joel.
Within minutes of meeting Betty and her family, Gramps got on the phone and called Mom and Dad, Uncle Dale and Sharon, Shelley and Glenn, and had everyone come over. It wasn’t so much a family re-union, it was a unification. Everyone was there. All of Grandpa’s grandchildren, and now, all his children were all under one roof.
It was times like this that Grandpa loved. He loved being surrounded by his family, whether it be at Easter time, Thanksgiving, Christmas, or the several BBQ’s and deck sittings.
Grandpa was very content just sitting at the dining table at Aunt Betty’s drinking his coffee, chatting with Uncle John about the taxi cab business, or how the renovations were going at the apartment block.
He would take his seat at the head of the table and plunk himself down and not move until it was time to go home. He would watch with a big smile on his face his daughters putzing around in the kitchen, the kids playing video games, and the babies crawling around exploring.
And he and I would usually get into a bickering match at that table. He was always bitching at me about my hair. He’d say “What the hell have you done to you hair?” I would smile at him and say “I like it.” He’d reply, “Well, I don’t like it at all.” “Well, old man, it’s not your hair, so don’t worry about it.” Then he would just sit there with a smug little grin, thinking he got the best of me.
He absolutely hated it when I’d dye my hair, especially if I dyed it blond. I don’t know why he would get so upset. He didn’t mind the tattoos. He didn’t mind the piercings, but he hated the hair colouring. I never really understood it, and I never asked him.
But what made Grandpa the happiest was the birth of his great-grandchildren. He was so proud of all his children and grandchildren, but with the arrival of Evan in 1999, then Khemissa and Emily last year, he was the most proud. I’m not saying that the love for his children or grandchildren had lessened, but it grew even more.
He had lived long enough to see his family and their families grow. He saw the love he had for his children being passed onto their children. And now that love is being shared with a new generation.
Grandpa loved all the grandchildren that came into his life, regardless of how old we were and the circumstances that we appeared in his life. Myself and Shana, then Damian and Amber, followed by David, Sarah, Michael, Ryan, Joel, and finally Evan, Emily, and Khemissa. We all received Grandpa’s love, and all we had to do was look at him and he would break into his huge, toothy smile, followed by a chuckle and a pat on the arm to know it was there. And I think it’s because Gramps was a kid at heart, and he saw a lot of himself in us.
The last time I saw Grandpa was a week ago today. I had gone over to his house to drop some money off for him. He took one look at me and said “Now that’s a haircut I like.”
posted by Frogboy at
7/21/2005 09:39:00 AM
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