Eulogy for my grandfather, given at his funeral on April 14

In the past few months when I would tell my friends about Granddad’s illness, they would invariably ask me if I was close to Granddad. I had a lot of trouble answering them in a way they could understand. I have always felt extremely close to Granddad, but it’s not because we had long, intense discussions or shared secrets. Rather, that closeness came from the knowledge that Granddad would always be there if I needed him, that he’d always support me and love me, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with or understand what I was headed off to do. And I hope that he knew we’d always be there for him, too, as we all tried to be in the end. Whenever we would hug and say goodbye, as I would leave for California or Chicago, I knew that Granddad would miss me, but that he was proud of me for following my dreams. It wasn’t something he always said; it was something I could feel.

That closeness I felt was also a recognition of our similarities. It’s not difficult to see something of Granddad in every one of his children and grandchildren. There are the obvious personality traits-- many of us are quiet, strong, intelligent, independent, and yes, very stubborn.

But more important, I think, are the values that Granddad taught to all of us. I asked my brother, Brian, a few weeks ago for his fondest memory of Granddad. He laughed and said he always thought back to the Easter eggs hunts. Every year on Easter Granddad would hide plastic eggs around the yard for his five grandchildren to find. Once we found the eggs we could take them to the Bank of Granddad and cash in the eggs for shiny quarters. The Easter eggs hunt wasn’t a race; it wasn’t a reward for aggressive behavior. Instead, it was an opportunity to experience the thrill of discovery. As the oldest I always wanted to run out and find the most eggs, but Granddad insisted on fairness. I may find my eggs first, but I could find no more than my fair share. As a result, once I found my eggs, I always went back and help my brother and younger cousins. Granddad could’ve fostered our competitive spirits, but he chose instead to impart far more worthy values.

I’m sure that each of the grandchildren has particular memories of Granddad and particular values they learned from him, and I don’t pretend to be able to completely represent everyone’s views. But there is one way in which Granddad’s teaching profoundly influenced my life, and a way in which I know his legacy will live on through all of us. My favorite memories of Granddad always take place outdoors and are often active. I distinctly remember getting my first, and only, black eye when Granddad tried to teach me to catch pop flies. I never really mastered that move, but I have continued to love baseball to this day. Even better though were the times we went camping and canoeing, or walking in the park to feed the birds.

When my youngest cousin, Becky, was sixteen, she wrote a poem for school in which she spoke of how much she always loved spending time outdoors with Granddad, except perhaps when she got her first, and only, goose bite. Here is a section of Becky’s poem:

Taking a break to stroll through the park with popcorn in our hands to feed the ducks,
Then dashing across the bridge to the playground,
So I could whoosh down the slide.

Going on vacation,
Standing on the bridge, throwing down pieces of bread to the fish,
Wishing I could throw them up to the seagulls in the sky just like my grandpa,
Going to the petting zoo to feed the baby animals a bottle of milk.

The days of a child,
The days I thought would never end.

From Granddad all his grandchildren developed a strong love of nature and of being outdoors, a recognition of the beauty around us and the bond we have with the animal and plant life around us.

And we always celebrated that bond on a camping trips. I think that camping especially was a fitting activity for Granddad’s personality, and for mine. Camping tests your ability to take care of yourself, as you can’t always count on someone else being there to help out. And yet, what Granddad loved about camping was the people he met, the lasting friendships that he and Grandma formed with their camping friends. Granddad had a profound respect for these friends who also loved the outdoors, and who were just as independent, just as able to fend for themselves. I think it is due to that mutual respect that campers form such intense bonds with each other and are so willing to help each other out when help is truly needed.

Every time I go camping or canoeing, every time I watch the ducks swimming in the pond, I will remember how much Granddad loved to do those same things, and I will know that he’s not really gone. He’s living on through the legacy he imparted to his family.