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A eulogy.

A grandparent’s primary job with their grandchildren is to spoil them whenever they can, we all know that. Some grandparents show up at the house with the newest gadgets. Some surprise their grandchildren with fancy trips across the world and some insist on going to only the nicest restaurants and ordering only the best food. As nice as that would have been, my grandpa didn’t do any of those things.

No, it wasn’t until the early 2000s that my grandparents got an answering machine and I don’t think he ever knew exactly how to check their email – no fancy gadgets for them. We didn’t travel the world together; we went places like Circle Lodge in Hopewell Junction and Kutcher’s – always for Workmen’s Circle related events. And one certainly couldn’t call the Bayside Diner the fanciest place in town. And yet, looking back on my 24 years spent with grandpa, it’s very clear that he filled his job description.

He spoiled me, Andrew and Rebecca with something totally different than all of those material possessions. He imparted on us wisdom: stories of his life painted pictures in our minds brighter and more colorful than even the best photograph he ever took. And while we may have heard those same stories 2, 10, 20, a hundred times… they never got old. Yes, we told him, “Grandpa – you’ve told us this story already!” pretty often, but he never cared. His response? “Yeah? OK, well I’m tellin’ it again.” And off he went, reaching into the depths of his memories and pulling out gems.

He spoiled us with knowledge: inspiring me to be creative, to reach beyond what I might think are my limits, and to learn new things every day. He shared with me his love for film and photography, and inspired me to take it up on my own from an early age. What started with snap-shot photography on disposable cameras developed into a full fledged career decision, moving to the other side of the country, and delving into a difficult field. Without his constant barrage of cameras, lights, plugs, lenses, slides and projectors, I probably wouldn’t have ended up getting so involved with film in the first place.

He spoiled us with love: He didn’t end every conversation on the phone with “I love you.” No, he usually ended with, “Wait, hold, on, Grandma wants to have the final word.” And yet, I always knew that he cared deeply about me. Simple things – a corny joke, a side comment, wanting me to hear a story from his childhood or the war… he loved sharing these things with us and lived for the time he was able to spend with us.

When my dad called me on Saturday to tell me that Grandpa had gotten worse, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I didn’t realize the severity of what he meant until later that night, as I boarded a red-eye to fly home. I realized how lucky I was to have picked up the phone and called him in the hospital on Friday morning, the last time he was really able to have a conversation. Our chat was short and yes, he complained a little bit… but give the guy a break, he was 90 years old! Hearing his voice that final time didn’t mean much until Sunday afternoon, when I walked into his hospital room and stood over him. It became very clear at that moment that I was losing someone incredibly special to me and that he had waited for me to make it across the country to see him before taking his last breath and saying his final goodbye.

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Posted on Feb 05 2009 by Dan Lange