Final Farewell

It was a great honor to be asked to present the eulogy at my grandfather’s funeral. For quite some time I contemplated what to write – looking for just the right thing to say. I have often sat at funerals where every minute indiscretion of the deceased’s life is hung out like dirty laundry for all to see. At other times I have listened as the speaker describes a life of perfection without any hint of transgression.

I did not want this for my grandfather as he was neither. His life was more like a favorite novel, read and reread until the pages are frayed and faded at the favorite parts. It was a story full of conflict, resolution, intrigue, anticipation, romance, deception, love, forgiveness, and redemption. And like a good novel, when it was over, we all closed the last page and thought, “Ah, yes -- that was a good story!” Early in the morning, in that space between slumber and wakefulness, the words came to me. They came so clearly that I could see them written on the page, but even more, I could feel them. And when I read them, I knew this was how I must begin his final tribute.

Again

Once again we packed the whole Rancho into our SUV to make that twelve hour trip back to the place of mountains – the second time in one week.

The trip was unplanned as this time we were returning for a funeral. And once again I wondered if the wild two-year-old should have some Benadryl; why one of my offspring peed in a water bottle instead of telling us he needed to go; if the teenager could please be a little nicer; and what passing cars thought upon seeing the five-year-old licking the windows.

I thought about funeral potatoes, a military salute, a handwritten personal history, laughter while remembering, and tears while missing. And I thought about family, and about how in times such as these it is good to be surrounded by loved ones.

And along the way I learned some important truths: NEVER stay in a hotel whose name contains any type of number, and if the billboard says, “Pet Friendly” it should be avoided at all costs.

Goodbye

“Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss

Each summer we pack ourselves, five kids, and piles of “too much junk” into the SUV to make our annual pilgrimage to the place of my childhood. Over the Blues, through the valley, past endless fields of sagebrush, until we reach the mountains of the Wasatch Front.

As we drive I am thinking, “Who gave the five-year-old a harmonica? How many granola bars have been stuffed under the back seat? Will the neighbor boy remember to water my flowers? Should I give the wild two-year-old some more Benadryl? Will my teenager go deaf after listening to twelve hours of ipod?...”

In my heart I know that although this trip will be as wonderful as it is each year, it will also be a last goodbye to a grandfather dearly loved. After 92 years and a lifetime of experiences, he is slowly fading. His frail body has become a shadow of the man he once was, and although I will not mourn his passing (as his was a life well-lived), I will surely miss him.