A granddaughter's eulogy

I've been lucky to have had all 4 grandparents for the 36+ years I've been alive. I always felt kinda special when I told people that fact because it's rare to have all 4 for so many years.

Today I lost my grandpa. And I am more heartbroken than I could've anticipated. My sister called me while I was folding laundry this afternoon, and I didn't know what to do with the shock of the news that I just continued to fold laundry while the tears freely came. I considered it evil therapy, since laundry is always evil in my mind, but it actually was cathartic to do something menial while grasping heavy news. My kids were oblivious to my tears because they were outside destroying our driveway with a dozen mud pies and cookie concoctions. Perhaps the rain or my tears will wash all that mud off the driveway tonight.

I thought that if I was going to sleep tonight, which I hope to do, I needed to excuse myself after our nightly prayer and write because writing, much like laundry, is therapeutic.

My grandpa was a complex person, and yet he was as simple as they come. He was fiercely loyal, straight forward, stubborn, hard-working, generous, loving, funny, honest (sometimes too honest), smart, and handsome. He had the softest skin. I loved the way his cheeks rose when he smiled.

He had false teeth, and when I was little we made up a little game where I would press on his fingertips one by one, and each time I did he'd wiggle his teeth in his mouth a different way. I laughed at it every single time. I even made him do it when I saw him two years ago, and it still made me giggle.

I very much remember the car he owned while I was growing up. It was a little stick-shift sedan. I can't remember if it was a 2-door or 4-door, but that really isn't important. I remember you had to manually roll up and down the windows, and I always really liked doing that. We often cleaned his car in his driveway, and he would teach us how to clean a car properly. Still, for some reason, even though we cleaned it carefully and used the correct products, the tinted part of his windows bubbled. The bubbles fascinated me. I'd press my thumb in them, and grandpa would always poke me in the ribs and remind me not to do it, but I did it anyway.

He once drove me to a Dodger's baseball game, and on the way to the stadium I asked him what age he thought he'd live to. He asked me what I thought, and so I told him the highest number I could count to at the time (102), and he said, "Ok, I'll live to 102." He didn't quite make it, but he outlived so many of his family members and friends.

Grandpa was the guy that snuck you a $20 bill every time you saw him. He'd say, "Buy yourself some lunch on the road, or use that for some gas." He was very generous and taught me to be the same.

He didn't like to swim. I will always remember him being the guy fully-clothed at the beach.

He and grandma always called on my birthday (and each of my kids' birthdays) and would sing "Happy Birthday" loud and proud. Even age didn't slow them down.

He had a way of grumbling under his breath so you could tell he was talking about you but you couldn't quite make out the words. So long as that grumbling wasn't pointed at me, it always made me laugh.

In recent years, I think of all his patience with my kids (he'd always joke that I had a million running around), but he always brought his comb in his front pocket to let the kids play with his perfectly gelled hair, or he'd tickle the kids in their sides, or he'd make jokes with the older girls.

Aside from all these things, I think the thing that I loved the most about my grandpa was the way he loved my grandma. He was fiercely loyal to her and her needs. He rose early every morning to get her an ice pack/heating pad, and he'd help her with anything she needed. He loved her. We all knew it. I am grateful to have witnessed real love--lasting love--for as long as I did.

I knew my grandpa loved me. I knew it as a child when he snuck Smarties into church and passed them over the pew. I knew it when he bought me my favorite doughnuts when I'd visit in high school. I knew it by the way he kissed the top of my head as an adult. And I knew it every time he said, "Love you baby" on our FaceTime calls.

My heart aches because I will miss his scent when I visit home and see my grandma, and I will miss his final "Love you baby" at the end of every phone call and his rendition of "Happy Birthday" on my birthday this year, and every year to come. I am lucky to have heard it 36 times.