As many of you know, my grandmother Shirley passed away on the 7th of October, and my papa Paul, who could not live without her, passed away ten days later. I thought I would share with you what I read at my grandmother's funeral and what my sister Jo so eloquently read at my grandfather's. The other day marked what would have been their 65th wedding anniversary. They were wonderful, loving people and incredible influences and I miss them horribly.
Grandma (read October 9, 2009):
My grandma was kind; she was caring, she was smart and she was funny. I feel so lucky to have lived a life with her in it.
The day she met my papa she came home and told her mother “ I just met the man I’m going to marry”. And every time she told me this story her eyes would sparkle like they must have 67 years ago.
She was more than a grandma, she was a caregiver and a friend. She would not only listen, she would remember. And she was truly someone to lean on.
I was sitting with her in the den one day when a familiar sound came from the bedroom.
“Toots” my papa called and when she didn’t answer he called again louder. These common shouts for “Paul” and “Toots” became sounds of comfort to all of us over the years, even if they were shouted while the car was drifting into the next lane and we’d already missed the turn. On this day, however, there was no response and after papa called for the third time, Grandma turned to me and, suppressing a giggle, she said,
“You know, I can hear him, I just don’t feel like answering sometimes.” And we laughed.
We all had our activities that we like to do with grandma when visiting. She would play cards with Danny, go shopping with Jo, and take me bargain hunting at Goodwill.
Even though she’s no longer physically present, she is a part of my everyday life. From the diamond I wear around my neck that she helped papa design to the brisket recipe I will teach to my children, her love will always be present. The hole that her passing has left in our lives can never be filled because her presence in our lives was so great. Besides afgans and birthday card, besides hand holds and hugs, she gave us the gift of her love, and it’s a gift which will live within us, forever.
Papa (read October 20, 2009):
Papa Paul taught us how to pack a suitcase,
How to ready a box for shipping. (It should take more than one sharp object to open at its destination) Anticipation (mixed with a little frustration) makes the contents that much more exciting.
He could have written the Duck Tape Book.
He taught us how to eat corn on the cob
And that no meal was complete without dessert.
He taught us how to bowl- two graceful steps and let it go. (His favorite activity with Danny)
He turned the other cheek when we cheated at mini golf. And felt that a “do-over” was common golfing etiquette,
And always thought of an excuse to stop for ice cream.
He would magically appear with a Cinnabon at the end of an excursion to the mall.
He loved a bargain. And shower shoes. And sneakers. And sweaters. And more sweaters. And plastic bags. And sweaters in plastic bags. Actually, anything Papa Paul valued found its way into a labeled Ziploc.
And you had to be careful, because if you complimented him on an article of clothing, you might find it in your suitcase when you got home.
He held our hands with the strongest grip. And if you walked behind him, you waited for the inevitable invitation to hold his hand as he reached out behind him.
And had more extra batteries/ rubber bands/ stolen Equal packets than anyone we knew. They weren’t really stolen, they were on the table.
He was the disciplinarian. When Leah and I fought, we were terrified of him storming into the bedroom, demanding to know why we weren’t asleep.
Papa Paul, we weren’t asleep because we were deprived of sugar in Western Massachusetts and your pantry was a virtual Willy Wonka Land. And the reason that we woke you up is because all of the candy was tripled wrapped in labeled Ziploc bags. It was loud, but easy to locate.
He valued hard work- and was one of the few people that was interested in hearing our stories of waitressing and bartending. And he was a damn good tipper. We would have been happy to have had him as a customer any day.
As I got older, I began to see how cool my Papa was. We took a trip to the Casino and he gave me and Grandma each a $50 bill to gamble away.
He always invited me to join him in his evening martini and was the only family member not to object when I made a second round.
I got to gamble and drink with my Papa, and later in life, when he began to enjoy shopping, he was truly my perfect date.
When Leah went on her adventures to Africa, he would print her emails and on-line photo albums. He would do his own research in order to experience these places along with her. And when she wasn’t sure she could leave this year for Mauritius, he was the one that told her she had to go. And then he found a map with Mauritius on it and posted it on the fridge.
He always combed his hair and wore matching belts. He owns most of the belts in Palm Beach County. Papa matched.
He combed his hair before he visited Grandma in her hospital room. And shaved. He wanted to look nice for his Toots.
And he was a bashful romantic. He would design jewelry for Grandma. And every night, before they went to bed, he told her he loved her.
Somehow it doesn’t feel real, he doesn’t feel gone. His influence in all of our lives runs deeper than these memories which, even in these miserable moments, still make us smile.
We are stronger because of him. We have always wanted to make him proud and we will continue to live our lives and make decisions believing we need his approval.
I got it in my head that I wanted to attempt to pull off a real American Thanksgiving. The first step was to find an accomplice in this endeavor and since there was no real competition for this role, I immediately called my only American friend Miles. He agreed. Miles is incidentally one of my only friends with an oven so this worked out well in multiple ways. (By the way, you really don't think about how much American food is made in an oven until there isn't one available!) So, armed with recipes I had copied from the Internet and seriously limited culinary skills, we went to the supermarket to see what we could find for our feast. Here were some questionable substitutions we made:
