Reprinted from facebook.
My grandma Bea passed away more than 13 years ago. Today in the mail, the eulogy I wrote for her funeral showed up on my doorstep. It wasn't sent from the grave - my mother Sue stumbled on it in a box and sent it to me. But it was jarring nonetheless. I barely remember giving the speech.
If you knew my grandmother, or my grandfather Vic who died several years before her, you know they were two of the most special people ever to be put on this earth. And if you didn't know them, that's ok too because I think there is a message in here for anyone who has ever loved and lost someone. Given the dark days of Paris, I just wanted to share something human. Something close to me. So for what it's worth, here it is:
This is obviously a sad day for all of us here. But I've come to realize that this day isn't so much about mourning the passing as it is about celebrating the life. Grandma was an amazing person who touched everyone she met. How many other people's mail carriers go to their funerals?
We were driving here from Chicago over the last what seems like two weeks and I was doing my best to explain to my three children who are two, four and six why we were coming to Binghamton. I was telling them about the funeral and the cemetery and my oldest Andrew said, "You know Dad, I've never been to a funeral where they buried someone before." And I said, "I know honey. You know sometimes they can be pretty sad." And Andrew is a very thoughtful little kid and I saw him contemplating this for a minute and finally he said, "Hey Dad, what do you suppose they pack them in?"
I didn't answer him at first. Mainly because I was laughing so hard. But the more I thought about it on our drive, the more I realized he was on to something. We do pack them in something. We pack them in the memories we have of them. And our love we have of them. And our happy times. And our well wishes. And we even pack them in a little piece of our selves.
So I have one more thing I want to pack Grandma in - a poem. And if you think about Grandma - her silliness, her sense of humor, her playfulness, her sense of adventure - there's really only one poet who can capture all of that: Dr. Seuss. So with all due respect to Robert Frost and ee cummings, I present you with Green Eggs and Camper.
I do not like to be alone.
I'd much rather talk upon the phone.
Or at the table. Or in a chair.
Heck, I'd talk to you most anywhere.
I'll spin a tale and tell a story.
Especially to your wife - what's her name Lynn? Mary? Or, Lauri!
We'll play some cards and drink some beer.
I'm old in years. Not old in here.
We'll burn the candle down to the wick.
And then we'll really start on dear old Vic.
The way he used to putter and futz.
With cries of cripes! And wonk! And nuts!
But how I miss him, that I know.
His hunks of cheese. His catchall "soooooo".
Ah, remember how we used to camp?
And hang those plastic colored lamps?
From KOA to Jellystone…oops, hang on a minute, that's the phone.
Yeah that was god. He says hello.
Vic's coffee's cold.
I gotta go.