A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Five years ago, I stood in this exact spot, because you asked me to speak about your beloved wife.

I told a story about her warmth, and her generosity. I tried my best to paint a picture of the amazing home that she created and surrounded her family with - one that extended from Garfield, New Jersey to Hope, Indiana. From Myrtle Beach, South Carolina…all the way here to Winchester. See, to me that was her story, one that I foolishly thought I could try and convey in just a couple of minutes. I stayed up all night before the funeral, agonizing over each and every little word, hoping that somewhere, I was making her smile, and making you proud.

So when I sat down this week to write about you? Not as hard. It wasn’t that you weren’t complex; you had your layers, just like she did. I simply began to write what I knew about you. Because let’s be honest; you never tried to hide who you were. There wasn’t a single person you met who didn’t know exactly who they were dealing with within minutes of shaking your hand.

Because you were as friendly as they came. Because you were loud, but welcoming. Because you owned a room from the second you walked through its door. You were the life of every party, and your belly laugh was a signal that good times were being had, and that anyone within ear shot was more than welcome to sit by your side and join in. It is a sound that I will always remember, and will always bring a smile to my face.

So just as I did with your Genevieve, I started thinking about your "story."  And I’ll be honest, most of those anecdotes that immediately came to mind are a little blue for this fine church. But that’s how I personally will always remember you; loving, boisterous, funny -- and at times -- wonderfully crude. And maybe most importantly, after almost 92 years, you were also very learned. You had something to say about everything, but more importantly, you a knack for making people want to listen. And I always admired you for that.

But does that make up your story? I don’t know. I mean, to me you were a grandfather, but to others, you were a husband, or a father, or a friend. Your life consisted of nearly a century of little details, and sadly I’ll probably never know a third of them. What did I know? You once owned a flower shop, which, no matter how many times as I hear it, is a concept I can never wrap my head around. You proudly served your country, the type of sacrifice that no one can truly understand or appreciate, accept for those who served with you, or have since. You bore eight children, who returned the favor by bestowing 23 grandchildren upon you in return. Who in turn bore more than twenty great grandchildren…and I won’t even get into the great, great grandchildren. That math hasn’t even been invented yet.

Then I thought of your finest achievement. You loved a great woman. A singular, once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman. And she loved you back, with all her heart. And I know that meant the world to you. You stood by her till the end, doting on her even a little more in your twilight than you did in your youth. Then she was gone, and I was convinced that your story would end soon after, so you could be with her again.

But you knew she was taken from us just a few years too soon, and as it turns out, you still had work to do. You needed to hold on and be there for your family for a little while longer. You needed to stand by your youngest son and watch with pride as he fought bravely against impossible odds...and won. And you had to wait until your last few years to find your "Snuggie Buddy," a person who started out as your daughter, but became so much more during those late night conversations with a pug or two at your feet. You found your best friend in the most likely of places: right next door. She helped you pass in your own home, in your own bed, on your terms. And the entire family owes her a debt of gratitude.

At the very end, you held on, and made sure to take the time to say goodbye to each of your children. Because in your narrative, they were the details, the finer points of your life, that gave your story hope and meaning. Pat, Elaine, Eddie, Mary, Ruth, Paul, Deedee, Amy. They were the eclectic cast of characters in your life's story. You were done writing them, you just wanted to spend the last few years watching them grow. You needed them to know that you always have, and always will, love and cherish them. You can move on now, and find well-deserved rest. Your work is done. You can now look down from above and watch with pride, as their own individual stories continue. Because you showed them how.