Presence

I gave the following eulogy at my grandfather's funeral today:

I don't think any of us expected to be here; while death is tragic at any age, there is a certain sense of solace when a loved one lives out there days in health and happiness and passes away surrounded by family and friends. In Papa's case, although he lived a long life with his family, in good health, I still feel as if he was taken before his time. When my father told me Papa had died, I could not believe it; for the next few hours I expected a call saying it was all a big mistake. How could it be true? Just two weeks ago, Papa had taken me to see his gallery and workshop, told me about how he had arranged to use the space after helping a local contractor on a project. He told me about a new commission he was working on, and his plans for a new sculpture he would be starting, just as soon as some 5-inch pipe came in. If you were to describe Papa's daily routine to someone who didn't know him, and ask them to guess his age, I'm certain they'd be off by at least 30 years, possibly more. Papa was so full of life, of creativity; he was in constant motion. I still find it hard, even standing here, to accept that he is gone.

Whenever we would visit, I'd make sure to leave a little extra room in the suitcase; Papa would have given me the shirt off his back if I'd asked for it (or even if I'd just said it was a nice shirt). Whether it was a piece of his artwork or a new gadget he'd picked up (on sale at the Job Lot), Papa would always offer to ship one out to me. He wanted to make sure we had everything we needed, and if there was a way he could help, just try and say no.

To be Papa's grandson was to know that, no matter where you were, Papa was thinking of you and was proud of you. When we were in California a few weeks ago, at one point Peninah took the kids back to the hotel for a nap, and I stayed at Aunt Cherie's with Papa, to help him get his photo printer working. We talked for a while about the Jewish Home, about my business and about the kids; Papa said he hoped he could be there for Ezra's bar mitzvah, and I didn't even question it. As we were leaving, and I went to give Papa a hug, he began to say something to me; I thought he was going to say how nice it was to see everyone, and thanks for coming out; instead he said, “So, when are we going to see you people again?” I had thought that schlepping my whole family across the country would at least buy me till we got home before the inquiries resumed, but, alas, I was wrong. But that was Papa; he was so proud and had so much love for his family, his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he couldn't help but ask when we'd see each other again.

My grandfather's Hebrew name is Eliyahu. I'd like to read to you a passage from II Kings, chapter 2. The prophet Eliyahu is walking with his student and successor, Elisha:

11 And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, which parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.

12 And Elisha saw it, and he cried: 'My father, my father!'...And he saw him no more; and he took hold of his own clothes, and rent them in two pieces.

13 He took up also the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and went back, and stood by the bank of the Jordan.

Our tradition tells us that Eliyahu did not die, but waits in heaven for the coming of the Messiah. Like his namesake, our father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, was taken from us in a whirlwind, in a flash, in the very midst of his life. Although it's hard to imagine a world without Papa, perhaps this was for the best; for Papa lives on, in our hearts and in our minds, as he always was; so full of life, and so full of pride and love for his family.

My father, aunt, brother and cousins also spoke (I'd post their thoughts, but I would like to get their permission first).

Posted by Greg at September 8, 2006 6:00 PM in Family, Life | TrackBack