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And know they love you
May. 21st, 2007 06:13 pmGranddaddy's funeral was on Saturday. The house is still covered in food and flowers. I'm staying here until Thursday, mostly because, well, those were the flights I could get. Most of the family has gone back to their respective homes by now, except for my uncle from the Virgin Islands and my aunt and her boyfriend from California. The reality is slowly starting to sink in: he's not here, and he's not coming back.
My cousin Hank gave a eulogy at Granddaddy's funeral. As he said, "It feels like he ought to be here--it just doesn't feel like he's gone. Like he's just out of the room, maybe in the bathroom DF-ing or something." That got laughs. You don't really think about people laughing at a funeral, but Hank's eulogy got a lot of laughs. It didn't feel at all inappropriate, either. Granddaddy was such a character, and Hank captured his personality and his quirkiness perfectly, funny but sweet. His brother David balanced it by delivering a sad eulogy of his own afterwards.
Still, I think it will be Hank's that sticks in my mind. He talked about Granddaddy's personality: his generosity and his grumpiness, all of his quirks and idiosyncracies, both the good and the strange. Granddaddy had his own language, composed largely of acronyms (he was fonder of them than thegays 'LGBT[Q][A] Community' or the Quakers are, and that's saying something!) and his own invented exclamations. Hank described an experience I remember having myself: the sudden realisation at about age 10 or 12 or so that "wait a minute--normal people don't talk like this!" He was a staunch conservative--everybody's favourite arguing buddy--but in the last few years I kept finding issues we agreed on: he opposed the war in Iraq, supported abortion rights, and has been doing his part for the environment since long before I was born. Growing up in the Depression, he was mindful of wasting anything, and was always after people for leaving lights on or using too much water. And he's been recycling as long as anyone can remember--long before it was fashionable. Hank captured all this and more, far more eloquently and amusingly than I have here. I suppose he's the one who got the story-telling talents. I'm certainly going to miss Granddaddy's stories. I keep thinking about how many I've never heard, and never will.
The rest of the funeral was very sweet, too. There was a lot of Jesus in there, but I don't think Granddaddy would have minded--my grandmother is a Methodist, and as they say, funerals are for the living. The preacher was Dr. Vernon Tyson, who is Kind Of a Big Deal. His son, Timothy B. Tyson, wrote a book called Blood Done Sign My Name (which I started reading last summer and am finally getting to finish), that talks a lot about how active he was during the Civil Rights Movement. Reading it now is making me realise the importance of my commitment to the issues of my day--apathy is the most dangerous thing.
The only bad thing about the funeral was... the music. Oh we sang a few hymns (my aunt and I are still humming "Morning Has Broken"), and there was some nice organ music or something. But Granddaddy had requested that two particular songs be played at his funeral, and they weren't. This apparently had something to do with copyright laws. The songs were the Allman Brothers' "Little Martha", a mellow instrumental guitar piece, and CSNY's "Teach Your Children Well" ( lyrics behind cut )
One thing keeps sticking in my mind. It's a little morbid, but it keeps coming back, so I figured I should write it down. Granddaddy died on Tuesday, and I found out when I got home after studying all evening in Taste. While I was there, I had a brief conversation with Kalea and her friend Amy about passenger pigeons (among other things). Amy was wondering when they went extinct, and I told her I couldn't remember the exact year, only that it was before my grandfather was born, which was 1916. Out of assumption, her reply referred to him in the past tense. For the sake of conversational flow, I did not correct her, but very consciously used the present tense when I next mentioned him. But she was correct by about two hours.
ETA: Possibly also a little morbid, my dad managed to record a little of Hank's eulogising... and put it on youtube.
My cousin Hank gave a eulogy at Granddaddy's funeral. As he said, "It feels like he ought to be here--it just doesn't feel like he's gone. Like he's just out of the room, maybe in the bathroom DF-ing or something." That got laughs. You don't really think about people laughing at a funeral, but Hank's eulogy got a lot of laughs. It didn't feel at all inappropriate, either. Granddaddy was such a character, and Hank captured his personality and his quirkiness perfectly, funny but sweet. His brother David balanced it by delivering a sad eulogy of his own afterwards.
Still, I think it will be Hank's that sticks in my mind. He talked about Granddaddy's personality: his generosity and his grumpiness, all of his quirks and idiosyncracies, both the good and the strange. Granddaddy had his own language, composed largely of acronyms (he was fonder of them than the
The rest of the funeral was very sweet, too. There was a lot of Jesus in there, but I don't think Granddaddy would have minded--my grandmother is a Methodist, and as they say, funerals are for the living. The preacher was Dr. Vernon Tyson, who is Kind Of a Big Deal. His son, Timothy B. Tyson, wrote a book called Blood Done Sign My Name (which I started reading last summer and am finally getting to finish), that talks a lot about how active he was during the Civil Rights Movement. Reading it now is making me realise the importance of my commitment to the issues of my day--apathy is the most dangerous thing.
The only bad thing about the funeral was... the music. Oh we sang a few hymns (my aunt and I are still humming "Morning Has Broken"), and there was some nice organ music or something. But Granddaddy had requested that two particular songs be played at his funeral, and they weren't. This apparently had something to do with copyright laws. The songs were the Allman Brothers' "Little Martha", a mellow instrumental guitar piece, and CSNY's "Teach Your Children Well" ( lyrics behind cut )
One thing keeps sticking in my mind. It's a little morbid, but it keeps coming back, so I figured I should write it down. Granddaddy died on Tuesday, and I found out when I got home after studying all evening in Taste. While I was there, I had a brief conversation with Kalea and her friend Amy about passenger pigeons (among other things). Amy was wondering when they went extinct, and I told her I couldn't remember the exact year, only that it was before my grandfather was born, which was 1916. Out of assumption, her reply referred to him in the past tense. For the sake of conversational flow, I did not correct her, but very consciously used the present tense when I next mentioned him. But she was correct by about two hours.
ETA: Possibly also a little morbid, my dad managed to record a little of Hank's eulogising... and put it on youtube.
