Author's Note: This is the eulogy I spoke at Pop's funeral, or at least the eulogy I planned to speak at Pop's funeral. On the day of the funeral, I found myself overcome with grief, surprisingly more than I expected, which made it hard for me to remember what I prepared. Besides, even if I did recall it, I don't think anyone would have heard it or comprehended it over my sobbing. Still, I found myself regretting I could not get it all out there. I wanted everyone to know about the relationship I had with my grandfather. So today, on what would have been Pop's 89th birthday, I thought I would post his eulogy, to bless him one last time. Rest in Peace, Pop.
They say that the first child has the honor of naming the grandparents. By the time I rolled around, I was the 7th grandchild to Clifford and Sheila Holcomb. They were already established as "grandpa" and "grandma" respectively, so I had to just go with flow. For Ralph Pagano and his wife Anna Pagano, I was their first grandchild, so I got to name them. Now for Anna, I just stuck for with the traditional "grandma," but for Ralph, I chose POP! Nobody knows from where I got Pop. It could have been just a shortening of Pop-Pop, but I have another theory. When I was a little boy, I always wanted my maternal grandparents to read to me Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss, a book on which the little kids would hop on their Pop, hence the title. If you look at the Pop character in the book, Pop has a very round shape, especially at the waist. I think I notice that my grandfather had the same physique as the Pop character in the book, and so I, in jest, called him that name. Either way, from that day one, he was my Pop. Since I called him Pop, everybody began calling him Pop, and it paid off, for the title described him so well. All of a sudden, someone in my family could say to another person in my family, "Pop is being Pop" and we'd all know what that meant.
When I was in 4th grade at the age of 10, my 4th grand teacher had us read a book about a 4th grader whose little brother always embarrassed him. After reading every chapter, as a creative writing exercise, the teacher would have the class write a story about when a family member embarrassed them or put them in an embarrassing situation. Needless to say, Pop made the book a lot. I wrote a lot about the time Grandma and Pop babysat us for the week when Mom and Dad went down to Florida for a week. On a certain day, Pop had managed to lock himself out of the house. He was not happy about that. He was yelling in his anger so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear him. When he went to the neighbor to get the spare key, my poor neighbor had to hear angry yelling, still at the same loud volume. Also during that same week, Pop decided to re-arrange our Tupperware drawer because, in his opinion, it lacked organization. Mom couldn't find Tupperware for weeks! That whole week was Pop being Pop.
That week wasn't the only week that had events which made the book. I recalled one time when we went to a fancy Italian restaurant. Now Pop always viewed himself as the customer at these restaurants, and he fully believed the customer was always right. So on this particular visit at a certain restaurant, Pop had made clear to the waitress he wanted chicken parmesan with a side angel hair pasta, with a little butter, no sauce, no cheese. The waitress explained to him that the chicken parmesan was naturally cooked in tomato sauce, and he was fine with that, but he made clear again that the angel hair pasta had to be on the side, no sauce, no cheese. When our meals came, they remember to keep the angel hair off to the side, but the tomato sauce from the chicken parmesan has slid of the chicken parm and touched the side of the angel hair. According to Pop, that was sauce on the angel hair. After the conversation he had with the waitress, I'm pretty sure the waitress regret being born. It was Pop being Pop.
Even after this 4th grade project was done, I continued to have these "Pop being Pop" moments. I remembered always begging Grandma and Pop to come down for Grandparent's Day. Finally, in 6th grade, Grandma and Pop agreed to come down for Grandparent's Day. Things were going well. He even allowed us to share his old catcher's mitt. Everything went well until it came time to leave. Pop was getting frustrated at the traffic in the parking lot, so he decided to get out of his car and direct traffic, like he was direct planes in an airport. Pop was being Pop.
Then later on during those middle school years, Grandma and Pop let me stay down in Connecticut with them for a few more days after the rest of my family left. On one of those days, Grandma and Pop decided to take me down to their favorite place on earth: Mohegan Sun casino. As he packed the car, Pop brought a big water bottle, so if anyone got thirsty, we had water. Halfway through the ride up to the casino, my grandfather asked me if I would like a drink of water. Thirsty me said yes. I expected Pop to hand me the water bottle. Instead, he decided to rinse out his coffee cup with some of water, put some water in the cup, and give that to me. Pop was courteous enough to rinse out the cup for me. He took some of the water, put it in the cup, swished the water around, and he through it out the window. I remember seeing the blob of water float past my back seat window and hit the windshield on the car behind us. I thank God it wasn't a motorcycle or convertible behind us, and I praise the Lord that it wasn't a police officer! That was Pop being Pop.
It wasn't all these type of memories. I do have some happy memories of Pop. One of the happiest I've ever seen Pop was our first day in Disney World. He smiled the whole time. If you don't believe me, I have pictures to prove it. But after that first day, Pop went back to being Pop. And in general, Pop was always happy, or at least content, at all the Reading Phillies game we went to, as long as he had the end seat. That was Pop being Pop.
Most grandfathers pass on words of wisdom to their grandchildren. Well, Pop definitely passed on words, but I'm not sure if they are wisdom. Pop would always warn me about inflation by telling me a cheap product now cost "a dollar three eighty." To this day, I still have no idea what that means, or even what that looks like ($1.3.80?). Pop would also tell me how far a place was telling me it would take "3 days 4 nights." That one too I have no idea what it means. Pop would always tell me, "Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. Almond Joys taste like nuts, Mounds don't." I never knew how to apply that. Most importantly, Pop made sure I knew his version of the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere: "Listen my children, and you shall hear the midnight ride of Paul Revere. Up the stairs, across the floor, made the 40 yard dash to the bathroom door. 'Hanson! Hanson! Go get the pot!' Plop! Plop! 'Too late Hanson, go get a mop!'" Those saying were Pop being Pop.
But in all seriousness, Pop did had some serious conversations with me. See, by the time I understood what my grandfather Clifford Holcomb had done for this country in World War II, he had passed away. Now mature enough, I could understand what Pop did for this nation during the Korean War. I remember Pop once bringing down a picture of his platoon from the attic to show me. He laid it down on the kitchen and he said to me, "Guess which one is me." I pointed out a young gentlemen. "How did you know?" he asked. "You're the only one smiling Pop." That was Pop being Pop. I imagine many grandchildren hear from the grandfathers about acts of honor or valor they did while on the battlefront. Pop's two highlights of the Korean War was sleeping through a battle and getting to see the world premier of a battle. Those 2 events being the highlight of the war, that was Pop being Pop.
Growing up, I was confused about Pop's relationship with my grandmother. At a young age, I assumed they were in love because they were married. After all, Pop would always call Grandma "dear," "honey" or "sweetie," so much so, I wondered if Pop forgot her name! As I got older, I had my doubts if they still loved each after 50+ years of marriage. Besides their cute pet names for each, they really did not show it. In fact, the picture from their 50th anniversary party looks like they are not happy to celebrate it (but to be fair, it was a surprise party, and I think they were caught off guard). But then Grandma got diagnosed with bladder cancer and then liver cancer. I have never heard Pop call grandma "my wife" so many times in all my life. When talking to the doctors and to the nurses and everyone else, Pop always started the sentence with "my wife." Although just a college student, I learned an important lesson about being a husband. To this day, when I greet my wife first thing in the morning, or even text her first thing in the morning, I call her my wife. It was new to me, but it felt like Pop being Pop.
Then, on March 17, 2010, Grandma passed away. Pop looked so lost, probably because he was. Grandma had taken care of him so well, something as simple as picking out what to wear to a funeral was unknown to Pop. While my family could comfort one another, no one knew had to console Pop. I remember after the funeral my family went out to eat. Pop, too overwhelmed with sorrow to really care about what he ordered, ordered the chicken cattoire. When he received his meal, it was covered in tomato sauce. Instead of giving the waitress a piece of his mind, like he used to, he simply sighed, ate it, muttering every now and then "This is not how my wife use to make it." Of course not. She knew how much Pop hated tomato sauce, so she kept it as light as possible. It was sad because, for the first time, I saw Pop not being Pop.
It got hard calling Pop being the holidays. You would ask him, "How are you?" and he would respond, "Oh, just waiting to die." How are you supposed to respond to that? Even when you could change the conversation to something more positive and happy, it was hard. See, when Pop could no longer hear or understand you (he needed hearing aids, and sometimes his pride would prevent him from wearing them), he used to just hand the phone to my grandmother. Now that my grandmother had passed away, and he had no one to hand the phone off to, he would simply say, "I'm going to go now" or "I'm going to hang up now," and he would end the call. Sometimes phone calls to Pop would last less than 5 minutes because of this. That was Pop being Pop, but in a very sad way.
As Pop's years came to a close, Pop was diagnosed with dementia. If you ask me, Alzheimer's and dementia is one of the saddest ways to leave this earth because it does not allow the person to look back on his or her life. I've heard of celebrities who have Alzheimer's or dementia, and they cannot remember their impact on the world. Pro Football Hall of Fame quarterback Bart Starr cannot remember how he led the Green Bay Packers to 2 Super Bowl championships. Monty Python actor, writer and director Terry Gilliam cannot remember the skits he wrote. While Pop did not have the same impact on the world, to those in this world on which Pop did have an impact, it was hard because Pop could not remember. All those fun(ny) stories I shared Pop could not remember. This made calling him even harder, knowing what you told him last month he would not remember, so you had to start from the beginning. I think Pop somewhat knew this, for even he would get frustrated, and he would just want to hang up on you. Pop was not being Pop because Pop could not remember how to be Pop.
I did not have the opportunity to say my final goodbyes to Pop, and I'm kind of glad, just in case it did not go as well as the last time I attempted to say goodbye to a grandparent. I don't exactly remember the last time I called Pop. It might have been Christmas, it might have been President's Day. All I know is that the call ended the same way it did every time I called Pop. At the end of phone call, I would say "Goodbye," and Pop would say, "No, Graham, this is not goodbye, for goodbye is forever. We say 'so long for now' for that is until we talk again." So then when hung up, we would say "So long for now."
Jesus said in John 11:25, "I am the resurrection and the life." He proved it resurrecting a little girl, a young man from Nain, Lazarus, and ultimately, himself. Those who followed Jesus Christ in life will follow Jesus in death and will also follow Jesus in resurrection from the dead. Jesus is full of so much resurrection power that even those who lived a life apart from him will resurrect one last time to answer to Jesus (Acts 24:15). Thanks to Jesus and his resurrection power, death no longer has to be permanent, but can be temporary. Borrowing the words of Pop, death no longer has to be "goodbye" but it can be "so long for now." So even now, I will not say goodbye to Pop. To Pop, I say, "So long for now, Pop, I will see you at the Resurrection."
