(the Eulogy I gave at Grandma's funeral on Saturday)
Out of the many people who came here today, only five of us can claim you as our grandmother. This is particularly striking because I realized something recently: you were a very different grandmother than you were wife, mother, cousin, or aunt. Not that you were bad at any of those things. On the contrary, you were always careful to do whatever it was you were doing with a degree of precision that baffles me to this day. You'll be happy to know, though, that some of that precision hasn't been lost on me. I found myself lining up the eggs in the grout this morning, carefully positioning them so that all of the pointy sides faced the same way. Your spirit still pervades your home, I guess.
Although, if the stories are true, I think you may have surprised yourself in the grandparent role. When my mother found out she was pregnant with my older sister, enthusiasm was not the sentiment you expressed. Rumor has it that you were rather incredulous that my mother had the audacity to want to get pregnant. In the nine months that followed, you showed very little excitement at the prospect of being a grandmother.
Once my sister showed up, however, different emotions got the better of you. Upon seeing Andrea, you told Mum, "I have such a special feeling in my heart." Your soft side, which you kept under such tight wraps, finally had an unconditional victory. One would never have guessed your initial resistance to the idea of grandchildren by the consistent way in which you spoiled us.
If I were to recount every way in which you spoiled us, I would be here all day. I know that's cliche, but it's true: there were so many little ways in which you made our lives absolutely fantastic. And even though I can't really speak for Clara and Benjamin, since they belong to almost another generation of grandchildren, I'd like to recount just a few of the things that will always stick with me and my siblings as being "Grandma-isms."
Number 1: You gave us the run of your house
To children whose first home was barely bigger than 1000 square feet and whose backyard was a prosaic, flat, moderately sized square of grass, the house that Grandpa built was a castle. And we were allowed to go wherever we wanted. We ran up and down those stairs to the garage, rolled down the hill in the backyard, played with the intercom, went through your closets, tried on your jewelry, and ate all of your food. We never.... well, almost never... got in trouble. For someone so famously organized and structured in your daily routines, you sure let us run wild.
Number 2: We were always eating.
Many people know this fact about you. You loved to feed people. But your grandids never stopped eating from the minute we arrived at your home to the minute we left. Most of the time, we were still eating some snack you had packed us on the car ride home. Cans of apple juice and those crunchy, skinny breadstick things, which you kept in the weird shaped corner cabinet by the sink, will always hold a special place in my heart.
Number 3: The Roast Beef Argument
This was a tradition that you and Grandpa kept up every time we ate roast beef. Grandpa would want to take it off the grill, but you would tell him to leave it on to cook more. You would go back and forth and back and forth. Scott and I would imitate the two of you later - Scott taking Grandpa's role and I would take yours - and we would laugh at the consistency of the exchange between the two of you. This roast beef argument was an iconic staple of our childhood. No visit was complete without it.
Number 4: Birthdays
You never forgot a birthday or a holiday. For many years, the three of us each had three birthdays. You got each of us a present for every one of our birthdays so that none of us would feel excluded. While that tradition eventually died out, another one continued through your last cards: writing our age in the birthday card. You didn't just note the numerical value, however. You put it in quotation marks. I have no idea why and as a student of philosophy, it's my job to ask why and to find logical, reasonable answers. But I give up. That's one question I hope to have the answer to someday, but in the meantime, Mum has promised that when her own children get married and have children of their own, she will continue the quotation mark around the age tradition. So I hope you have a good reason. I'll be asking you about it later.
Number 5: You never let us wallow in self-pity
This one seems a particularly fitting lesson for today. At various points in our lives, things that we viewed as tragic or horrible happened to us. And while you were more empathetic toward us than you were toward you own children, you still never let us get carried away. For example, when I smashed my front tooth out on your front walkway on Mothers' Day when I was four or five years old, you scooped me up, brought me inside, wrapped me up in a sleeping bag, let me cry for a few minutes, but then brought out your hand-held mirror and let me examine the newly-exposed gum. You didn't make a big deal out of it. You didn't tell me that you knew how much it must hurt or that you were sorry that it had happened to me. You just dealt with it in a very matter-of-face sort of way. Like you dealt with everything. Then you asked if I was hungry.
As any good Italian, I could go on talking. But as any granddaughter of yours should be aware, the people in this congregation are hungry. And hungry people must be fed. And I would hate to disappoint you now.
I love you, Grandma. So, so, so much. I hope you and Grandpa behave up there.
And Grandma... don't give Jesus too hard of a time about how He runs things. He is God, after all. And although He's no Marilyn Argenti, He usually does know best.
