I used to wonder how it would feel to observe my own funeral. How many people would be there to mourn? Would they be sad? Would they be relieved? What kinds of things would they say about me?
What would I be remembered for? My fancy cakes? My blog with a handful of readers? My lame jokes?
And now, I see the funerals of 2020 and 2021.
Five people allowed. Masks, which cover our faces. No hugs permitted.
And I am suddenly glad that the departed don’t have to watch from above. Would they wonder if they were loved? Would they even know how much they are missed? Would they understand that it pains us inside, to say goodbye like this?
My grandpa passed away last week, at the age of 92. As the restrictions are still quite tight here in Manitoba, Canada, my biggest prayer was that we would be able to honour the memory of this very loved man in a way that did justice to his life; a life well-lived.
It looks like these prayers are being answered and my heart is filled with peace, even as I mourn the loss of this very special man.
I got the privilege of putting together a video of our family giving tributes about Grandpa. It was touching to see a large family (he had five children, like we do) with so many different hobbies, careers and personalities all sharing about what “Dad” or “Grandpa” meant to them.
As I wrote mine, I found it hard to sum up all that this amazing man meant to me in just a short, one-minute paragraph. So, of course, I turn here to expand my thoughts. Surely, a one minute tribute doesn’t do justice to how I feel about my grandpa.
“Grandpa Reimer” as I called him, was always very special to me, and I don’t think that I can properly put into words everything I felt for him. I remember my Grandpa from young on, as a man who cared deeply for me. I can still close my eyes and see him jumping up from his chair, with energy beyond his years, rushing to help me with my school projects. He, like myself, loved history and books. He had shelves full of them, many old ones too, including an 800 year old Bible.
Unlike most other grandfathers I knew, my Grandpa was a “techie”. He loved new technology and was somewhat of an inventor himself. I was always impressed with his innovation and willingness to try new things, which most other people his age either feared or rejected altogether. He also collected antiques. I remember his juke box, also a phonograph. I remember his old phone which dialled with a crank and had a long earpiece attached by a cord.
He collected so many odds and ends. I loved looking through his spoon collection, his stamps, his hockey cards and licence plates.
I remember caring so much about what he thought of me. I wanted so badly for him to be proud of me.
Family was a priority for Grandpa Reimer. This was evident in the way that he spent his time and money. I remember often showing up at his house on Sundays. If it was hot, we would swim in my grandparents in-ground swimming pool.
I went on two very memorable trips as a child, which I could very well say are the clearest and best memories of my childhood… you guessed it, he was the one who took us on them. He rode right along on the rides in Disney Land. He dragged us along to flea markets, always searching for new treasures… an old record, a valuable newspaper, a book.
My Grandpa was a man of such diversity himself. He loved music, I remember him playing the accordion at our family gatherings. He was a turkey farmer and a grain farmer. He loved hockey and game shows.
No he was not perfect. He struggled emotionally with anxiety in ways that make me feel all the more love and tenderness for him. I’m sure, like I’ve seen in myself, at times this great storehouse of emotions has hurt or even manipulated the people around him. But the important thing is, he knew this about himself. He would often exclaim, with depth in his eyes, “How God must love us, that he would save a sinner like me!”
If I have inherited even an ounce of his passion, faith, wisdom, authenticity, and gifts, I would be blessed.
My love for Grandpa goes far beyond these few experiences, reaching to feelings expressed in fragments, rather than full thoughts:
-A sparkle in his eye
– The imprint of his body in his favourite spot on the blue couch
-A bright blue can of Pepsi
-A deck of Skip-Bo cards
-A soft heart
-Tears not afraid to fall
-His thumb held up as he says to me with a grin, “Right on!”
-His body curled up, almost childlike, in the hospital bed as he slept.
-A trembling hand, writing shaky words
-His voice as we sang hymns, still remembering all the words
On our last real visit almost a year ago, before Covid restrictions came into effect, I picked up a joke book on his table to read to him. He warned me: “It isn’t very funny,” but I proceeded to read the jokes anyways. Turned out, he was right. As I turned to leave, for my rushed lunch break was over, little knowing that it would be the final one… he grabbed my hand and said: “Thank you for coming.”
I smiled and flippantly said, “I was happy to come! See you again soon!”
Sorry that it was so much longer than I imagined, Grandpa. But I am confident I will see you again.