lllovell
03-02-2006, 11:02 PM
Maybe not so appropriate, but I am giving my Grandfather's eulogy Saturday and I thought some of you might want to read it. My mother had written a very special piece about my grandmother after she developed Alzheimers and we are going to use that is the eulogy for my Grandmother. I miss them...but know they are both better off - where bodies are young and healthy and minds are clear and hearts are again united.
Laura
Grandfathers are special creatures. Those that earn nicknames from their grandchildren are even more amazing. Paul Keel, or Pop as he was always known to us, was one of those amazing grandfathers.
No matter how many fishing poles we lost or broke with our small hands and big fishing dreams, he always made time to take us fishing again. No matter what tools we lost or used improperly, damaging them beyond repair, we were always allowed to play in the shop again and again. No matter how many times mistakes were made, his love never withdrew.
With Pop, you could play in the mud until you were the color of Georgia clay and he never would bat an eye. He always had an adventure at hand and sharing it with him was a secret joy that I will always treasure. Perhaps it was clearing the lot for the new house that would serve as our family’s central location for so many years in LaGrange. Maybe it was planting the garden full of flowers and vegetables and all of the really cool tools and equipment that it took. It could even have been something as simple as playing Rook with he and Mee-Maw and hearing his special laugh of delight and exasperation when I would decide in my childhood exuberance to “shoot the moon”. He wasn’t so crazy about losing, but time and time again I can recall sitting downstairs at the card table playing Rook for hours. He would always partner with me knowing at some point I was sure to get us into hot water.
We spent countless hours in LaGrange as children fishing, swimming, killing ourselves trying to learn to water ski, digging in the mud, and other pursuits of childhood fancy. There were the special weekends where Mee-Maw would take us from school on Friday and that child would get all of the attention from them both until Monday morning when we would have to get up before the sun to ride back to school. He was always a part of our life, not some distant man that we saw only on holidays, but a fixture in our existence. The summer he ran the K.O.A. campground, I was allowed to go over and “work” with him in the store, cut grass and other fun things. I remember my sisters and Momma showing up to go swimming and he could tell that I wasn’t really all that interested in finishing the work I had said I would do. He pushed me out of the office over towards the pool thanking me for my help and making me feel like I had actually been helpful when I am sure all I had done was played! It was fun to me, at least, and every day I got to spend time with him: riding around in his green pickup with the HUGE fish on the back window; cruising to the back with the tailgate down, dragging our feet in the dirt; sharing a cup of coffee like the adults. He made me feel very special sometimes without having to do anything more than just invite me along for the trip.
I never knew Pop when he drank. The grandchildren were all fortunate enough to have seen him through eyes not tainted by hard times or sadness. We were allowed to see a man that was sometimes withdrawn, but always happy to see us. He always seemed to wake up in the mornings with mischief on his pajama tails. Anyone that knew Pop knew that working in the yard probably meant one of several things: a visit from the local fire department where one of his numerous fires would get out of hand; perhaps the tractor stuck in the mud which would require the truck to get it out, maybe even finally having to calling for help when they both were axel deep; the nurturing side where small sprigs of trees were planted and taken care of with big dreams. Finally, in Mee-Maw’s later years, we saw a man who so badly wanted for his wife to know him and all of her family that she had always held so dear. It was terribly sad to those that love him because it became obvious that he was failing as well.
Some years ago, when Mee-Maw was in the hospital, finally being officially diagnosed with Alzheimers, I went down to keep Pop company while she was undergoing tests. As we sat in the small room, I was somewhat lost in my own thoughts of work, home, concerns for Mee-Maw when he began to speak. He was devastated that it was Mee-Maw that was declining. He thought that he was the one that should have all of these things happening to him because of the past, his alcoholism, his bad heart. He spoke to me about how sad it was to see her forgetting things that to him felt like recent memories. What came from him was love pouring out in words which was not common for him. Also, there was guilt, which was understandable even to me in my young adult mind. We talked of it being his turn; his turn to take care of her, to support her and help her through the rough times that were ahead. He seemed determined to be there for her, to perhaps get a chance to make amends for things in the past that still haunted him. Just hearing the love in his voice, the regrets, the hope that there would be something he could give to his partner of all those years made me realize that there was a depth to this man that I had never noticed before. Maybe I had grown and my eyes were not looking at him in that worshiping way that grandbabies love their grandfathers. Perhaps it was his chance to let me see that which had always been there, but he was a rather private man and didn’t often share. All I know is that I had a different respect for him after that day and that my love grew.
His life was far from perfect, but seeing his love for Mee-Maw after all those years made up for all the imperfections to me. I can only imagine the trials and tribulations that he experienced in his life. The moving from place to place looking for something that always eluded him and fighting the demons of alcoholism and depression that constantly attacked any sense of balance. Raising a family under the best circumstances is not an easy task. When Mamma stood before her parents and told them that she was expecting me, I can only imagine what it must have been like. I didn’t often think of such things until I have gotten older, but Momma is always in my thoughts now and there are questions I wished I had asked. The relationship between Momma and Pop was hard for me to understand at times, but I could easily understand how she loved him.
Aunt Barbara shared with me recently a story I never knew about Pop, but didn’t surprise me. She was having a difficult time with Mee-Maw as teenagers often will. Pop wasn’t living with them at the time, but would write to her in such a kind and understanding way that it really made a difference and it is something she will cherish of him. He wasn’t there, where he should have been, but he was doing his best and somehow that lesson in life came through: Always do your best and cherish loved ones. As with most of life’s lessons, it was learned through hardships that I wish he, Mee-Maw and their children had never experienced.
My memories of Pop will always be a mixture of warmth, quiet, strength, love and a bit of trouble. The trouble part was probably the most fun from this grandchild’s perspective, but the other memories and feelings that flood through me when I think of him are the more important ones. I don’t always understand life and the patterns and courses it takes. I don’t always understand alcoholism and how it effected my mother and her loved ones in such hurtful ways. What I do understand is, after all was said and done, that I had was lucky enough to have a grandfather that loved his wife, his children and then his grandchildren and great-grandbabies. A man who, with Mee-Maw, taught me what family was about. A soul that I will greatly miss but who is where he should be now, with Mee-Maw, Uncle Mikey and Momma playing Rook, enjoying each other’s company and simply being together.
Laura
Grandfathers are special creatures. Those that earn nicknames from their grandchildren are even more amazing. Paul Keel, or Pop as he was always known to us, was one of those amazing grandfathers.
No matter how many fishing poles we lost or broke with our small hands and big fishing dreams, he always made time to take us fishing again. No matter what tools we lost or used improperly, damaging them beyond repair, we were always allowed to play in the shop again and again. No matter how many times mistakes were made, his love never withdrew.
With Pop, you could play in the mud until you were the color of Georgia clay and he never would bat an eye. He always had an adventure at hand and sharing it with him was a secret joy that I will always treasure. Perhaps it was clearing the lot for the new house that would serve as our family’s central location for so many years in LaGrange. Maybe it was planting the garden full of flowers and vegetables and all of the really cool tools and equipment that it took. It could even have been something as simple as playing Rook with he and Mee-Maw and hearing his special laugh of delight and exasperation when I would decide in my childhood exuberance to “shoot the moon”. He wasn’t so crazy about losing, but time and time again I can recall sitting downstairs at the card table playing Rook for hours. He would always partner with me knowing at some point I was sure to get us into hot water.
We spent countless hours in LaGrange as children fishing, swimming, killing ourselves trying to learn to water ski, digging in the mud, and other pursuits of childhood fancy. There were the special weekends where Mee-Maw would take us from school on Friday and that child would get all of the attention from them both until Monday morning when we would have to get up before the sun to ride back to school. He was always a part of our life, not some distant man that we saw only on holidays, but a fixture in our existence. The summer he ran the K.O.A. campground, I was allowed to go over and “work” with him in the store, cut grass and other fun things. I remember my sisters and Momma showing up to go swimming and he could tell that I wasn’t really all that interested in finishing the work I had said I would do. He pushed me out of the office over towards the pool thanking me for my help and making me feel like I had actually been helpful when I am sure all I had done was played! It was fun to me, at least, and every day I got to spend time with him: riding around in his green pickup with the HUGE fish on the back window; cruising to the back with the tailgate down, dragging our feet in the dirt; sharing a cup of coffee like the adults. He made me feel very special sometimes without having to do anything more than just invite me along for the trip.
I never knew Pop when he drank. The grandchildren were all fortunate enough to have seen him through eyes not tainted by hard times or sadness. We were allowed to see a man that was sometimes withdrawn, but always happy to see us. He always seemed to wake up in the mornings with mischief on his pajama tails. Anyone that knew Pop knew that working in the yard probably meant one of several things: a visit from the local fire department where one of his numerous fires would get out of hand; perhaps the tractor stuck in the mud which would require the truck to get it out, maybe even finally having to calling for help when they both were axel deep; the nurturing side where small sprigs of trees were planted and taken care of with big dreams. Finally, in Mee-Maw’s later years, we saw a man who so badly wanted for his wife to know him and all of her family that she had always held so dear. It was terribly sad to those that love him because it became obvious that he was failing as well.
Some years ago, when Mee-Maw was in the hospital, finally being officially diagnosed with Alzheimers, I went down to keep Pop company while she was undergoing tests. As we sat in the small room, I was somewhat lost in my own thoughts of work, home, concerns for Mee-Maw when he began to speak. He was devastated that it was Mee-Maw that was declining. He thought that he was the one that should have all of these things happening to him because of the past, his alcoholism, his bad heart. He spoke to me about how sad it was to see her forgetting things that to him felt like recent memories. What came from him was love pouring out in words which was not common for him. Also, there was guilt, which was understandable even to me in my young adult mind. We talked of it being his turn; his turn to take care of her, to support her and help her through the rough times that were ahead. He seemed determined to be there for her, to perhaps get a chance to make amends for things in the past that still haunted him. Just hearing the love in his voice, the regrets, the hope that there would be something he could give to his partner of all those years made me realize that there was a depth to this man that I had never noticed before. Maybe I had grown and my eyes were not looking at him in that worshiping way that grandbabies love their grandfathers. Perhaps it was his chance to let me see that which had always been there, but he was a rather private man and didn’t often share. All I know is that I had a different respect for him after that day and that my love grew.
His life was far from perfect, but seeing his love for Mee-Maw after all those years made up for all the imperfections to me. I can only imagine the trials and tribulations that he experienced in his life. The moving from place to place looking for something that always eluded him and fighting the demons of alcoholism and depression that constantly attacked any sense of balance. Raising a family under the best circumstances is not an easy task. When Mamma stood before her parents and told them that she was expecting me, I can only imagine what it must have been like. I didn’t often think of such things until I have gotten older, but Momma is always in my thoughts now and there are questions I wished I had asked. The relationship between Momma and Pop was hard for me to understand at times, but I could easily understand how she loved him.
Aunt Barbara shared with me recently a story I never knew about Pop, but didn’t surprise me. She was having a difficult time with Mee-Maw as teenagers often will. Pop wasn’t living with them at the time, but would write to her in such a kind and understanding way that it really made a difference and it is something she will cherish of him. He wasn’t there, where he should have been, but he was doing his best and somehow that lesson in life came through: Always do your best and cherish loved ones. As with most of life’s lessons, it was learned through hardships that I wish he, Mee-Maw and their children had never experienced.
My memories of Pop will always be a mixture of warmth, quiet, strength, love and a bit of trouble. The trouble part was probably the most fun from this grandchild’s perspective, but the other memories and feelings that flood through me when I think of him are the more important ones. I don’t always understand life and the patterns and courses it takes. I don’t always understand alcoholism and how it effected my mother and her loved ones in such hurtful ways. What I do understand is, after all was said and done, that I had was lucky enough to have a grandfather that loved his wife, his children and then his grandchildren and great-grandbabies. A man who, with Mee-Maw, taught me what family was about. A soul that I will greatly miss but who is where he should be now, with Mee-Maw, Uncle Mikey and Momma playing Rook, enjoying each other’s company and simply being together.