Nearer My God to Thee

My grandfather passed away this week, so rather than write a new post I am sharing my eulogy from his funeral. Spend time with the people you love! It all comes to an end eventually.

My grandfather passed away earlier this week. He had just celebrated his 95th birthday on St Patrick’s Day, a birthday which gave him - the son of Italian immigrants from Sardinia - a lifelong affinity for green turtlenecks and corned beef.

Grandad outlived practically everyone: his parents, obviously, but also our grandmother, who died sixteen years ago, his older sister and some of his closest friends.

His death has seemed imminent for nearly two years, ever since I realized he couldn’t untie his own shoes. It felt like a quick descent, and yet looking back the process happened gradually, over years. One day he was an old man unsteady on his feet. The next, he was an ancient man who couldn’t get himself into bed. We went from talking every week to talking through intermediaries who could answer his phone for him, and repeat my questions in his ear. During one of our last real conversations, I asked if he ever thought he’d live this long. “No” was all he said.

Grandad’s long life was a great one. People say that a lot, but it was true for Grandad. He lived the American dream. His father died in a mining accident when he was ten years old, and yet little Louis Frank Meren picked his head up and went on to serve his country in the Korean War, work and pay his way through college, and rise through the ranks of an American corporation. He loved action movies and beautiful music, a combo I inherited through hundreds of hours sitting next to him in front of the TV. He smoked cigarettes for decades, ate and drank like a medieval king, and lived healthily into his nineties. He was a lucky guy.

More importantly, he was the patriarch of his family, and proud of it. As the man of the house, Grandad was the long pole in the tent that supported all the rest. He didn’t wear shorts, didn’t cry, and loved to rag on incompetence of all sorts, whether in a mall parking lot or the federal government. He helped pay for everything, and was offended if his help was rebuffed, especially when someone else tried to pay for dinner. Over the years, I used the twenties that Grandad slipped subtly into my hand to buy video games, beer and dinners for Anne. When my grandparents moved from their home in Bowie, Grandad arranged for his former landscaper, Marcos, and his family to live in his old house, at a significantly discounted rate. He always respected women, even if his methods were sometimes outdated. He was soft-bellied but solid as oak on the inside, and he set an example I feel obligated to follow.

In the Bible, Jesus reminds us constantly that we are all just here temporarily, for an unknown period of time. Sooner or later, we all return home to God like he did. And while it’s hard for us to grasp, Grandad is finally home.

As I’ve processed his coming death over the past few years, I’ve found comfort in picturing the reunions he will have with the people who love him in Heaven:

The firm, proud handshake he’ll get from his father Frank, who has watched with pride for nearly a century as his son became a man and shepherded the next generation of Meren’s in this country. Who watched him put on his Navy whites, get married, hold Eileen and Kerry for the first time as babies and then give them away to men of their own. Who watched through his son’s eyes as his great-grandchildren graduated from college, something he never could have dreamed of.

And, most beautiful of all, the long overdue kiss Grandad will get from his wife Nancy - our Grandy - who is healthy at last, free from pain and radiant with her pale, Irish glow. Decked out in jewelry funded by dozens of hot streaks in Atlantic City. Ready to spend eternity with the man she loved.

No matter how much I’ve prepared for this, no matter how much I have rationalized his death as the natural course of our lives on earth, most of all I feel sad. I will miss Grandad. I have already missed him, from the moment I could no longer give him a call on the phone. More than a grandfather, he was one of my closest friends, ever since he started picking me up on Sunday mornings and taking me to Ravens games.

There is no easy way for the people we love to leave us. Even under the best conditions - and Grandad’s were the best conditions - the fundamental problem remains: we are stuck here without them.

A few weeks before his death, I was alone watching the twins and doing what Grandad did best: listening to beautiful music on YouTube. The particular song was Andre Rieu’s rendition of Nearer My God to Thee, the song the band plays in the movie Titanic when the ship goes down. The kids were running around like maniacs, as Grandad must have at one point himself, and the thought hit me:

He must be so proud of how his family has turned out. He will die happy.

The music spoke to me in a way that was hard for my mind to grasp. While Peter - just brought into this world - climbed across my lap, I could picture Grandad leaving it, the weight of 95 long years finally lifted from his withered shoulders as he approached heaven.

One day, it will be Grandad welcoming each of us home. And while I don’t wish for that day to come soon, I’m looking forward to it already.

See you next week.

Emmett