eulogy.

Leslie Frank Molter, my grandfather, died on September 14, 2006. He lived for a full 89 years in Garden City, NY, and Chapel Hill, NC. A graduate of Colgate University, he met his first wife and had three children by the age of 40. Five years after his first wife died, he was set up on a blind date with Martha Irwin Gadol, my grandmother, who was also a widow of five years and a mother of three. The picture taken of that night has been on their nightstand for years…appropriately, their theme song has always been “Some Enchanted Evening”.

Martha and Les married within six months and had two more children. I don’t know that there has ever been a more blended family than this one. A real Brady Bunch, as it were, and it worked. Martha and Les showed no favoritism. Everyone was treated and loved equally, and that is still evident today. 8 kids, even more spouses (ex and current), 17 grandkids, and 6 great-grandchildren, and everyone genuinely likes each other. It is really a unique thing to see, and I pray that I am able to pass this legacy on down to my children as well…

My grandparents have always been wonderful, but I didn’t begin to pursue my own relationship with them until I was 18. It was then that I was going through my parents’ separation and was in need of some stable family relationships, so I began to visit Chapel Hill on my own frequently. The last time I remember talking to my grandmother was around New Years’ of 2001. We had a conversation about Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, and for the first time I felt like I was finally beginning to tap into the years of knowledge and wisdom that she had. I never got to this point with my mother’s mother before she died…I was always too distracted with playing with my cousins and just doing the kid-thing. Anyway, I remember my grandma telling me that she was going into the hospital the following month to have a routine procedure done regarding a lump they had discovered.

During this procedure (if I have the timing right), she got some sort of infection, went into a coma, and after a painfully drawn-out time of waiting, died in the hospital. I saw her for a few days while she was unconscious…my uncle Steven constantly went through the rosary beads with her. I read some excerpts from Canterbury Tales and sang to her. I spent a few days at the hospital and tried to help my aunts and uncles with the sadness and weariness they were experiencing. We were all helpless to do anything. The problem, whatever it was, couldn’t be fixed. She was surrounded by her eight kids when they finally removed the ventilator.

I still miss her.

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My grandpa (Papa, as everyone calls him) held up well for the following 4 ½ years. He was faithful to buy everyone Christmas presents, which was impressed for an 85+-year-old. He continued living by himself in the house, went bowling weekly, took a walking class after he fell down once, and made himself breakfast and dinner every day. I visited him once over a New Years’ and we did nothing for three days but play Gin Rummi and make a daily trip to Wendy’s over lunchtime for a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and a Frosty.

I always had to warn any friends I took to meet my family that, at some point, they would probably have to sit through a 30-minute interrogation with Papa. He was the most inquisitive man I ever met. The questions just kept coming, and he remembered every answer given him. It was an exhausting ritual, but he never forgot a face or a life story, and that meant a lot to everyone who met him.

Last Tuesday at 2pm, I received an email informing me that Papa was basically dying of liver disease. The doctor had given him 2-6 months. I was really surprised. I knew he had been declining over the last year and a half, and the previous week my aunt Leslie (the nurse) had moved him into her house so that no one would have to worry about him falling down again, but I had no idea his health was this bad. I planned a trip to see him within the week.

On Thursday at 1, my dad called to tell me they had taken Papa to the hospital at 4am that morning. I got in my car, quickly handed some things off at work (thanks to my fantastic, flexible and kind coworkers), and started driving to Chapel Hill, preparing myself for another situation like Nana’s.

He died an hour before I got there.

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How did this happen? How did he decline so fast? We were going to have a 90th birthday celebration in less than two months! Now we’re preparing for a funeral? Now I have to gear myself up to bury the last grandparent I had on this earth?

I spent the next four days in Chapel Hill while my extended family slowly trickled in. Each day I experienced a deep sadness that I did not expect. I wasn’t extremely close to Papa, but I guess when it’s someone who’s always been there your whole life and has always been kind and stable and suddenly he’s gone, a void is created. And now they’ll probably sell the house that I’ve always known as “Grandma’s House”, and my reasons for visiting one of the most beautiful cities in this country are starting to vanish. My heart breaks for my family. I experience trouble breathing. I grieve.

We all grieve in different ways. Aunt Michelle cuts and arranges flowers. Barbra cleans and cleans, happy that there are no objections to her finally going through the refrigerator and kitchen closets. I find myself desperate to write and process what’s happening before my eyes. Then there’s Steve…stoic, strong and steady. Left to steer the ship in his 3 brothers’ absence and take charge of all the arrangements that suddenly must be made. The pilot goes into auto-pilot until the busyness is over and reality sets in.

We all do.

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The memorial service was beautiful. Done in the same place my grandma’s was…the Newman Center of the UNC campus. Tom, Steve, Dad and Michelle each gave brief, beautiful eulogies. We then went to my grandma’s gravesite, where my grandfather was also to be buried. They put the urn in the ground, and all 8 siblings, as well as many of the grandchildren, took turns gently shoveling dirt over the urn, the hat that my cousin Tara sent from Ireland, and the flowers that were placed in the hole.

Closure.

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When I was 4 or 5 years old and my parents would take me to visit Chapel Hill, Nana and my parents would catch up with each other while Papa would make little peanut butter-and-Ritz sandwiches for the two of us to feed to the little inhabitants of the toy castle they’ve had since the 60’s…

A few months ago, I had a weekend off coming up and I thought I would use it to visit Papa. So I called him up and said that I would like to come up for a few days to visit within the next couple of weeks. “Where are you gonna stay?” he asked me. “Um...with you?” I hadn’t thought this would be a problem. “Oh no, you can’t stay here!” he said, and explained that he was set in a routine and having people in the house stressed him out. I was surprised and only a little offended…I mean, how many people get dissed by their own grandfather?

A few days later, Steve called me and said, “I heard from Papa…you poor thing.” Apparently Papa had left him a rather ornery message, which Steve saved for the next several months. I heard it two days ago.

“Yeah, Steven. Sarah just called me and invited herself to stay with me for a few weeks. I told her no. You’ll probably be hearing from her soon.”

If I had understood what the misunderstanding was, I would have gone to visit him…oh well. It’s still pretty funny.

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Closure.

Sort of.

I still have trouble breathing. I still experience moments of deep, inescapable sadness, and I am still surprised by it.

I have seen the grace of God all around me in the past week. Phone calls, messages, endless support from friends and coworkers...I have been amazed. And I firmly believe the family will continue to love and like each other. The foundation has been established...can it be shaken now? I don't think so.

Peace is still needed, though. Comfort. Perhaps the passing of time will bring true closure. Or perhaps heaven alone can provide it, when we meet again and finally understand the whys and wherefores.

Either way, I am thankful to feel these sorrows. To have known such love and acceptance from someone, and to know the grief over their loss. I am thankful to feel. And I know I will look back on this time and raise yet another Ebenezer in thanks and reverence to the One Who brought me through it.

Thanks for reading.