I really didn’t.
I ad-libbed, I made people laugh, I got through almost everything I needed and wanted to say.
Then, of course, I had to say how much I loved him. Love him.
And I was DONE.
So I stole out to the car afterwards, just to get myself all collected.
Thanks for your thoughts and prayers. It was an incredibly moving service for an incredible man.
I stopped and started weeping about 30,000 times, but his life earned every laugh and every tear.
And many more to come, I’m sure.
I’m sharing a little something at my Poppa’s funeral tomorrow.
Just a little something.
I didn’t want to do anything too dramatic or maudlin or emotional or untrue to the man he was.
I wanted little glimpses of him… the bits of remembrance that would make his family and friends smile and nod in recognition.
So what did I do?
I made lists.
I’ll talk a bit around them, and expand on some of the items, but mostly?
Stuff about my Poppa speaks for itself.
Things I Learned From My Poppa
How to have the loudest laugh in the room
How to cheat at card games
How to take pride in one’s lawn
How often cars should be washed
How to clean up well for church
How to judge whether or not a guy is worth dating
How to be faithful to the things you believe in
How to love people unconditionally
How to give of what you have freely
How to take care of one’s family
How to live a life to be proud of
Things I Remember About My Poppa
The way he smelled when he came home from a day at the mill
The smile he’d give me when I’d come flying down the stairs first thing on a summer morning
The after-dinner devotions he led for the family
The way he’d toss me around the pool at the Smith’s while I squealed
The mints he carried in his pockets on Sundays
The way he’d smirk about his golf score
The chats we’d have in the car after I’d clean the house for him and Nonna
The way he’d ask why I wasn’t married yet — but still had faith it would happen eventually
The hugs he gave me every single time he saw me
Things I Loved About My Poppa
That he was an amazing hockey player long before I even screamed at a game
That he called me “Schmeg” even when I scowled at it as a teenager
The way he’d light up when there was a baby in the room
The way he’d roll back from the table when he had too much to eat, patting his belly and beaming
The way he’d stand up straight and proud when he was in a good suit
The fact that he worked hard at one thing his whole life — but still had a million other gifts beyond that
The way he was devoted to caring for his wife without a single question, as long as they were together
The way he loved his family
The way he loved God
The way he loved me
And, of course, the way I love him still.
Miss you, Poppa.