With love, for Grandpa Chick

Last Friday, my husband Keith’s grandfather passed away in Florida. He was 99.
As I wrote on Facebook yesterday, when I first met Keith, I thought “wow, he sure does talk about his grandparents a lot”.

As I got to know him better I understood that his grandparents were more like his parents. They have been the major adult figures in his life since he was a kid, and when I joined the family, Fran and Chick may as well have been my mother and father in-law, not my grandparents in-law.
For our children, Fran and Chick are just “Grandma & Grandpa”. We lived just around the corner from them for all of the kids’ lives until Israel. They had their first sleepovers at their house when they were still babies, and every Wednesday after school, right up until we moved to Israel, the kids went there and stayed until after dinner. Often Grandma Fran & Grandpa Chick had scavenger hunts waiting for them in the house, they taught them to play all kinds of games (including poker) and so many other things too.

Thankfully, Keith and his sister Heather were able to get to Florida in time to spend a few days with Grandpa Chick, and have some last conversations with him.  At the funeral yesterday they both eulogized him beautifully, and with Grandma Fran’s permission, Keith also read out the following eulogy that I wrote. I wrote it from the heart, I mean every single word, and I decided to share it, because the world today needs more Grandpa Chicks.

<<Grandpa Chick. Just Chick really. From the minute I walked into your life 20 or so years ago, you made me feel welcome. You treated me as if I was already part of the family, even long before Keith figured out that I should be part of the family.

A man of few words, something that drove Fran crazy, a trait you passed on to Keith, that drives me crazy, but you somehow managed to always let us know your opinion, and to let us know how much you love us all.

For Keith you’ve been a father figure, you taught him everything he knows, for better or for worse.

Every time Keith fixes something in the house, I send up a prayer of thanks to you Chick, because I know you taught him how to use tools, and how to try to fix just about anything. Maybe I should blame you for us having what was once a broken pinball machine in our apartment?

For my kids, Noffiya, Elnadav and Shalhevet, you were just Grandpa.

From the moment each of them was born, everyone else took a back seat – those great-grandchildren of yours are your pride and joy.

With each baby you couldn’t wait until they started solid food. You asked frequently “when can we give them Cheerios?” And once we introduced cereal, you would show up to feed them, making faces to get them to open their mouths and eat whatever it was.

For Elnadav you were sandek at his brit, and I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands steady. “Don’t worry,” you told me, “these hands won’t move a fraction of an inch” And they didn’t.

Just like you taught Keith so much, you taught the kids so much too.

Wednesday afternoons at your house were the highlight of their week while we still lived in Boca. You loved to help them with homework, even though I told you they should do it on their own. You taught them how to play Rumikub, but you never let them win. You taught them how to play cards too, and all three of them play a mean hand at poker.

You taught them how to hide candy from Grandma Fran, as long as they shared it with you. You taught them that sharing French fries is okay, as long as Grandma doesn’t see you take them.

For a man of so few words, you managed to say so much.

In 2011, at the age of 91, you called me and asked me if I could come over and help you set up Facebook. I asked you how come you wanted to join the world of social media, and you told me all the kids are doing it, and you don’t want to miss out. When Facebook wouldn’t accept your name, Channon, or your date of birth, we had to appeal to them and argue that your given name is really Channon Band, and that you were in fact born in 1920. And so you joined Facebook. And I had to start being careful what I posted, because sometimes I got a phone call from you asking why didn’t I tell you that one of the kids was home sick from school, or how come you found out on Facebook that I wrote another blog post. That was when I showed you how to subscribe to my blog.

While I am sorry that the kids and I didn’t get to see you one last time, I am happy that our memories of you will all be good. When we think of Grandpa Chick, we will think of your always cheerful disposition, your sense of humor, the funny faces you would make every time Grandma Fran chastised you about something, and your seemingly endless patience. You put the “great” into grandpa.

99 and a half years sounds like a long life when you say it out loud, but for us, it seemed you would be here forever. You were a constant in all of our lives, and now you’re not. You didn’t suffer at the end, and for that all of us are grateful. That was the only thing the kids wanted to know, when I explained to them what we knew was going to happen. Does it hurt him, they asked. Is he feeling any pain? And I was pleased that I could tell them no, that you were awake and able to communicate with Keith, Heather and Grandma Fran, almost until the very end. Because they didn’t want Grandpa Chick to feel pain, when he had so often kissed their boo-boos away.

Your physical being may have left this world, but your spirit will always remain here with us, and Noffiya, Elnadav and Shalhevet, have the most wonderful memories of you that they will some day share with their own children, God Willing.

As for me, I want to say thank you. Thank you for the unconditional love. Thank you for the endless patience. Thank you for making me always feel like I am your granddaughter, and not just married to your grandson. And thank you for your grandson  Keith. He is who he is because of you. So for that I thank you the most.

May your memory be always for a blessing. We love you more than you’ll ever know. >>