When Grandma, Mom and Aunt C were discussing how Grandpa’s funeral would go, they realized there wasn’t anyone to give the eulogy. The minister, a friend of my mom’s, had never met Grandpa. And the minister who owned the church didn’t know him either, and was sick to boot.

Both Mom and Aunt C said they couldn’t give the eulogy, and they all looked at each other, wondering who to suggest. And then, I volunteered. I knew Grandpa, of course, and loved him. And I write, so I figured I could do a decent job.

They were surprised, Grandma especially and she commented how I’d come a long way from being the little girl who refused to even speak to waitresses in restaurants. It was a moment of humor, and (I think) relief.

I procrastinated writing the eulogy until two nights before the funeral. Then I stayed up until 1 am, trying to get it right. This is what I wrote.

When I volunteered to give the eulogy for my grandpa – J. T., I hadn’t considered how difficult it might be to put my feelings into words – I only wanted to share with everyone my experience of who he was. It is not that I would have nothing to say, but rather too much. Like many of you, my heart is full and translating its sentiments isn’t always easy. I decided to begin with the word ‘eulogy’ which means simply “a good word”. There are so many good words to be shared about Grandpa.

Born on December 15, 1930 to J and A T., he was the eldest of three sons. He experienced much in his early life that is already foreign to a person my age. He was born at home, went to a one-room school house until he began 9th grade, he learned English in school. For me, hearing stories of Grandpa’s youth gives a personal tie to a whole different world, a different culture than my big city life. He has taught me the values of simple pleasures, hard work and the importance of family and community.

From my earliest childhood, Grandpa was a loving presence in my life. When I was just a baby, my family traveled to Czechoslovakia. Grandpa was the only one who could persuade me to sleep amid all the unfamiliar surroundings. Each night he would coax me to sleep with a litany of all the little animals who were going to sleep. I can still hear his voice saying, “all the little birdies, and all the little bunnies, all the little kittens and all the little puppies” and on until he ended with “little Aubrey is going to sleep”. I would beg him for this ‘story’ even as I got older, and there were many times we would get so silly. “All the little spaghetti?” I would ask, and he would make a face but agree and we’d laugh and laugh, when I was supposed to be getting sleepy.

Grandpa always made me laugh. From playing ‘pong-ping’ in the basement, when the ball would go into the ‘goop’ made of spiderwebs and dead bugs he’d pull it out and make exaggerated disgusted faces; to his Donald Duck voice; to playing with Goofy, Micky Mouse and Donald Duck boats in the bathtub, where he’d provide the motor boat noises, we giggled a lot together. Even early mornings when I was grumpy (because I am not a morning person) he could make me grin just by singing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” or waking me up with a tickle-spider. Sometimes I would pretend to still be sleeping, just so he would wake me up.

Even though he worked hard, and often long hours, all of us Grandkids knew that Grandpa was one to play with us. We would constantly pester him to ‘horse’ and ‘play chase’. It never took much encouragement. Who knows what the neighbors thought when they saw Grandpa leading my brother and me across the street and tying us to a sign post in a vacant lot. Of course, it never took us long to free ourselves – then we raced back for our turn to capture Grandpa and tie him up.

There were times sibling rivalry was sparked. Quinton and I would both want to ride Grandpa’s lawnmower with him and help drive. Of course, sometimes we would gang up on him, hiding in the fort of burning bushes in the front yard by the driveway and shooting him with water pistols as he went by. Those water-gun battles raged all over the yard, and they are one of my cousin David’s favorite memories of Grandpa.

Even the simplest of tasks could become an adventure with Grandpa. Trips to the bank yielded handfuls of bubblegum. Walks in the park while camping taught us to march “Hup, two, three, four” and to recognize army rank. Trips to the grocery store gave us a chance to catch up on the latest news with whomever we happened to meet. I believed that Grandpa knew everyone in town. He always had time for a smile, a kind word and conversation with them. Grocery store runs were never speedy, what with the time spent selecting the very best of each fruit and vegetable, down to the very last cherry – but our patience was well rewarded with a small toy or magazine that had captured our hearts. Grandpa was always a soft touch.

Wanting us to have a connection to our Czech roots, as well as have a good time, Grandpa and Grandma both took us to Czech dances. Unlike most of my friends, I loved the polka. Learning the steps to both the polka and the waltz made me feel quite the grown-up, even when I was small. And watching Grandpa and Grandma dance together, Grandpa handsome in his sharp suit and tie, and Grandma beautiful in her dress, reassured me that two people could be married for years and still be in love.

There is one perfect word to describe Grandpa – gregarious. When he talked, he always used his hands as much as his voice, and he was never soft-spoken. People have been heard to comment that ‘those Tomcalas even point loudly.’ Whenever someone asked how he was, the reply was always the same, “Just fantastic!” with a thumbs up if he were feeling particularly good, as he often was.

He enjoyed simple things – food and drink were two of his greatest pleasures. He and I always encouraged each other to get dessert – chocolate cake for me, pecan pie or a hot fudge sundae for him. He loved chocolate covered cherries and marshmallow santas. He always had a jar of peanuts open and ready for mid-afternoon munching. He was never a dieter.

All of my life, I have been able to take his love and presence for granted. There were things we never talked about, but that didn’t matter because I knew he loved me and was proud of me – he never hesitated to express that to me. His hugs were the best. When I was away at camp and homesick, he wrote to me. Grandpa was always there.

All of these memories are etched in my heart. The disease that came after and interrupted his life can’t take them from me. Even though it took away the chance for the kids I will someday have to experience him first hand, I will have all of these stories to pass on. In that way his love, lessons and optimism will live on.

Leo Buscalia wrote: Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey into the afterlife. The first question was, “Did you bring joy?” The second was, “Did you find joy?”

I believe the answers to both of these questions is a resounding YES. Grandpa’s journey continues. He is missed.

Posted on February 13th, 2004 by Kat
Filed under: General