The most consistent man I've ever met
an unofficial eulogy for one of my favorite people
This is my mom’s dad, my grandfather, a man I have fondly referred to my entire life as: “Grampy Ol’ Chubsy.” He passed away a few weeks ago. He was 89.
I didn’t expect to shed many tears about his passing. I’ve always believed that people who die old are the lucky ones, and plus, he’d been joking about this being the “last time” we’d see each other every single time I’d seen him during the last decade. But his death really shook me, and has felt like the passing of some generational torch. Like a unique fractal of his legacy now lives on through me, and I must carry it forth with reverence and care. That and, I will miss him immensely.
So now, if you’ll allow me to share some things about him and what his life has meant to me. I hope it makes you reflect on the people in your own life that have shaped you, and if they are still here, that you write and mail them a letter to tell them how. He and I exchanged many of the sort.
Let’s start from the top. My grandfather was evidence of a time that doesn’t really exist anymore. He lived with his highest values and virtues at the center of his life, and never got distracted by the next shiny thing. Some tangible evidence of this…
He never owned a computer or a cell phone.
He stayed devoted to his wife, even after she died (30 years before him).
He had an infinite memory, and could pull random stuff up from his childhood on command.
He was a civil engineer by trade, and a highly respected one at that.
He read 4+ hours per day (and kept track of all 3,000+ books he read during retirement).
He listened to Mozart and Beethoven for fun.
He “walked the streets” and road his bike everyday until he physically couldn’t.
He hand wrote a memoir of his life and sent sections of it to me in letters.
He lived alone and independently for 30 years (after his wife died).
He timed his monthly haircuts with his monthly bagel pickups because the two places were right next to each other.
He hand-delivered a check to the church every month.
He could fix basically anything.
He was a civil servant, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a devout Catholic above all else.
He was the smartest man I’ve ever met. Bar none.
Gramps taught me so much about life and family, and what it means to be a good human. But two things stand out above the rest:
Keep it simple, stupid. This was his life motto. He even had a magnet on his fridge that said it. Ed was infamous for his “life systems” like buying the exact amount of food he needed for the week, and splitting it up into 7 servings. He was the original meal-prepper. But the fact that he never owned a computer is a result of the same life philosophy. It’s not that he wasn’t curious — it’s just that he valued his peace too much. He found it a good enough solution to call us grandkids up to Google stuff for him whenever he really needed it.
Consistency, in all things. Especially love. Growing up, my grandfather would come to our house every Saturday at exactly 9am on the dot. He’d come by “just to see if he could fix anything.” When there wasn’t anything to fix, he’d go find some work to do in the yard. And when my mom died ten years ago, he just kept on showing up at 9am on the dot. Well into his 80s, when he couldn’t really do house work anymore, he kept coming. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
My mom and my grandfather are my combined North Star in life. The same thing was said about both of them in their eulogies that I hope is said about me — they made everyone around them feel deeply loved, seen, and known.
I fall short of this North Star most of the time. And often wonder where I got the idea that love itself was not worth pursuing with the same zeal as success. The best I can guess is I’m a product of my generation. There is so much fear in the air about job security and the outcomes our parents had in their marriages. I think this makes us naively sacrifice what really matters in life for the hope that some scrap of status might protect us from bankruptcy and divorce.
But I’m not sure it has to be like that. My grandfather had a hell of a career. He was in charge of the biggest infrastructure project the city of Boston has had in the last 100 years, and he built bridges and highways all over this country. By the standards of his time, he was that guy. But he never let that get to his head, and that certainly isn’t what he’ll be remembered for.
He’ll be remembered for the love he left behind. And really, that is what we’ll all be remembered for, isn’t it? The love we give here on earth is our only true legacy. It ripples through the ages. The bridges my grandfather built will someday fall away, but a hundred years from now, there will be descendants of his walking this earth that have been shaped by the invisible choices he made here. They might not know it. Just like I don’t know exactly how my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents shaped me.
But I know they did. Because those crazy people were his parents and grandparents, and they raised a hell of a guy that I really adored.
So, that is what I carry forth now. I stand on his shoulders, and pray for the courage to keep love at the center of my life and to take care of Pride Rock like he did. Even when the budget is tight and the bills are due. Even when a loved one is dying. Even when all shit is hitting the fan. Even when I’m tired and hungry. Even when I think the work I’m doing is more important than it is.
I hope I can carry my particular fractal of his legacy with the reverence it deserves. And learn to show up consistently in all things. Especially love. I know I’ll have him and my mom at my back to help me out, and will walk forth for the rest of my life feeling blessed — to have felt his presence in my life, and now to get to call him an ancestor.
Godspeed, Grampy. Say hi to Mom / Ba for me.
