Dear Grandpa,
First of all, I can't BELIEVE you DIED on my BIRTHDAY this year. I think that Katr and I were watching Pride and Predjudice when you slipped away, the old-school, 6-hour version with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. You would have dug it for sure.
I guess I'm reading some bible passages (I don't recall you being all hot for the Lord, but I do know you loved you some tradition) and my uncle is doing the eulogy at your funeral Wednesday. But I wanted to write down what I thought were some cool things about you.
I love how, when we were talking about watching the Oscars tonight, I told Katr that I always thought you kinda looked like Humphrey Bogart and that when I said that, she gave me this dubious look that said "Really?" And then she actually said "Really?" But I think you did. And I remember that you tried to hide that you were a little tickled when I told you that you looked like Humphrey Bogart a long time ago. I know you were a fan.
I love that even though you broke your hip three weeks ago and the doctors weren't keen to operate, 'cause you were nearly 94 and not feelin' so hot to begin with, you just weren't keen to die. I love that you managed to get the most out of socialized medicine, including a new hip, before you decided to blow this popsicle stand. Ha!
I love that when I brought my girlfriend to your house for the first time, you had no idea who she was or why she was there and you probably didn't want to know - but you brought her into the front room and showed her all your medals and awards and certificates anyway, because you had a lot of them and what is the fucking POINT of awards if you don't show them, multiple times, to everyone who comes to your house, every TIME they come to your house.
I love that you were really proud of my dad and showed me his graduation picture a lot, even though my dad was rockin' the Jesus look at the time.
I love that in your lawyerly prime there were few who dared incur your wrath, for you were a formidable opponent. I also love that most people haven't seen that picture of you in a fluffy tutu performing in a revue at Hart House. Great gams, Grandpa.
I love that the last two times you came to my shows, you proudly told everyone in line, at the ticket table, next to you in the audience, that I was your eldest granddaughter. I love that I was really nervous, because both those shows had a lot of cursing and lesbonic content and I love that I needn't have worried, because it was dark in the theatre and you'd gotten a little deaf in your old age, and you totally slept through them both.
I love how an e-mail from my uncle to my father about bible passages to be read at your funeral contained the following quote: "I have reviewed the passages and attach the King James version (I recall Dad not being pleased when the new revised version came in)." I love that you thought the "new revised version" of the bible blew.
I love your hands. You had the best hands, Grandpa.
I have so much more to say . . . but if you taught me anything with that endless story about England and the church and the bell and the book you liked to tell over and over again, it's that sometimes, brevity really IS the soul of wit. If I have any regrets about our time together, it is this: that I waited too long to learn to knit and did not get a chance to make you a glorious, ridiculous scarf.
With much love from your eldest granddaughter,
Roro
p.s. Uh . . . I'm a lesbian. Okay, you rest in peace now.
