Abandoned Stuff by Saskboy

My Grandmother in Winnipeg apparently hated eulogies. She requested there not be one at her memorial service. So this isn’t a eulogy per say. Let’s pretend it isn’t, even though according to the dictionary it probably is… It’s for my benefit anyway. I’ll want to have this written down, because as much as oral history is important, written lasts just that much longer.

My Grandmother was named Nana. At least I thought so as a kid. It was a nickname she adopted for my benefit because I could say it as a small child, and it wasn’t until my teens that I became aware enough that she had more to her real name than the one I knew. This became apparent, when at a local horticultural show, she entered a door prize contest and when I was the nearest kid available to perform the draw hours later, I did not know the woman whose name I drew. It was my Grandmother’s entry in my hand.

She was born in Toronto, almost a year after the Titanic sank in the Atlantic. In talking with my mother today, I learned my Grandfather was born on the Ides of March, before the Titanic sank. Both were born at their respective homes, as was customary in that time. She grew up in the country. Graduated from the UofT in 1937 and was active in the Rebekahs and charitable causes through much of her life. Much of her married life was spent in California, and that’s where she’ll return. She couldn’t leave Grandpa there alone, even though she spent the last 37 years without him as of April 15.

From the picture above, it’s obvious she got me interested in writing to some degree. She wrote journals, and frequent letters to her children and grandchildren. She wrote to me even before I could read, and Mom would translate. My family convinced her of the benefit of fax machines, particularly after she lost most of her hearing due to noise exposure at work in the USPS (which caught up with her in old age). But she didn’t care to learn computers like my other Grandparents, and had zero interest in my blogging. So it’s a safe bet if there’s Internet cafes in heaven, she won’t think to look here for a eulogy, so I’m in the clear.

Even though she lived far away, she managed lengthy visits. I remember her walking kilometers a day, even into what must have been her 70s. It was always an adventure to visit her in Toronto, or in the last few years Winnipeg. Her affection for puns, and sarcastic humour is probably where I get mine from.

And this is why eulogies are no good. They can turn into rambling. And now if your mind hasn’t wandered, you’re probably feeling awkward, and not sure if you should say anything, or what you should say if you do. And that’s OK not to say anything. Because this isn’t even a eulogy, remember ;-)