In Memoriam – Memom Gardner

First, I want to wish a Happy Father’s Day to all the men who have children, love them, and are a Daddy to them.

Today is Father’s Day in the US, and I love my children more than life itself.  But this day is full of sad memories for me.  It was three years ago that my mother called me and gave me the news, through a tearful, cracking voice, that her mother had passed away.  I was floored – I knew the day wasn’t far off, but I also never really thought it would come, either.  It’s probably due to having the young boy’s memories of Memom always being there for me.  She was a permanent figure in our family, at least as far as I knew, and losing her was a terrible blow to me.  She was the first grandparent I remember losing, and it happened in my adult life.  My oldest daughters remember her, and for that I am extremely grateful.

My mom asked me to write and deliver a eulogy for her.  I had never written one before, and didn’t think I was up for the task.  Despite my trepidation, I sat down and wrote, and the next day, I delivered it.  Here it is.

Memom, I still miss you.

These are just some of the memories I have of Memom. Of course, all of this is from a grandchild’s eyes.

Laughter. Lots of hugs. Fun times with her.

Long drives to Lancaster County. Camping with Anthony, Lauren and Jana. My first taste of shoofly pie. Memom telling me why it was called shoofly, and the difference between wet-bottom and dry-bottom. Ant slipping and falling out of the top bed in the camper in the middle of the night. Pancakes for breakfast. An artist giving me a painted rock.

Long drives to Aunt Edie’s cabin in the Poconos. Sleeping in the dormer with the pull-down steps. Finding Gumdrop, the dog. The four of us grandkids riding in the back of her station wagon, spitting out the window and watching it do loops and spins before bouncing on the blacktop behind us. Going to Camelback and racing on the sleds in the summer.

Sleepovers at Memom’s in Morrisville with Ant, Lauren and Jana. One more scoop of Jello with one more scoop of Cool Whip. Learning in the morning that one of us had wet the bed, while the rest of us slept through it.

Seeing Memom at Grandpop Gardner’s viewing. Hugging her as she cried. Kissing her cheek and tasting the salt of her tears.

Sleepovers at Memom’s in her Bristol apartment on Garfield St. Wondering why the porch in the back had all that stuff in it. Hours of Uno. The stairs that went to nowhere.

Seeing her at my graduation. Getting my picture with her while I was in my cap and gown.

Dancing with her at my wedding.

Watching her proudly, joyfully hold each of my daughters for the first time.

Talking with her at the Christmas parties. Making her bourbons, and her saying, “Well, it’s a little weak, but that’s OK.”

Seeing her last Saturday, so tired. Holding her hand. Watching my children kiss her and tell her they loved her. Kim and I doing the same.

She gave us, her family, the ones she loved, so much of her time and energy. She was a wonderful, beautiful woman. A perfect grandmother. Of course, all of this is from a grandchild’s eyes.

In Memoriam – Memom Perotti

My family is very close.  I guess it’s a product of our Italian heritage, but I know that’s not the sole reason.  There are so many things I love about my family.  But Christmas is very bittersweet for me.

You see, two years ago today, I got a call from my father, “Mark, I have *cough* terrible news.”  He didn’t have to continue, because I could hear it in his voice, and I knew.  “Grandmom’s passed away.”

I was decorating the tree with my daughters, but I had moved to the office to take the call.  As I listened to my father talk, and hearing the cracks in this usually-so-strong man’s voice, I felt my heart break.  The call ended, and I went out to the living room.  I told my girls what their Poppy had just told me, and I broke down.  The sweet, sweet treasures that they are, my daughters hurried to me and hugged me as I cried and cried.

My wife was at work at that time, so I called her cell and gave her the news.  She came home a little later.  I didn’t have the desire to finish the tree.  I went to my uncle’s house that night, like we do every year, and cried and talked and reminisced with my father, uncle and grandfather.

The next few days were a bleary blur as we celebrated Christmas and prepared for the funeral.  I was asked to deliver a eulogy for Memom.  Somehow, I did.

For you, Memom.  I know you’re in heaven, in a wonderful place, praying for us, but I still miss you every day.

Food is love.

I heard those words on a TV show about two or three weeks ago. When the host said it, I immediately was struck with not only its profoundness, but also its profound truthfulness. Providing food means to provide life; providing the best food means providing a joyful life; what better way to express your love to someone. It wasn’t until Christmas Eve when I realized that, although she never said those words, it was Memom Perotti who had taught me that.

From my earliest childhood, the connection between Memom and food was inseparable. Every day, she would cook or bake. Her unending supply of food symbolizes the abundant love in her heart. “You’re too skinny – here, eat this,” meant that you looked unloved, and that was her way of hugging you. “I made some cookies – here, take a plate with you,” was her way of reminding you later on that she loves you.

Every Friday evening, her call went out to all her family and friends, “Pizza’s almost ready, come over and eat.” She wanted her family and friends to be there, so she could share with them the love in her heart. And how could we possibly forget her Christmas Eve dinners, when she worked for days to make so much food that we could barely walk out the door. The joy that I saw in her eyes and her smile as the family ate was obvious; she loved watching her family enjoy her meal, because she put her love into every morsel.

I have seen her sons learn from her, and carry on that passion for cooking. And from them, I believe, each of us, her grandchildren, do the same in our own way. Memom will never, ever be gone from our lives. Yes, we have our memories, and what wonderful memories they are. But, for as long as we put our best into making our food, Memom’s love will live within our hearts.

I love you, Memom, and will miss you always, and I’ll do my best to make sure my family is well-fed.

——

I’d like to read a poem that I found recently. It is called Christmas In Heaven, by Wanda Bencke

I see the countless CHRISTMAS TREES around the world below
with tiny lights like HEAVEN’S STARS reflecting on the snow.
The sight is so SPECTACULAR please wipe away that tear
for I am spending CHRISTMAS WITH JESUS CHRIST this year.
I hear the many CHRISTMAS SONGS that people hold so dear
but the SOUND OF MUSIC can’t compare with the CHRISTMAS CHOIR up here.
I have no words to tell you of the JOY their voices bring
for it is beyond description to HEAR THE ANGELS SING.
I know HOW MUCH YOU MISS ME, I see the pain inside your heart
for I am spending CHRISTMAS WITH JESUS CHRIST this year.
I can’t tell you of the SPLENDOR or the PEACE here in this place
Can you just imagine CHRISTMAS WITH OUR SAVIOR face to face
I’ll ask him to LIFT YOUR SPIRIT as I tell him of your love
so then PRAY FOR ONE ANOTHER as you lift your eyes above.
Please let your HEARTS BE JOYFUL and let your SPIRIT SING
for I am spending CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN and I’m walking WITH THE KING.

 Merry Christmas.