Eulogy

His name was Lyle Jacob Colclasure, but everyone called him Jake. I never called him that of course. He was just "Pa" to me. Five foot nothing and hair like white silk. My father, Jake's son, used to talk about how harsh Pa was when my father was growing up. I never knew him that way. To me, he embodied all that a grandfather should. Warmth, love, humor, affection...this was the Pa I knew.

Going to Pa's house almost always meant homemade ice-cream and turns swaying on the hammock. Hummingbirds stayed well-fed in the feeders he and Gram put out and I remember vividly, sitting on the front porch at Pa's drinking Gram's homemade lemonade and listening to the buzz of the hummingbirds. Such was life at Pa's place.

I was in my thirties when Pa first saw an ATM machine. My sister and I were going to take him and Gram to lunch and we pulled up to an ATM to withdraw some money. Pa was confused. "Well, where's the money come from?!" Pa had only dealt with the teller, whom he knew by name, in the bank of the little remote rural town where he spent the latter part of his life.

My grandfather had been a professional jockey in his younger days and therefore was diminutive in stature. I loved how small he was. He was the perfect kid-sized grandpa. He was big enough, however, to hold me down and tickle my feet until I laughed so hard I cried.

My Pa taught me how to tie my shoelaces.

Pa also taught me, without words, what love looks like. He and my Gram finished each other's sentences and she knew exactly what he was pointing to at the dinner table and would pass it to him without a word being spoken between them. They spent over fifty years loving each other.

Pa developed Alzheimer's a year or two before Gram passed away. Alzheimer's is a vicious and vile beast that brutally robs both the victims and those they love. When Gram could no longer care for Pa on her own, he was moved to a nursing home. I think it's what did Gram in.

At Gram's funeral, Pa seemed very lucid. He stood over Gram and cried and spoke softly to her. At the cemetery, as they lowered her casket into the ground, he cried and touched her casket and said, "Goodbye, Sweet Mama." He knew she was gone, and that was about the end of him. His mind faded fast, but his tiny body refused to quit.

Last week, Pa began refusing food and water. We knew it was only days before he would leave us. On July 19th, at 4:12 a.m., Jake's body had finally had enough.

His death marks the end of an era in my life. The Era of Grandparents. He was the last and I'm trying to adjust my brain to the reality that I am without grandparents.

The adjusting process has been going on for a while now. As Nancy Reagan once said, Alzheimer's is, "the long, long goodbye."

I didn't know Jake the man, really. I only knew Pa. And, the Pa I knew had a life worth celebrating. He and my Grandmother left us beautiful warm memories and the knowledge that we were loved. I couldn't ask for a more wonderful inheritance.

My grandfather's funeral is today. If I had just one more chance to be with him, I would ask him to to turn the crank on the old ice-cream machine one last time while I sat on the quilt that covered the bucket. I would tell him how much I loved him and how the memories that he and Gram made for me are the most cherished of my childhood. I would reach out to him, fold my arms around him, kiss that beautiful old leathery cheek of his and whisper goodbye.