Eulogy for My Grandmother

My Grandmother, Violet Fiore, passed away around 7AM EST last Monday. I was lucky enough to be there when she went . . . and had the honor and the frightening responsibility of writing and delivering her eulogy.

Easily some of the hardest writing I ever had to do (though I managed to crank out my speech in about 25 minutes the day of the funeral. Speed is your friend.) And let me tell you, as a-religious as I am it was downright surreal to be standing in a Catholic Church talking about this stuff.

Still, I’m proud of what I wrote and everybody there seemed to really enjoy it. Plus it’s definitely written in a “Copy” style with lots of white space, rhythm, pauses etc.

You can see the whole Eulogy after the jump (about 800 words.)

(Having some trouble adding pictures to this post. Will go back and do so later.)

Ever since Grammy passed away on Monday morning I’ve been wracking my brain  trying to figure out what I’d say when this moment came.

And I’ve been having a hard time.

Not because there’s not a lot to say about Gram . . . there is, more than I have time for . . .

But because Gram . . . Violet Olympe Fiore . . . didn’t live her life along the lines of lot of “Grandmotherly” cliches.

I ask my friends about their grandmothers and they say things about smelling “freshly baked cookies.”

Not me, I think of Gram every time I get beat at cards.

I remember sitting at the kitchen counter, maybe ten years old playing Rummy 500 with gram . . . trying hold all these cards in my little hands, trying SOO hard to keep up. . . and getting THRASHED every time.

Violet would never “let” you win . . . she’d never let you take a shortcut but she’d always give you credit for what you earned.

And I think maybe that’s a metaphor for how Gram lived her whole life.

Grammy did not have an easy life.

She faced challenges and tragedies every day that would have broken a lot of people.

But in the 32 years I knew her I never heard her whine or complain.

Even when, maybe she should have. When life dealt her a bad hand and she had every right to.

Gram never wanted to be a bother. She never wanted to “take” from anybody. To continue my card story from before she never wanted to “cheat” her way through life.

And she “worked” and helped other people right up until the end.

In fact, one of my favorite things to say to my friends was that MY grandmother was the grandmother who went off and helped the OTHER grandmothers, sitting by their bedside and being a senior companion.

On Saturday a bunch of us gathered around Gram’s bedside at St. Vincent Hospital. I’d flown all night to be there and we were all worn out, beaten up and exhausted . . . surfing the edge of breaking down.

And then, we did.

Gram’s breathing faltered. We all thought “maybe this is the end,” put our hands on her and let it out.

And at that moment my Aunt Denise did something beautiful.

She leaned over gram up close to her ear and said “Thank you. Thank you for being my Mommy.”

And Gram . . . Violet . . .

I think I can speak for everybody here when I say we all want to thank you too.

Thank you for being our mother, our grandmother, our sister and our friend.

Thank you for your love and your guidance. Your pride and your support.

Thank you for raising two beautiful daughters, for making Mischa and Sachew two of the happiest dogs who ever lived, for being the one of the strongest women I’ve ever known and for helping make Ken and I the men we are today.

Thank you so much.

One last thing . . .

About 15 or 20 years ago my Grandmother got into the habit of knitting these big, warm “Afghan” blankets  I think to keep her hands in shape . . .

And she knitted a LOT of them . . . .

In fact, if you go to my Mom’s house you’ll find a whole closet just stuffed with Afghans of every size and color.

And a lot of my friends have “Grammy Fiore” originals that they’ve carried around with them all over the country.

As for me, I’ve slept under one of Grammy’s afghans (a blue and green one) every cold night of my adult life. Through the good times and the bad, triumph and tragedy, joy and pain she’s kept me warm with her love.

Violet loved Purple. It was her signature color and she’s wearing a beautiful purple dress my Mom bought for her right now.

She loved her daughters and her grandsons . . . her sisters and her brothers . . . Aunt Denise’s very lucky dogs and countless people I’ve never met  who all say she’s touched their lives.

She loved card games, Bingo, trips to the casino and the Patriots.

She lived her life simply, powerfully and spent her time helping people and taking away much, much more pain than she ever contributed to the world.

On Saturday, Gram woke up out of the pain and the morphine haze long enough to stare me in the eye and squeeze my hand. And in that moment I knew that she was knew how much we all loved her, that she was at peace with her death and that she was going to be OK.

Goodbye gram.

Safe travels.

Say “hi” to Pauline and Don and Meme and Loretta and Saschew, my father Ken and your ex-husband Rocco and . . you know what?  You can pop Rocco in the nose if you want to, you’ve earned it.

We love you, Violet, and we know how much you loved us.

Thank you.

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