Though most of our blogs to you, my dear Avocado Jnr, are light-hearted and jovial, at this time we find ourselves without humour in our heart. On October 23rd, exactly four weeks after you were born, your much loved, much respected and now much missed grandfather passed away. There are so many things we want to tell you about him, too many for one blog. Instead, below are some pictures of you and your grandfather, and the eulogy your mother gave before his burial last Sunday.
"Many of you will remember my father as a joker who never let a pun slip away unnoticed. To some he was the buddy you shmoozed with at the Y, a kiddish club devotee and a lover of fine single malts. Others will remember his mischievous, sparkling eyes or his cheeky smile. Some people here today will remember him as a walking dictionary, a poker buddy, a learning partner, a family man, a dear friend and more.
To me, though, he was dad and I was his little girl.
So many memories have flooded my mind over the past two days – and I would like to share some of those with you:
As a young girl, he would put me to bed at night and dazzle me with his vivid storytelling. He used to lie with me in bed and make up different stories every night, but I would always beg him to tell me a specific one: about a made-up character named Zene, not realizing it was a cute play on his name. It was always my favourite.
He also had unconventional choices of songs to sing to his children; instead of the typical nursery rhymes, he would sing all of us American patriotic tunes. He was so proud of his American roots and boy if anyone famous came out of Scranton, Pennsylvania, he made sure everyone knew about it. Even once I was grown up, he loved recounting whole poems he knew by heart from childhood.
Sundays for me and my dad were special when I was a child. They were reserved for what we liked to call “kids days” - when my dad and I would go out, just the two of us, somewhere fun. The zoo, apple picking, a movie, it didn't matter. Even for his birthdays, he didn't want anything and was so happy when I would hand him an IOU for a kids day in lieu of a gift.
He taught me how to play bridge, tennis and he sure played a mean game of eye spy. He was my chief editor of school and university essays, often correcting them to a level beyond some of my teachers' understanding. Even as I wrote this, my instinct was that I should send it to him to correct my grammar or find better words than the ones I am using.
His interest in my life didn't stop with university. Even when I started work and later when my husband joined the family, a shabbos at my parents was not complete without him inquiring in depth about both our work and latest projects.
My memories of my father are incomplete if they don't include my mother. The two of them were inseparable. If any of us called one of them, we always got both of them on the phone. My father was lost without her, she was his pillar and his strength. They were devoted to each other through thick and thin. Hardly surprising when you consider that their engagement happened a week and a half after they first met. This coming Tuesday they would have celebrated their 41st anniversary. 41 years together spent living a torah life, raising three kids and 8 grandchildren, playing bridge, dancing, traveling, playing tennis, laughing and loving each other.
More recently, my memories of my father include the time he spent with me and my husband. Right away he welcomed my husband into the family and aside from a few limey jokes and comments on how he mispronounces words, my father treated him like a son. In turn, my husband loved having a fellow economist and bad joker to spar with. They were also co-conspirators in sunbathing and whisky drinking when my mom and I weren't around. I know he really loved him, sometimes I questioned if he loved him more than he loved me!
When a tragedy such as this falls on a family, it is only natural to react with questions and regrets. Why now? Why him? Why us? In an attempt to find comfort I have been thinking of the positive signs in recent events.
After we were married a little over two years ago, we decided to live in Israel for our first year of marriage. Towards the end of the year, we debated back and forth whether to stay in Jerusalem or return to Toronto. We decided to come back and it was only because of this decision that I was able to spend the last year with my father. For that alone I give thanks to God.
I also see the Hand of God in the events of last week. My mother was meant to take one of her grandsons to a hockey game this last Thursday night but a sequence of events prevented this from happening so my father took him instead. This let him have one last visit with my sister's kids, that he wouldn't otherwise have had, when he drove to their house to pick up his grandson.
But my thanks don't end there. Looking back, we firmly believe that my dad's time was probably up when he suffered a massive heart attack in January this year. The combination of God's Will and my mother's heroic devotion pulled him back from the brink. And why? In order to give him ten more months in which he could enjoy another Father's Day, another birthday, more family parties, chagim, more time with his friends and even a final win at his weekly poker game. But most of all, we firmly believe he was given ten more months so that he could meet our daughter. On the morning of my father's triple bypass in January this year I found out I was pregnant and I told him my good news as he went into surgery. He later said it was this news that gave him the strength to survive such a harrowing operation. My father passed away exactly 4 weeks after she was born and we are eternally grateful for those four weeks. In that time he came over both with my mother and on his own, not to see us, but to hold his newest granddaughter. Both of us commented only last week that grandfather and granddaughter obviously shared a special bond. His eyes sparkled when he held her. Even when she pooped on one of his favourite yellow sweaters. We're happy that he got to know her even though it was for such a brief time. My daughter will not remember meeting him but we will make sure she grows up knowing stories about her grandpa and hearing that he was a wonderful grandfather, a loving father, a devoted husband, a committed family man, a strong Jew and a great friend to all who knew him.
I love you dad and will miss you everyday of my life."
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The last couple of weeks have not been easy for the Avocado Hasses, but throughout it all you, Avocado Jnr, have been a joy. You've smiled when we've smiled at you (and not just because you had gas). You've slept when we've slept (or at least when Pater has slept thanks to ear plugs). You've distracted us with your countless nappy changes but also with your cuteness – sometimes Mater and I can just stare at you for hours and know that all is good with the world.
