One year ago today...

Grandpa Lou died one year ago. Where has the time gone? Since I wasn't blogging then, I wasn't able to share what a great man he was. I miss him terribly. My words are never good enough, so I am adding in the BEAUTIFUL eulogy that Jason, my brother, wrote for the funeral.

I’ll never forget the phone call I had to make to Grandpa Lou from the Saturn dealership on Ridge road. I was 17 years old with a freshly minted license. I had just spent the past 2 weeks working up the courage to ask to borrow his late model mustang hatchback to drive myself to a school function.
Only 15 minutes before I had been in his driveway while he fussed over the exact height of the driver seat, lectured me gravely on the use of side mirrors, and told me exactly where my hands must be on the wheel. There were space shuttle launches that had gone through less pre-flight check than I just experienced.
At the time I thought he was being severe. It was no secret that Grandpa liked things his way. Bread must be cut with your forearm parallel to the floor, acorns can only go in the gray garbage bin, and sticks in the brown. And pity on the man, woman or child who left their shoes anywhere near a traffic path.
Either way, the phone was now ringing and I was blankly staring through the showroom windows at the crumpled hood of my borrowed ride. I was steeling myself for the worst.
To my amazement, Grandpa didn’t berate me, but told me matter-of-factly that I would pay for half of the deductible. That simple act typifies the essence of his character. He was kind, but not indulgent, he wanted the best things for the ones he loved, but he wanted us to enjoy earning them.
Grandpa worked hard. From his hobby of woodworking to his weekends of yard work, everything reflected his drive to constantly be productive. In the time of his life when most his contemporaries were golfing, or drinking coffee at the mall, Grandpa was still working, and enjoying every minute. Two weeks before he passed away, he demanded my grandmother call his office and tell them to save his desk because he was coming back soon.
Grandpa made me pay that deductible because he valued responsibility and the satisfaction which comes from achievement. He grew up in an era which knew more scarcity than abundance, and decided early in his life that he would work hard and enjoy his labor. That’s the reason why he loved the heel of the bread, the pork chop bone and the stolen nap. To him they weren’t the leftovers, but the rewards of his determination to make a great life for his family. They were the abundance that he created, and he savored them.
We joke in our family that grandma and grandpa had their own method of communication. In other words they argued a lot. They argued about petty things like whether guests did or did not want a pillow behind her back when they sat on the couch, or whether a steak knife was or was not necessary for cutting pizza. But they also grappled with heavier issues, such as how high to turn the lights in the dining room.
Their loving tussles may owe a lot to Grandpas legendary stubbornness. In recent years it tended to manifest itself in restaurants, and often ended in Grandmas shame and embarrassment. In one instance when grandpa insisted on brining his own fork to Olive Garden because the restaurant’s only had three tines, grandma refused because she did not want to be mistakenly accused of stealing silverware when she took them out of her purse. Then there was the time at Davincis when he refused to order an entrée because they would not serve him a half portion. He sat with his arms folded throughout the meal. And if you get a chance, ask grandma about the Wayne Newton concert in Las Vegas and the stolen VIP seats. Suffice it to say that Lamendolas are no longer welcome at Wayne Newton shows.
The last year of his life was tough on grandpa. He was in a lot of pain, very frustrated, and sometimes scared. I know he gave grandma a lot of grief. But in one quiet moment he confessed what was not easy for him to express directly. He said he didn’t know how grandma put up with him, and that he would be lost without her. He knew after almost 60 years of marriage that she loved him enough to look past his cranky moods. "Your grandmother is good to me", he told me, and she was.
It gives me great pleasure and satisfaction that my children got to know grandpa, if only for a brief time. They loved going to grandpa "woos" house for lunch; probably because grandma fed them cans of olives. But every time I saw my grandfather ease himself down on his hands and knees to wrestle my son or chase my daughter, I always felt a sense of pride and satisfaction that I had done something good, and given something back to him. I wanted to ask him if he was proud, and if he was pleased. I wanted to tell him they were part of his legacy.
His legacy will be long lasting. He leaves four strong, loving, responsible children, with families of their own. He has passed his ethic of work and responsibility. His stubbornness has served him well, and serves us well. He will be missed and not forgotten.