Yesterday, many people that loved my stepfather Peter gathered to remember him with love and appreciation for everything he brought to our lives. He was human, so he wasn't perfect, but he saw the good in everyone, and I think most everyone that attended felt that and took that love with them.When I went up to the podium to read what I wrote for him all of my nieces came up with me. Then Luna, the oldest, sat down again because it was her turn after me and I guess she didn't want to be up there any longer than she had to be. Maya, the next oldest, stood next to me, and then Frida, the youngest, was in my arms. However, Frida riffed my speech, despite being shushed (she's great at riffing, I'm so proud!), so my brother-in-law came up to the podium to get her. Then Maya stood with me, and I continued reading. When I got to the part that mentioned her, I booped Maya's nose and she smiled happily.
When I finished, I saw that Luna was crying, missing Grandpa and his love. She came back up to the podium, ever the professional eight-year-old, and read her passage from "The Little Prince" with me at her side, stopping here and there to confirm with me what a certain word was.
I have excerpted from my speech here to share with you. I tried to encapsulate everything he meant to me, but there are lots of other little things he did for me that weren't mentioned, like teaching me multiplication tables in a way that wasn't boring, teaching me how to play gin and how to play solitaire, and then as an adult things that he did for me, like go to Starbucks and get me coffee while I was taking care of the girls, or taking my car to fill it up with gas. Of course, one time he borrowed my car and lost the gas cap, but that's another story, and also, he replaced it.
So here is my remembrance of my stepfather, edited here. He was cool. You would have liked him. And he would have liked you.
(Except if you are a neo-conservative, then he probably would have hated you. But with love.)
Dear Pete:
It’s strange not to have you here. You were always here. You made your debut in my life when I was six years old, and you were 26. When you’re a six-year-old, 26 seems really old, but you were really young. I didn’t know what to make of you and you didn’t know what to make of me. But you loved my mother, and I loved your mother Sheila, who treated me like a grandchild even though I wasn’t, and so you and I tolerated each other at first, then loved and accepted each other.
Later as an adult, I would apologize to you, for my six-year-old self who didn’t know how to accept you. And you told me I didn’t owe you an apology, and you apologized to me for not being more of a father to me when I was so young. But you didn’t owe me an apology either because you always treated me like a daughter.
I miss you and wish I could go back to the last time I saw you, or the three or four times before that. I was, as we all do, existing in my own head and world and dealing with my own series of challenges, just as you may have been when you entered my life. And so I didn’t stop to think that you would soon not be in front of me the way you were that last time I saw you, sitting in the Hyundai Tucson with a Wawa bag in your lap, and NPR playing very loud as you prepared to leave Caroline’s house for your apartment, and greeting me happily the way you did for 40 years: “Heyyyy Erica!”
I called you Grandpa because of how much the girls loved you, and how much I loved watching them with you. Listening while Luna one-upped you with her incredible wit; listening to you singing songs about Pizza Pie and bottles of whiskey to smiling Maya. And the memory of you looking at Frida, saying to her, “Hey, Bear!” and her laughing reply to you, “I not a bear!”
You always signed your text messages and Facebook messages, “Love, Pete.” I know you would have done anything I asked you to do, and you did, no matter how ridiculous it may have been, and you didn’t judge me. Like the time you babysat for my cat Quentin, and I kept calling you and checking on him.
I feel your presence and your love around all of us. But, I miss your rambling political Facebook posts, the cat memes you posted on my wall, and even the sound of you making potentially obnoxious comments in a loud voice through one of the many vocal characters you created. You weren’t perfect but you also knew that none of us are, and you never judged anyone you loved. Thank you for being there for me, and thank you for being in my life.
Love,
Erica
I miss you and wish I could go back to the last time I saw you, or the three or four times before that. I was, as we all do, existing in my own head and world and dealing with my own series of challenges, just as you may have been when you entered my life. And so I didn’t stop to think that you would soon not be in front of me the way you were that last time I saw you, sitting in the Hyundai Tucson with a Wawa bag in your lap, and NPR playing very loud as you prepared to leave Caroline’s house for your apartment, and greeting me happily the way you did for 40 years: “Heyyyy Erica!”
I called you Grandpa because of how much the girls loved you, and how much I loved watching them with you. Listening while Luna one-upped you with her incredible wit; listening to you singing songs about Pizza Pie and bottles of whiskey to smiling Maya. And the memory of you looking at Frida, saying to her, “Hey, Bear!” and her laughing reply to you, “I not a bear!”
You always signed your text messages and Facebook messages, “Love, Pete.” I know you would have done anything I asked you to do, and you did, no matter how ridiculous it may have been, and you didn’t judge me. Like the time you babysat for my cat Quentin, and I kept calling you and checking on him.
I feel your presence and your love around all of us. But, I miss your rambling political Facebook posts, the cat memes you posted on my wall, and even the sound of you making potentially obnoxious comments in a loud voice through one of the many vocal characters you created. You weren’t perfect but you also knew that none of us are, and you never judged anyone you loved. Thank you for being there for me, and thank you for being in my life.
Love,
Erica
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