Last week, you went on a plane trip for the sixth time. We had to fly to Erie for your Great-Grandpa Jack's funeral. (You are totally over flying, and you were unimpressed by Cleveland. I've never really been to the city but given the complete lack of decent coffee in the entire airport, I can't say I blame you.)
Jack was my mom's father. You got to meet him, once, when you were about three months old. Neither of you remembered that, but I think it was a nice moment for me and for your grandma. You never got to meet MY grandma, your Great-Grandma Rose, but she would have loved you, and spoiled you ROTTEN, like she always did me and Kevin and Megan.
When I went to the hospital to have you, one of the things that I worried about the most was getting an IV. (I tend to do this, you see, focus on tiny little things so I don't have to worry about the big things. I don't think it's terribly effective so I don't recommend it.) And I said to the nurse, "I don't really like needles." She was completely dismissive and said, "Most people don't." I suppose it's the same with funerals. But all the same, it was nice to see everyone. Jack's older sister Jeanne was there. She DOES remember when you met Jack and she loved seeing you again. Your grandpa Mike's dad, Great-Grandpa Ed, came, and so did Larry and Andrea and my Aunt Linda. You got to meet your grandpa's best buddy, Ed Hilovsky, and you got to meet your great-grandpa's best buddy, Joe Marshall. Joe and his wife lived across the street from Jack and Rose on West 23rd Street from 1963-2006 when Jack moved out. Joe was the Erie chief of police and once yelled at me for running into his car while I was learning to ride a bike. I've been slightly afraid of him since that day. You let Joe pick you up -- the only one you let do that who wasn't already familiar -- and the next day gave him a high five.
Your grandma spoke at the service, and Chris and Jeff. Chris talked about how Jack loved trains, and how once, when Megan was 11, she stayed home sick one day, and her grandpa stayed with her, and when Chris got home that night, Megan said, "I'm never getting sick again -- Grandpa made me watch train videos all day." Your grandma said that Jack loved Carolina basketball and told the story about how I used to take dance lessons with Dean Smith's daughter. And one day, Jack was waiting to pick me up after dance, and there was Dean Smith, and he walked up and introduced himself, and he was so happy that he got to meet Dean Smith. Jeff said that Jack was the best husband and father that anyone could hope for -- he lived with his mother-in-law, his wife, and his two daughters -- and that he always looked to Jack for guidance on how he should act. Joe stood up and talked about how he went to high school with Jack, but then they lost touch until 1963, when Jack moved in across the street. Later, Joe's daughter said that he wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't; it was too hard.
After the service, we all went to lunch. Jack and Rose always used to drink Manhattans, so we tried them, lots of us for the first time. (They aren't bad, but I don't think I'll continue that tradition.) Jack was buried in a Carolina pullover, and the sky was Carolina blue. It was a beautiful fall day. You, however, weren't interested in eating lunch, though, who knows, you might have wanted to try a Manhattan. In the same row of buildings as the restaurant was a toy store, and you and I wandered over there to try to keep you happy. You had a hunk of bread in your hand, and after a time around the store, you were looking for someplace to put it. You saw a display of little plastic personalized mugs. You picked one up, a blue one, and put it back. Then you picked up an orange one, dropped your bread inside, and walked off with the cup. After you put it down, I went to go pick it up and saw the name on it. You picked the mug that said "Jack."
