Eulogy

10-4-2012

I would like to thank all of you for coming to help me share in the celebration of the life of my father, George Morreale. I also want to thank Father Joe and Father Lito and pianist John Brixie for their time in making this day one we all will remember.

It was after another fabulous Thanksgiving dinner at mom’s house in Bridgewater when my daughters, Katie and Erica, spoke to me during the car ride from Bridgewater to Cranford to tell me something I already knew but that they were beginning to realize.

I believe they were around 13 and 15 then, and those of us who have nurtured children know how easily influenced kids that age can be. But …. Whenever their grandpa said something, you were usually fixed on what was about to be told because it was going to be something meaningful, funny or memorable.

It’s so difficult for me to put into words what this man has meant to not only me, but to all of you here today. But my father is looking down on me at this very moment and probably saying, “Butch, don’t you dare make this about me. This is about the people I love and how my time on earth was so much more special because of all of you.”

But that’s OK. He can think that. We know the truth.

My father wasn’t college educated. But as he told me when he, my mom and my sister dropped me off to college in the fall of 1990, “Hey, Butch, don’t think a college education will replace the God-given gifts you have. The ability to learn through your eyes and ears.” He was right because having the ability to listen is a lost art today.

He listened to the needs of his father and mother and was always the earliest riser out of bed. Slipping into his baggy jeans and donning that flannel shirt he’d wear all day down the shore at that white beautiful home on Schoolhouse Rd. Grandpa Morreale would yell to him, ‘Jidge, let’s go’. Into the work shop that he helped Gramp build, prep up the roto tiller, out to the gardens for a days work on a Saturday after working the five previous days at his paying job. He’d always tell me, “Family first.”

Heading down the shore to visit gram and gramp morreale was always a treat. That’s when I learned what type of effect a good song can have on the soul. He’d put me in control of the 8-track tape box; not easy. The first 8-track tape we slipped into the slot of that forest green Cadillac was Elvis – Aloha From Hawaii. It always amazed me how he used to whistle to the tracks that weren’t the most popular, but had the best message.

Like in Elvis’ ‘You gave me a mountain’ – “It’s been one hill after another, I’ve climbed them all, one by one.”

Frankie Vallie and the 4 Seasons ‘And That Reminds Me’ – “If I could hear no music, if there could be no roses, no summer nights to make me, dream as I do. I still would not forget you, one thing would still be true, my heart reminds me I love you.”

Roy Orbison’s ‘In Dreams’ – “A silent prayer, like dreamers do. Then I fall asleep to dream, My dreams of you.”

After two days down the shore every weekend we’d come home Sunday night. We’d order a pizza and sit around the living room table. He loved those Italian muscles with the pizza. We’d watch the conclusion of the Sunday football games and then mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and The Six Million Dollar Man or the Sha-Na-Na Show.

He listened to me. God knows he listened to me. He always made our home in Roselle a comfortable haven for my friends. He’d tell Turnpike stories that had us laughing for hours afterward and my friends would always ask me to repeat the stories on occasion. Speaking of the Turnpike, I’ll never forget when Pop came home after learning he had got the job in the early 80’s. He was so happy.

There was also a serious side of course. I remember thinking how I would tell Pop that I had found the love of my life. I never did ask him. Because when I was about to take Joanne home that night after dinner at our home in Roselle, she hugged my father during our good-byes and he looked at her and rubbed her cheek as if to say, “You are the perfect woman for my son.”

I had my answer.

When my sister needed her daddy, he was there for munchkin. He never judged, never wavered in his thinking. My father was like a ship for my sister; she’d hop on board and lay on his stomach, lie her head on his shoulder and he’d fall asleep.

He used to bite Lorin’s toes all the time. He would eventually graduate to his granddaughter’s hands and Erica knows all about that.

My father, like me, loved to eat. My mom spoiled him. He loved his soup. Something me and my sister picked up pretty quickly – if you had broth and something edible, what a party.

He listened to his two beautiful sisters. Whenever they needed a strong shoulder to lean on, he was there. His mishchieveious older sister, Chickie. To her, Georgie was a protector and big brother. That little ball of energy, Millie, who taught Pop how to dance the Cha-Cha while he was dating. Through dad’s eyes, both Chickie and Millie could never do any wrong.

He was a true inspiration and father figure to his Godson, Kenneth. Ken, I don’t think I need to stand here and tell you how much Uncle George loved you. He admired your work ethic, your courage and your love for family. When you were born, he would be afraid to hold you because he didn’t want to drop you and he’d always shield your eyes when the sun was beating down on you.

He listened to my mother, his beloved wife, every minute of every day and did everything he could to make her comfortable. And he did. A little time after my father underwent back surgery, I was talking to him while he lay on a hospital bed and he said to me, “Butch, I feel so bad for mommy. She is doing so much … going to work, paying the bills, coming home and helping me, going to the hospital to make sure I get to dialysis. It just tears me apart.” Suffering? Here’s a man that had kidney disease, just had inserted a metal rod into his back the length of eight vertebre, was forced to undergo dialysis three days a week, and what is he suffering from most — Guilt. Guilt that he couldn’t do more for this woman.

But, mom would get him back. During dad’s rehab and his time in the hospital bed, it appeared dad was trying to sleep only to hear mom whisper in his ear, “George, George, George, George.” Finally, his eyes would open real wide and he’d turn his head ever so gently towards her face and say, “WHAT, I heard ya already.”

All good though. That’s expected after 46 years of marriage. And, anyway, whenever I got to the hospital and dad saw me walk in, his first words were “Where’s your mother?” Mom, I know real loss only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself and I know that’s what you’re feeling. But dad would say this, “Remember the good times, remember the fun times, but live your life to its fullest and continue to move forward with all your goals and dreams. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Which leads me to, perhaps, the three most special people in dad’s life. His grandchildren, Erica, Katie and Joey.

Big Joe – Remember Joey when grandpa used to bring you outside with him when he was about to do gardening and hand you some of the gardening tools to help out. He enjoyed those special times with you to teach you the importance of nurturing and caring for those special people in your life. He always took the time to pick you up from school and wanted to know how your day was going and he was there to help with any problem you might have had. Yeah, those math problems became an issue as you got older, but that’s OK. He loved hearing about your soccer games and how good you were playing. Grandpa loved you like his own son and believe me when I say, that’s something very, very special.

‘Katie’ – If I got my hands on all the $20 bills that grandpa gave you, mom and I might be able to pay off Erica’s college bills. Katie I know you just loved to watch grandpa and laugh at everything he did. I remember you saying, “Daddy, you are just like Grandpa.” His facial expressions. You always used to say that Grandpa was always the quietest at the dinner table because he always seemed to be the hungriest, wouldn’t say a word. Then, when he was about to say something, everyone would listen closely. Even when he was in pain, lying on the hospital bed, he’d peer over at Katie and wink. When he was doing rehab, he called Kate over to help him take off his shoe and another $20 would magically appear inside the sneaker. Kate, remember Grandpa will always be in your heart. I remember his telling me, “That Katie is going to be something special.”

Erica – Grandpa always had this vision of you winning a golden ticket on American Idol. But I think the one thing that sticks out was his infatuation with your little hands. He would always look at them like you had seven fingers. He so enjoyed going to your shows and watching you perform and I’m sure he’ll be watching over you every time you take the stage. I know you used to ask him on the beach, “Grandpa, why do you wear your bathing trunks so high?” And Grandpa responded, “That’s the style today.” I know he is loving the fact you are singing here today as a tribute to him. Today, you complete Grandpa’s  golden ticket to heaven.

Respect is something that isn’t easily earned but my father wasn’t only respected, but admired for how he lived his life. Even after being taken off the ventilator, the feeding tube and the countless IV’s stuck in his arm, his heart continued to beat and he continued to breathe on his own the next 32 hours until he finally left us early Friday morning.

He did it, his way.

In closing, I leave you with a passage from pop’s favorite Elvis song:

“For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way!”

Dad, thanks for your guidance in life, your hand during those trying times and your unconditional love and generosity.

Until we meet again.