Last night, I read something that reminded me of my beloved grandfather who passed away almost 14 years ago. As I reflected on Grandpa, I pulled up the eulogy I wrote and delivered, through choking tears, at his funeral. At that time in my life, I was an investment broker, young, successful and on the go! I was asked to write his eulogy, perhaps because I was the oldest grandchild and his children just couldn’t bear to write it themselves, I do not know. But, I do know that after delivering this, I realized how much I truly loved to write…carefully selecting the proper words and phrases and organizing them into something meaningful. I also became aware of the impact my words had on others as those that came to honor my grandfather shared with me their belief that I captured the very essence of my Grandpa.
I have since been asked to write several other eulogies, and as strange as this may sound, not only am I honored, but I truly enjoy honoring the loved one who has just left us, pondering their life and the loss we feel without them. It offers me a rare opportunity to think through the deceased’s entire life, considering what made them special the those who loved them and even how their flaws effected those near to them. With that, I present my eulogy to my grandfather.
EULOGY FOR LLOYD H. SHERA
DECEMBER 30, 1995
Given by his loving Granddaughter
I would like to say a few words about my Grandfather, Lloyd Shera. It is from my perspective as his first born grandchild. This is difficult. My niece, Caitie, helped to make it a bit easier when she asked me a while ago, “Aunt Becky, when are you going to tell us a story about Great Grandpa?”
Grandpa was a great teacher! Teaching was not his profession – of course, he was a farmer. But through his farming, Grandpa taught me and everyone else his life touched about a great deal of things.
As a farmer, Grandpa was the best. One of the first lessons taught to us was Grandpa’s WORK ETHIC. Many years ago, Grandpa purchased a marvelous new baler. This baler had the unbelievable capacity of putting out 1500 bales per day. With this miraculous machine, he did custom baling all across southeastern Ohio for many different farms. He was able to earn 10 cents a bale for his hard labor and this was excellent money for the time. I don’t think Grandpa ever had a baler after that that could put out as many bales! I was not around when Grandpa was custom baling. But, what I remember was the Farmall B! Now you may remember his Farmall M or the Massey Harris, but the B is the one that I loved to ride with Grandpa! What a thrill for a city girl! I remember its strong loud engine, its hard seat and it’s knob on the steering wheel that helped you to turn – but what I loved most was the man who sat behind me, guiding me through the fields on those summer days! I think everyone of his children and grandchildren remember that feeling! Or maybe they remember their age the first time he let them drive the tractor by themselves! I know Grandpa taught me to drive on the International Cub lawnmower and I know that I was only 2 the first time he let me cruise the front yard (with the mower blade up, of course)!
I was so proud that my Grandfather was a farmer! My dad tells me that he always had a difficult time plowing a straight furrow. But Grandpa could hop on and make a couple of passes and have that slightly bowed furrow just as straight as an arrow again! Grandpa’s furrows were always as straight as an arrow- it was a matter of pride to him and through this, he taught us to have PRIDE in our work.
Grandpa once taught me a lesson about my own stubbornness! Each morning, we would go out to the chicken coop and gather the fresh eggs. Grandpa was always gentle and patient with me – even when I insisted that I was old enough and big enough to carry all the eggs back by myself to the house. Well, Grandpa was right and I was wrong. I didn’t even make it halfway back to the house when I dropped them all by the corn crib and broke every one. I guess Grandpa was smart enough to let me teach myself a lesson.
Grandpa could do anything! He was always an excellent athlete. During the summers, Grandpa would often take a break from farming and play pitch and catch with Tommy and Frankie. My dad tells me that he remembers how, even at age 44, Grandpa could throw one mean curve ball! Now this was an accomplishment for someone even twenty years younger!
I know that all the grandkids will remember Grandpa teaching us how to fish with the old bamboo pole out on the pond. I know that he always gave me a break, maybe because I was a girl, and he never made me put the bait on the hook! Yes, Grandpa always took the time to play with us! But, Grandpa was also a strict disciplinarian. Many of you may remember him telling you to pick out your own switch when you had been particularly bad. But his discipline taught all of us about his morals and his sense of right and wrong. Grandpa, together with Grandma, raised 4 wonderful children – Tom, Frank, Pat, and Vince. Through his discipline he taught each of these children how to raise their children. For his discipline, I know that each of his children had RESPECT for him.
Last night, I was talking with Vince. He reminded me about another aspect of Grandpa.
Grandpa did not have a prejudiced bone in his body although he lived in a very prejudiced world. This did not extend only to a person’s color or creed. Grandpa accepted everyone just as they were with open arms. This is probably one of the most important aspects that we should remember and emulate.
Grandpa had a very good life! He spent almost 60 years with an incredible woman, my grandmother, Christine. They raised a family full of LOVE. I will never forget all the summers, Easter and our Easter egg hunts, Christmas and especially Thanksgiving when we all, as a family, came back to the farm to live, love and laugh. His voracious will to live kept him with us through 3 heart attacks and chronic emphysema. Most of all, Grandpa taught us to enjoy the simple pleasures of life – like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, making Farmer Specials, Louis Lamore books, the smell of freshly cut grass, and … on a calm summer evening, listening to the corn grow.
And I, for one, am happy to have my Grandpa as an angel, reminding me to stop . . . . .
and listen to the corn.
Note: I did not edit the actual content of this eulogy before publishing. I felt it best to publish the piece exactly as I typed it on that morning, fourteen years ago, through a veil of tears.
