Naomi P. Gerrans

May 15, 1922 - December 11, 2014

I was just six years old. In first grade when my dad, just a young man himself, sat me down in my bedroom to tell me that my grandfather had passed away. It’s the first time I can recall seeing my father cry. I cried too.

While I understood death in the only way that a six year old could; I didn’t completely comprehend it. It was difficult to grasp the finality of it. All I knew is that he was just gone and not coming back.

I didn’t attend grandpa’s funeral – looking back, I wish I had but I think age and fear of the unknown kept me from attending.

Today, some 39 years later, we’re all here now attending grandma, great-grandma Gerrans’ service. Today we honor and remember her life.

I didn’t know if someone would be giving a eulogy; I didn’t know if others would be speaking, but I knew that I would. I knew that I must.   Somehow it doesn’t sit right with me that a civil celebrant or a minister (no offence) speaks to the significance of a person’s life that they themselves may not have ever known—or only for an hour on the occasional Sunday.

She was our mother, she was our grandmother; and as her first grandchild—I can speak to the significance she held in my life.

Late last week, after learning that grandma did, in deed, slip away I began pulling out boxes and pictures; and became somewhat frantic searching for one particular letter grandma had written me some years ago. It was a special letter; I kept for safekeeping. I’ve so cleverly stashed it away for safekeeping that I cannot even find it. I wanted to share it with you all today.   Her words in that letter give depth to the kind of person she was. I haven’t found it yet, but found others. I kind of wish I would have kept more. Of all the people in my life—it was grandma Gerrans during all the time I lived away—that wrote me most often. Christmas and birthday cards, always, every year; personal letters quite often.

 I think she’d love texting and Facebook. I know she got a kick out of my iPhone.

We all hold special memories of times with her, of times gone by.  I have forty some years of memories – memories I pray I never lose.

• Just her being there, being around always.