Wednesday, May 6, 2020
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“Sometimes when somebody loves you
Miracles somehow appear”
—Robert B. Sherman & Richard M. Sherman
My grandfather loved music. Last year, when I asked him what the most important thing he learned about life was, he told me, “Always love music; music is the solace of the soul.”
Did you know he sang on the radio once? I already know the answer is a ubiquitous, “yes.” This was one of his biggest delights. Of course, a prouder delight to him was his family (and Todo). It is no surprise, then, that our closest times were those in which he and I could share in this mutual love of music together—as family. I was his student first, learning the music he played and the stories that accompanied them. Then, when I picked up ukulele and most recently, guitar, I became his musical accompaniment. Although the story of him singing on the radio became something close to a tall tale, he really could sing. He had wonderful relative pitch and always kept up as I strummed along. Sometimes I sang along, too. In the end, I enjoyed being his human jukebox. I would ask him to sing a song over and over again as I searched by lyrics and decade. Each rendition he performed, new words were uncovered bringing me closer and closer to the song until—we discovered it! Together, we were a musical focus finding itself—a well-oiled machine.
I wanted to perform a song at his funeral. “Deep in the Dark” from the animated film Charlotte’s Web was one which he would hum the verses to perhaps since the 1970’s when the film came out. He would hum it until someone would find it and play it. The song feels appropriate, too. It is a lullaby, but also a dark melody—a waltz. Its imagery is lovely but also evokes the greater story of Charlotte’s Web.
Revisiting the film, I realized that it truly was a story of aging, loss, death, and rebirth. Charlotte was getting older and knew that her days were nearly over. And yet, throughout the film, it went unsaid. She knew that there was not much more she could do for herself, but provide a better life to those who would survive her. In the end, she went peacefully and with so much dignity.
My grandfather was much like the eloquent barn spider. All of his days, he worked to make a better life for us—and certainly for myself. Wilbur the pig was always terrified, never knowing what his future would be. Charlotte’s final days were spent ensuring that Wilbur would have a future which would extend beyond her own. In turn, after Charlotte’s death, Wilbur ensured he would carry on her memory and her life lessons—her courage and selflessness. Many of Charlotte’s children left without hearing Wilbur’s stories of their mother, but three remained to listen.
I hope that sharing this life mantra, this story of music, and this song, in particular, would be my way of whispering his words of wisdom to those lingering with open ears, open minds, and open hearts. I will miss him, yet he seems forever present in song and the loving gifts he gave me to pave my way to where I am today. He was “Some Grandfather.”
(718) 761-5544 | 
matthewfh@matthewfuneralhome.com | 
2508 Victory Boulevard, Staten Island, NY 10314
(718) 761-5544
matthewfh@matthewfuneralhome.com