My grandmother, Anna Kaempfer, died a few weeks ago. (That's her about ten years ago with my oldest son Tommy.) I wrote this eulogy for her funeral. I hope you don't mind if I share it with you.
Anna Kaempfer was my grandmother. My Oma.
And she lived 93 years.
A long life, through turbulent times, and in difficult circumstances
And those hard times did have an effect on Oma. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone tougher than her.
On the other hand, and my cousin Bob will attest to this—there were times over the years when the real Anna Kaempfer came out.
The whole expression on her face would change as she recounted the stories from her youth, from her days in Rumania. We only ever saw one actual picture from those days…a black and white photograph of the biggest “street” in town…
But Bob, and my sister Cindy, my brother Peter and I, all had vivid pictures of her beloved hometown in our minds from those stories she told. It was so obvious that everyone and everything she ever loved lived in that time, and in that place. She made it sound like heaven on earth.
She would smile. And she would laugh. And for those few moments, when that town came back to life before our eyes, we would see the real Anna Kaempfer.
These past few years as the Alzheimer’s began to take its toll, the memories began to fade, but her hometown never left her. The last time I visited her, just a few weeks ago, that’s where she was.
She told me so herself.
But she didn’t need to tell me. Because I saw it in her eyes when she played with my five-year-old son Sean, who absolutely loved to visit her. And I saw it in her smile.
She was home.
And, Oma, it’s a very short journey from heaven on earth, to where you’re going now. It’s just at the end of that black and white street.
