My grandfather's eulogy
Celebrating the life of a well-loved man
Last week, I wrote about what to wear to my grandfather’s funeral.
On Saturday, 90 of Charles William Shackelford’s family and friends gathered in southern California to celebrate his life. Here is the eulogy I gave for my beloved Grandpa Chuck at his memorial.
In, 2019, I asked my grandfather to tell me the story of his life. Here’s what he said:
“Baby of the family. Youngest of six boys and two girls. Preschool and high school in Superior, Arizona. Graduated at 17 and shortly thereafter joined the Navy. I got out before I was 21—what they call a minority cruise—and I was in construction working with a lot of off-duty firemen. They kept trying to get me to sign up for the fire department, which eventually I did. So that was the greatest thing I ever did. I put in 28-and-a-half years, and I’ve been retired for 30 years. That’s about the story.”
Of course, he left a few things out.
He also delivered two babies into this world, mentored young firemen, and helped save many lives throughout his long career in public service. But his life’s true devotion was to his loving wife, four children, five grandchildren, six great-grandchildren, seven siblings, many nieces and nephews, and many, many friends.
From the moment I entered this world, my grandfather taught me so much about love. Growing up, there was nowhere I’d rather be than my grandparents’ home in Bellflower, California.
Do you remember the time you felt safest in this world? I do. It was when I was wedged between my grandma and grandpa as a kid, sleeping the kind of deep, peaceful sleep of a child who knows in her soul that she is loved and cared for.
I distinctly remember driving around in my Grandpa’s gray Cadillac as a kid. Every time, he’d hand me the giant map book and say, “Okay, Jilly Bean, tell me where we’re going.” I don’t think I was a very good guide, but my grandpa certainly was for me.
When Grandpa was at my house, which he often was, he was usually climbing up a ladder or stuck halfway under the kitchen sink. I watched him work side by side with my mother on countless home improvement projects over the years. He helped me build a wooden car to race for a school project in the third grade, then did the same for my sister. My grandpa always showed up when we needed him.
My grandpa and I have always shared a love of computers. He’d spend hours online tracking the stock market, a habit he maintained all his life, and I’d beg him to let me play pinball and Minesweeper on his ’90s desktop. He’d always let me.
By the way, if you’re looking for some unsolicited investment advice, my grandpa would tell you three words: “Invest. In. MAIN.”
I know my grandpa wouldn’t mind me telling you his market secrets because everyone here knows he was incredibly generous. He was so good-natured and easy to talk to. He was fun — every time we got together we played cards and danced to Patsy Cline songs. He was charismatic, even at 91, easily making new friends and cracking jokes to make nurses laugh. And he had a wonderful, easy laugh of his own, one that sparkled all the way to his soft blue eyes.
One of my favorite stories my grandpa ever told me was one where he showed his mischievous side. He joined the Navy at just 17, so he was still a very young man after he finished his training. A bunch of the Navy guys were gathered in San Francisco before they shipped out. Grandpa was soon to be on his way to Hawaii. He was in his uniform marching with his company on the way to a day of work. But there was another company walking by that was on their way to have a fun day exploring San Francisco. So Chuck made a split-second decision. He looked left, he looked right, and he jumped out of line and spent the day playing hooky.
You all know whenever you asked him “How are you, Chuck?” He’d say, “Outstanding! If things were any better I couldn’t stand it!” That’s how he approached life—no matter what was going on, he was grateful and humble.
Part of living a life full of love is learning to live with loss, and my grandfather experienced his fair share. Losing his son, Charlie, had a lasting impact on him. Charlie died before I was born, but my grandpa never stopped missing him. I know because he spoke of Charlie often, about how much it hurt to lose him, about the guilt he still carried about what he did or didn't do right as a father.
I asked my grandpa how he healed from that loss and he said: “You never get over it. You think about it all the time. I just decided, I’ve got to devote the rest of my days to the rest of the family—that would be my two daughters and my youngest son.”
That’s exactly what he did. I watched him love his wife, my beloved grandma Betty, for 53 years. He took care of her during the last years of her life, and he was there by her side until the very end. And after she died, I watched him mourn her.
Then, I watched him fall in love again at 77 years old. He reconnected with Donnie, a high school flame, and he was like a teenager again, giddy with joy and wonder. Their love helped to show me that great love can enter our lives at any age, and to always remember to keep my heart open.
They moved in together in Florence, Arizona, and lived some very happy years. And when Donnie got cancer, he was right there by her side too. He told me they would do daily bible studies together, and after she told him she had never been baptized, he called a pastor to baptize her.
He said, “We had a regular little church service there and I had communion right in our house. If you can save one soul, that’s worth it.”
Grandpa kept his Lutheran faith prominent all his life. He sent his kids to Good Shepherd Lutheran and took them to church and Sunday school every week. After he retired, he spent a lot of time volunteering for the church helping them with all the maintenance they needed. He’d always tell me he was praying for me.
I was lucky enough to spend a good amount of time with my grandfather during the final years of his life, even though we lived in different states. I got to hold his hand and listen to so many of his stories during those years.
Over one Thanksgiving that I spent with my grandpa and mom in Florence, Arizona, I sang all of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” and danced while my grandpa laughed and recorded the whole thing. The next morning, before any of us had gotten out of bed, I could hear him down the hall rewatching the video of me singing. It felt like getting a secret peek into how much he loved me.
I last visited Grandpa about a month before he died. Even in those tough and fearful moments, my grandfather was full of grace and gratitude. He held my hand and looked into my eyes and said, “I’m 91. I’ve lived a long life. I had two wonderful women by my side and great kids. This is the end of the line and I’m ready to go.”
I wish for every single one of us to be so lucky.
My friend Juls’ dad has delivered the eulogy for several loved ones. Here are some great tips he gave me that helped me pen my grandpa’s:
-simple, not too long, 5-10mins
-want to make people laugh and cry
-tell 3-4 stories
-stories to help illustrate the principles of the person, great if you can tell a funny story that demonstrates a serious point
-can share how important they were to you
-end with your take away/points people should remember them byOh, one more: bio. Some folks go way too deep bio, 15-20 minutes detailing life and all of someone’s many accomplishments. Not me, I prefer to go very light on bio specifics—I’m there for stories and tying their life to God, not educating the unfamiliar how great someone was. Those details can go in a program or memorial card.
Lovely Jillian. Great job! I’m so proud of you honey. Love you! Momma