The past couple weeks have been tough. I’ve had to rely on old coping skills and new ones too. On Wednesday, my grandpa died and it seemed like everything in my world became hyper-focused on that. Maybe his death allowed me refuge from other strife. I was asked by my remaining family to write and deliver the eulogy. As I walked picket lines, lugged kids to arenas, and went about other typical and non-typical tasks, these words lingered in my head all week. As we drove to the funeral Friday night here is where I landed.
To my grandpa. To my grandma. To my mom. To my dad. To my aching heart....**************************
First off, my aunt heather, uncle ray, and uncle gary, Aunt aline, uncle Ken, aunt sue and uncle bob and Diane, my cousins and their families, all want to sincerely thank you for your efforts in being here, not only today but throughout the years. You have filled our hearts with laughter, memories and enduring friendship.
We wish to also take this moment to publicly recognize the staff at Hanover hospital. To the unparalleled compassionate care at Chapman house we thank you from the very bottom of our hearts. We encourage those wishing to memorialize Norman Dempsey Yost to consider donating to Chapman House so that other families can continue to benefit from the amazing care they offer.
As the eldest and best looking grandchild, I’ve been asked to say some words on behalf of the Yost family. about my Grandpa, Dempsey. But before I begin, I have to say that eulogies are impossible. Eulogies are impossible because words simply cannot capture love. I will undoubtedly fail to perfectly articulate the immeasurable and indescribable husband, father, brother, uncle, cousin, grandfather, great grandfather, and friend that he was. For all of us who were blessed enough to know and love my grandpa, the only things that will truly capture who he was are the warm memories that we each hold within our hearts. I consider this a great honour to represent our family for you all today. I'll try to do justice to this larger than life person with such a huge, embracing spirit.
It is an odd thing, speaking at the funeral of the man that has served as the narrator of your lives. In the hours and days since his death, It seems as though many of us have lost our words. I suppose it is because he was the person that provided me with so many of them. Listening to stories it seems as though he's provided many of you with such beautiful memories. So many times over the past few days, as we’ve struggled or hurt or hoped I’ve thought, we should call grandma and grandpa. They’d both get on the phone and jockey for who would have the next word, but they would most certainly help us all to see this the right way. So, together, let’s try to find comfort in the paths we’ve shared as a result of our love for Norman Dempsey Yost.
My grandfather and I had a number of secrets between us. And as I’m learning so did many of you. Many of the secrets, I can’t tell; the salient feature of a secret is NOT the matter contained within the secret, but the personal relationship and trust implied.
But hey whats a few a secrets between a hundred friends and family. I think it’s important that we share in celebration, and because I think that my grandpa won’t mind that we chuckle at his expense, I’ll share one of my close held secrets. My grandfather once told me that he would have liked to have been a teacher like me.
Like I said, it’s a little secret. It’s a little dream. But ever since he told it to me, several years ago now, the image of my grandfather in front of a class, teaching something cool like history, has stayed fixed in my memory. It is something that seems right and true.
Part of this may have to do with the fact that, in a very real sense, my grandfather embodied history to me. I have only just now come to that point in my life where time has loosed itself from its moorings, and memory has begun to develop an appreciable depth. But to me, my grandfather always seemed to have that depth.
We can all remember asking our grandparents about their lives; it’s fascinating to a young person, because here is someone talking about a time and a place that never existed or could exist for that young person. Here, before you, is someone who has traveled through time.
And as you reconstruct the past with a grandparent, you also reconstruct the person. My grandfather had always been my grandpa: Older, balding, slightly grumpy, and have that perpetual grandpa smell.
But he was also once a child, born in Hamilton, Ontario to Earl and Meta Yost.
He shared in recent months that he loved to play baseball, hockey, and lacrosse with his childhood friends, most of whom remained lifelong friends.
He shared, with pride, with work ethic, starting working on farm then entering the workforce in high school. He started at the hosiery Mill, Ontario hydro, PUC and as the volunteer fire chief in Hanover . I remember seeing my grandpa in his dress uniform and being so proud. At about 17 Norman Yost was given the nickname Dempsey after, Jack dempsey, the boxer. Truth be told I always knew him as and I think many of you recall him the same way, Dempsey. You see, he was a bit of a fighter when he was 17 or 18. He was offered a chance to box In Hamilton but Great Grandpa earl insisted that he lay roots In Hanover with the family and that is EXACTLY what he did.
What resonates with me is that grandpa lived from a place of service, hard work and dedication in all that he did. And reflecting on his legacy I look at his 5 children and 9 grandchildren and can’t help be be struck by the fact you have all lived up to his legacy by always striving for excellence. He was so stinkin proud of each of you, even if I was his favourite.
If I’m being honest, we were all his “second” favourites because his one true love and his ultimate favourite was undoubtedly Gwendolyn Rose Lahr, whom he married in 1951 Grandma and grandpa lived a fairy tale if I’ve ever heard one. Their fairy tale includes .....
- I’ll spare you much of the sappy details but Grandpa would go hunting while grandma waited for her love to return. Upon his arrival she would faithfully pluck each feather from the goose, clean 100 perch, or prepare the deer for the winter freeze.
- The two of them loved nothing more more than having their family together for a holiday. Grandma would slave over a stove for 2 days, making a beautiful meal for the family that seemed to exponentially grow by the month, grandpa would lovingly remind her about the buns and side plates. Such teamwork!
- They worked hard but they played hard also. Lawn bowling, horseshoes, and more than few trips to Niagara and everything in between. They extended their fairy tale to picturesque Mexico, Portugal and the faired tale of the cruise down the reine into Germany. Grampa would say it was so perfect he wanted to take us all. Not to mention their very romantic trips to Fort Eerie to visit his sister Marie, niece Debbie and her boys Craig and David.
- They were perfectly coupled dancers. He would lead his Gwenny through many a dance and even teach Brenda to love the jive. Truly, there is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t give to see my mom and grandpa jive together. For from my moms perspective this was her superhero. Her dad. Now the three of them are dancing together and I find peace in that.
- Their love story included camping on manitoulin, long meandering drives, a close kept parenting secret and the occasional.... Grandma turning off his hearing aids
A place and its history are meaningless unless there is a context in which to place it. The proper context for Dempsey was within his family. How fitting because Families are also the embodiment of history: The individual elements change as the men and women of it pass though time, but the family remains. He had a more expansive definition of family than most. To him, love of family meant extending his embracing arms to include not only my uncle Gary, aunt heather, uncle ken, uncle bob, my mom and his grandchildren, but also of his nieces and nephews, grand nieces and nephews, and friends. Here's where Grandpa breaks the mould, as the kids fell in love he gladly welcomed our loved ones. Even if it meant that aunt heather and uncle ray packed separate suitcases to avoid grandpa finding out they were living together or one of our boyfriends got the glare across the dinner table. His circle of love and caring grew exponentially. Not that I have a biased opinion, but I think he loved his grandchildren most.
My little cousins, Christopher, Cody, Kaitlyn, Riley and Kelsey, Mckenna, Callan and Carson he was so immensely proud of each your accomplishments and couldn't wait to gloat, I mean lovingly share your experiences with the world. When you would score your first goal he would rush to the shop to get your trophies made up. When Christopher and Kaitlyn got married he brushed off his favourite suit and stood shoulders Pack and grinning to get picture with his little ones. When you purchased houses or graduated he’d set to the workshop to make a special keepsake. He was also one to quite literally make your accomplishments town news by placing ads in Hanover Post. Those ads were then carefully clipped and hung on the fridge with pride for decades. He was quite the woodworker. He made beautiful pieces that included TV stands, hope chests, benches and stunning ducks. While he enjoyed the technical aspects of working with hands and was a skilled marksman he was not so technical with the gadgets of today. Each technological advancement that the kids brought home garnered new frustrations; the new phones, the GPS, the fish finders. I fondly recall when uncle ray and aunt heather got grandpa a computer and connected him to the inter web. He just could not figure out how to respond to the emails that were piling up in his inbox. Needless to say the computer didn’t last long. Grandpa enjoyed the simple things in life. Watching a hockey a hockey game whether it be at his personal seat at the new arena or in front of his small TV. Wood fires rather than gas. Paper maps and routes by memory over a GPS; tried and tested fishing holes over fish finders;
He loved to take long meandering drives around town repeating the same stories over and over. It was as if telling those stories took him back to an idyllic place, where all 5 of his kids were together and Gwenny was waiting in the sitting room watching for him to come home. Repeating those stories were his way of holding on with all his might to things and people he held dearest.
But I think I understand part of it now. Your family is more than a historical context. It shapes you and colors you and binds you. You can feel the tangible connections between us, linked through time from the past and fading into the future. Norman Dempsey Yost wanted us to know about those who had acted within his life, because they would play a part in my life as well, if only indirectly, as their attractions pulled at my grandfather during his path through life.
Grandpa loved thing to be just perfectly so. He reveled in perfectly pressed hems,
Perfectly cooked meat, the perfect reviving line and the perfect tone, intonation, and volume of speech. His eye for the very best made us all aim to reach his expectations. As models of his ideals, my aunts and uncles all made it home by curfew, even if the fire phone would expectedly alarm upon their, you know very, punctual but sneaky arrival home.
He was, and through his legacy will continue to be a man of tradition. I remember as a 26 year old coming home with my new baby and giddily waiting in bed for grandpa to ring the bell on Christmas morning. “Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Christmas”. I’m not sure at what age Christopher and I realized it wasn’t really santa, but my 26 year old new mom self believed in every part of that merry Christmas.
He was the man that taught us about masculinity but also Vulnerability. My word, the man could cry at paint drying just right and I think all of us girls sought men that could show that type of vulnerability. His dinner toasts would bring us all to our knees with his heartfelt gratitude for the family and friends that contributed to his great life.
He . Here’s where I may reveal some secrets and grandpa please know I do it out of love and adoration (and the need for a couple of chuckles right about now).
Norman Dempsey Yost was a hunter and angler. On One particular morning as her and uncle gary were returning home from a morning sit in deer season they spotted a large buck walking in the field. Demps came to a sudden stop and uncle gary and him jumped out of the vehicle, Gary losing the fight to get the rifle. Demps loaded up, ran to the ditch, leaned his rifle on the fence post and took aim. Uncle gary waited..... nothing. Click. More nothing. Apparently grandpa had forgotten to take safety off. By that time the buck had escaped inevitable doom with grandpa reminding uncle gary about the inherent trust that comes with a great secret. “Shhhh don’t tell anyone.”
The boys also share another secret of the time that the pesky squirrels were menacing so as any protector would, he got the pellet pistol out and to ensure The air cartridge was ready he readied the pistol, put his finger in front of it .... BANG. Not only was the air cartridge loaded, but there was not safety this time. This secret resulted in a trip to emerg for a quick fix of his finger.
The little kids- the grands kids, myself included, remember the man who taught us if you find the perfect piece of garden hose and copper tubing you can make campfire wood glow with magical colour. That if you come visit grandpa their is always Chapman IceCream, even if the cones cut your mouth to pieces. He taught us that If you just show up every single time your family is there waiting with small glass, a readied table and a listening ear. But the trick is, just show up, no matter how hard it seems.
What a small dream my grandfather had, but what a powerful dream as well. I look at most of you now through mt grandpa’s eyes and memories. Who you are to me must spring from the foundation of knowledge he gave me, from the sense of history that he tried to instill within me, about you. It is a good foundation, a good history, and my grandfather’s life was a good life.
His small inconsequential dream of teaching, although he didn’t know it, came true in each of us. It is a history that is still living, as we compose its elemental parts, as we create our world in our own time, linked together and stronger for it. And stronger for having lived in and of his legacy.
Thank you grandpa for your lessons. We love you, and honor you. And as befits a teller of history, I shall not forget him and I beg that you won’t either.
We love you with all we’ve got, Sweet lips
