Sad posting
Posted by Patrick on Friday, May 21, 2004Been a time since the last update, and to loyal Rockland-avers, I apologize.
On Tuesday, I left a great session of Kung Fu and headed back to Rockland Ave. The evening ride home from Kung Fu is usually pretty cool, assuming I can dodge the Cone people on 290, who believe that one lane is enough for everyone.
When I arrived home, a received a telephone message from my dad, and so I gave him a ring. He informed me that Martin J. Whelan, my Grandfather, my mother’s father, had passed away. He had been in the hospital for some time now, and his passing was no real surprise… and yet that fore-knowledge was little comfort to me. I guess the cause of death was organ failure or an infection of some kind, but he was 88 years old and really I just think it was his time.
Every guy has a few male role models in his life that have a profound influence on the kind of man he will grow into, whether it’s a relative or a Boy Scout leader or a Rabbi; there’s someone who’s actions you emulate and whose words you listen to with the utmost attention. My Grandfather is definatly one of those guys to me. He was involved in many facets of my life, and many of my earliest childhood memories involve him.
There were road trips to Florida, rides in his Mercury Cougar, sitting with him in his chair when he lived in Natick (in a house he built, because that's just what you did when you wanted a house), listening to dozens of clocks chiming the hour (an avid clock collector and restorer). These are core memories for me. I stayed with him the night my younger sister was born. He was there to greet me the first summer I finished Scout camp. Later in my life, he moved in with my family in Douglas. We assembled radio kits and all sorts of wired contraptions together. He would play his accordion for me, and even bought me an accordion of my own to play.
He remarried and moved out, splitting his time between Florida and the cape. I hope to be so fortunate in my life to have a summer and winter home when I’m gray. Happiness is being cold and knowing that you’ve got a Floridian house to go to when you need to be warm.
He slowed down some after that, but was always good for a story, good for tea, and good for a ride around town. During the last few years of his life, he moved back to Natick, Massachusetts. His health gradually faded, and during many recent visits, I was sure it would be the last time I’d ever see him alive. Some days were better than others, though (and I must assume that this is what the aging process all about: highs and lows). His mind was always there, and I am thankful for that.
For me, there was one last good visit between us, a little less than a year ago. We talked for a good long time, and he spoke in great detail about a gas station he worked at during the 1930’s. When my days are few, I hope to speak in such detail about the 1990’s.
Kindness, humor, and Irish wit flowed in abundance from Martin. I wish I had known him more when he was younger, and I wish I had learned to play the accordion. I am grateful to have known him. The past few days have been difficult, and I know the funeral tomorrow is going to be even worse.
If you’ve read down this far, thanks.
Edit: As requested, the obituary as it appears in the MetroWest Daily news.
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