Eulogy for My Grandfather

Good morning friends and family.

My name is Andrew Eoghan O’Riordan, son of Michael Robert O’Riordan, grandson of Eoghan Francis O’Riordan. Grandad, here are my last words for you.

You were born on 4 September 1927, Cork City, Irish Free State. You were never supposed to be Eoghan. Your mother wanted you to be Ignatius, an awful name, but your Uncle Eugene changed the name on the birth certificate, and named you after himself! Your mother was royally pissed, but what could she do? On this day, before the Great Depression, before World War II, before many of the defining events of modern history, you were born, and so began your 84 year life.

Your life was rich, varied, and unusual. To summarize it here would do an injustice to such a full life. You were so many things to so many people: Grandson, son, brother, cousin, uncle, husband, father, colleague, friend, grandfather. I can’t speak to all of those.

However, I carry your name, your blood, and, truth be told, a lot of your personality. I can speak as your grandson. Here are ten ways you and I are alike.

1.We are both avid readers and students of history. I majored in history at University. You read Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. (You knew the minutia of the Roman Empire, and you could quote many of the Caesars offhand).

2. We both learned other languages (Your knowledge of Gaelic Irish was sharp until the end. I can’t say the same about your Spanish).

3. We both had idyllic childhoods. You wrote of summer months in the country riding bicycles, playing soccer, chasing girls, trying to get home in time for tea, stacking and raking bales of hay at the Cashman farm, attending village fairs where you would bob for apples and play pin the tale one the donkey. You treasured these sweet pastoral memories. You were happy at home with your two sisters, Carmel and Vera, and you were happy again at your boarding school in Rockwell on the Cork-Dublin road.

4. We share a deep and enduring love of the sea (You rowed crew in University, picked up sailing in New England, and became a yachtsman in Southern California. Sure, you crashed a fiberglass boat in Rhode Island, delegated Captain’s duties to whoever would take them, and never learned to swim, but your love for the ocean was real).

5. We have both sought our fortunes in shores far from home. (Your life’s journey took your from Ireland to England to Germany, from Massachusetts to Vermont to Arizona, and eventually to La Paz, Mexico). Incidentally, you claimed your happiest years were spent here in Fall River, from 1962-1974.

6. We are both writers. You wrote me a book called “Hints on Living for a Young Person,” distilling your life experience into hilarious and genuine advice on how I might live a good life. You also wrote poetry, stories, and a 200 page autobiography.

7. We are both random travelers. I remember when I would come visit you in Scottsdale as a little boy, and we would set out on three day road trips. You said we could go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. I got to choose the restaurants, the hotels, the movies, the arcades. You made me feel like the king of the world. Even when I would drag you to McDonald’s breakfeast instead of the International House of Pancakes, you would take me where I wanted to go.

8. We have both lived in developing countries. You spent the closing decades of your life in La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico. While there was a high standard of living there for Mexico, there were plenty of things about it that would have made me crazy. The dogs. The heat. The inefficiency. But somehow you found contentment amidst the chaos. You focused on simple things and you found your peace.

9. We are both Dream Chasers. Your dreams were many. You chased the American Dream across the Atlantic to Massachusetts, and you made good on that dream by building a life for your family. You concocted a different dream later in life, when you bought a boat, named it Dream Chaser, and on January 30th, 1993, pointed it south for the tropics, despite the fact that you couldn’t sail or swim. You aimed to sail around the world, or at least the Carribean, but you pulled in at the first safe harbor, and stayed for the final twenty years of your life.

10. We are both Irish citizens, and we both love the home country. In 2006 you and I took a road trip up through the West Coast of Ireland. We blasted Irish songs on the radio, took countless roads to nowhere, and soaked in the endless greens of the incomparable Irish summer countryside. I threw a surfboard in the car and got a few waves along the way, until one day, after three hours looking for a wave in County Donegal, you looked over at me, and said, “You know? This search for waves is a PAIN IN THE ASS!”

The list could easily continue, but I’ll let it rest there.

My relationship with my Grandfather was never very complicated. He showered me with love and affection when he was in the U.S., and in some ten visits to Mexico over twenty years, we always enjoyed our time together. As in every life, some of his other relationships were more complicated. His decision to sail away to Mexico in his twilight years did not sit well with many of us. He definitely left a mess behind him, and it fell upon his children and his relations to clean it up. Though he gave me everything as a grandfather, he was not a perfect man.

But today, on this final day of honoring Eoghan O’Riordan, we remember the good. We remember the intelligent student who worked devotedly in Rockwell Boarding School, and at University College Cork, to become a Medical Doctor of Anesthesiology. 

We remember the new immigrant to Massachusetts who paved the way for his children and grandchildren to live and thrive in this blessed country. 

We remember the husband and father who provided a safe, abundant, and prosperous life to his wife Anita Johnston, and his five children: Michael, Steven, Karen, Brian, and Sean. 

We remember the man who became politically active when his son’s number came up in the Vietnam draft. 

We remember the member of Alcoholics Anonymous who stopped drinking on March 18, 1966, and maintained his sobriety as a cornerstone of his existence. 

We remember a charming, funny, and hardworking man who shared joyful moments with most everybody in this room. We remember the man who changed the fortunes of O’Riordan family, lifting us from a frugal existence in West Cork, transporting us to America, and providing opportunities for our family to improve our lot, largely because of his intelligence and hard work.

I cannot forget you, Grandad. I carry your name, first and last, inside my own:Andrew Eoghan O’Riordan.

I also carry your legacy. As the only male heir to emerge so far (It’s not too late for another child Sean. . .), the O’Riordan branch that stems from Eoghan will hit a cul-de-sac in the family tree unless I can produce some boys. I’m working on it, Grandad.

Grandad, I remember you fondly. I miss you immensely. For me, you were a perfect grandfather. You wrote me letters. You remembered my birthdays.When you lived in the United States, you would host me for long weekends. You gave me all the love I could have asked for.

I was with you three weeks before you died. I stayed with you in La Paz. You were weak and tired. Your hip was already cracked. I would lift you out of your chair, carry you to your bed, bring you diet cokes from the refrigerator. You would take many naps, and I would sit with you. We got our hair cut together at your friend’s house. She shaved my head completely, and she trimmed back the disheveled grey mop of hair you had going. When I was with you, you were happy, gracious, and kind, as always. You said that you had lived a full life, that you had regrets, but that you had been given more good fortune and happiness than you could ask for, and that when the time came, you would be ready to go.  I was not ready for you to go.

Grandad, I am your legacy. I am your Grandson. I am Andrew Eoghan O’Riordan You could not have been a better grandfather than you were. My blessing to you now is one you once told to me, and with this I will conclude:

May the road rise with you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the rain fall soft upon your fields,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,And until we meet again,

May the Lord hold you in the hollow of his hand.