Eulogy for Hugh McGrade
My name is Gregory and I am Hugh and Camilla’s youngest son. On behalf of the entire family, thank you for being here with us this morning.
My dad lived a long and happy life. Born in Toronto and raised in Schomberg, Dad often shared his memories, his stories of growing up on the farm, north of highway nine. He often laughed at the fact that he was the first of his siblings to be born in Canada. He was a Canadian and he would proudly declare Canada was the greatest country on earth whenever his Irish parents and siblings might be missing Ireland or cursing the snow.
He often told us the story of how he learned to dance and dance well by going to the county barn dances. He’d laugh in delight at the memory of them advertising a fight every Saturday night. Then he’d sing a reel.
When his own father passed away, Dad left school to work on the farm. After a few years, Dad discovered he had absolutely no desire to be a Farmer, so he moved to Toronto. And this would lead him to share his favourite story about how he met Mom.
At the age of twenty-four, while living in the Junction with his brother John, it was suggested to Dad that he start attending the Church dances. So, one weekend at St Anthony’s he met Camilla and they danced. And when the dance had ended he asked my Mom where she lived, and she replied, “I live on the Danforth.” It was customary for the young man to escort the young lady home but since Dad had no idea where the Danforth was he wished her good night and took himself home. He then spent the next week figuring out exactly where the Danforth was and how to get there. The following weekend they met again and they danced and when the dance was done, he happily escorted the lady home. They’ve been dancing ever since.
These last few years, it seemed that Dad would shine brighter when he told this story but now of course it is our turn to remember and to tell a story or two. And where better to begin than with love. Dad loved us. He accepted us on our own terms. He loved unconditionally, if one of us wanted to go to art school or law school or no school, if one of us wanted to get a Master’s Degree or a Mechanics Licence, there were no limits to his support, to his caring, to his willingness to understand, to know us.
And Dad knew how to show his love through Hope, Charity and Humility. I say Hope because Dad was undaunted. Rooted in his faith, Dad faced each day with determination and with confidence that adversity would not hold him back. Dad was born legally blind. He didn’t let that stop him from pursuing his ambitions: boxing, dancing, memorizing the Danforth bus schedule, running his own business, living each day to the fullest. Despite the blindness, Dad searched for and found the love of his life, a family of his own, and all the blessings this life can grant us. And he hoped the same for us. He hoped we’d be true to ourselves, find love, cherish family. And in these last few years, Dad fought his Alzheimer’s with such courage. It seems as though he slowed the progression of this disease by the sheer force of his will to stay present with us, to stay home to look after mom, to keep the family traditions alive. In fact, he was on a cruise ship in the Caribbean last March, dancing up a storm at the disco! Undaunted.
John, Bernie, Marianne, Dan and Pat remember working in the store with Dad and delivering the annual Christmas baskets Dad prepared as part of the St Vincent de Paul food drive.
Dad was Charitable. Whether it was working with the St Vincent de Paul or running tabs for families who maybe couldn’t afford their groceries each week, Dad showed us how to be grateful for what we have and how to be in service of others. He was generous with our curfews on Saturday nights but always had us at church early the next morning.
But his real charity was with his energy and his spirit. Dad believed in celebrations big and small: gathering for evening meals around the kitchen table, Sunday night roast beef dinners. Our family home was an open door to pool parties, birthday parties, anniversaries, engagements, there was always a good reason to be together sharing the blessings of the day. Cruising the high seas with family, Christmas mornings at Havenridge, New Year’s Eve parties, Dad loved it all.
When he retired, the celebrations continued with the birth of his grandchildren. He unfailingly gave his time and energy to babysit, spoil them with whisker rubs, springled donuts, Smarties, life guarding at the pool, and the freedom to break the “rules.” And then later still trips up to the farm for bon fires and ice cream cones and a lesson or two in whistling. He attended hockey games, baseball games, school concerts, graduations, you name it and grandpa was there. He loved them beyond measure.
For all of us, Dad gave freely his labour, his time, his humour, his gentleness and his grit. He spared us nothing.
And Dad was humble. I think he would chid me for this tribute. His gratitude for life was profound. He was so happy, so positive, so aware of God’s blessings. Even through the fog of his Alzheimer’s, Dad’s joy shown through. His trust in God seemed utterly complete.
Eight years ago, we gathered to celebrate Dad’s eightieth Birthday. And he surprised us by announcing that he had a few words to say. We gathered around to hear him read:
I've never made a fortune, and it's probably too late now.
But I don't worry about that much, I'm happy anyhow
And as I go along life's way,
I'm reaping better than I sowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
Cause my cup has overflowed.
Haven't got a lot of riches,
and sometimes the going's tough
But I've got loving ones all around me,
and that makes me rich enough.
I thank God for his blessings,
and the mercies He's bestowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
Cause my cup has overflowed.
I remember times when things went wrong,
My faith wore somewhat thin.
But all at once the dark clouds broke,
and the sun peeped through again.
So Lord, help me not to gripe,
about the tough rows I have hoed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
Cause my cup has overflowed.
If God gives me strength and courage,
When the way grows steep and rough.
I'll not ask for other blessings,
I'm already blessed enough.
And may I never be too busy,
to help others bear their loads.
Then I'll keep drinking from my saucer,
Cause my cup has overflowed.
Today we are gathered together under the shadow of our grief. It’s dark. But we know that with time this shadow will pass and soon we will stand in the warm light of his memory. And we will be joyful ever after.
So we pray, Dad, may you rest in peace and may you continue to shelter us and know our love for you is eternal. Auch ‘eye
Amen.
