In Celebration of the Life of Rose Tenner,
as delivered by her grandson, Michael Alan Tenner
As most of you who knew Rose could attest, despite her old school ways, she loved to shock you by telling off-color jokes. So, often when I would ask her how things were going, Rose would respond, “Between dishes and douches, a woman’s work is never done.”
Well, Grandma, your work is now done. And, if anyone ever deserved a long, peaceful rest, it is you.
I am 49 years old. And, while I knew my grandmother for my entire life, I only really knew half of hers. So, for this reason and several others, the limitation of language, the jaded nature of adulthood and my own personal shortcomings, I stand here today knowing that I will do a very poor job of representing to you how great she truly was and what a huge loss my family has suffered.
In order to convey the sheer length and breadth of her life, I could remind you of all the events she lived through: the invention of the car, airplane, television, and the computer; World War I, Prohibition, the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War, Vietnam and the Civil Right s Movement, to name just a few. But, that would only serve to bear witness to her longevity, which, while breathtaking, does not really tell you what made her amazing.
And this is where I fall short. I can not find the words to demonstrate the simple, yet complex way in which this uneducated woman, who never drove a car in her entire life, was, and will remain, the center of our family.
I could tell you about a time in her life, probably her darkest hour. In 1977, her husband, Sam, died suddenly. He was the one true love in her life. She was devastated. This occurred at the same time that I was graduating from High School, which was a challenging time in my own life. And, so, under the guise of helping my grandmother get over her grief, I moved in with her. And, while I am sure having me to care for helped her deal with losing my grandfather, the stability and love she provided me, despite her own heartbreak, gave me a second chance in Life.
But even stories like that don’t begin to convey the scope of her life. Tenner’s Dress Shop was a landmark in the San Fernando Valley for four decades. Rose and Sam worked side by side to make that business a success, all while raising two young boys, my father, Jim, and my Uncle Stanley.
A key attribute that my grandmother possessed was the ability to relate to most anyone,
regardless of their race, age, religion or status in life. She remembered and treated them all the same way, with respect and dignity.
Each of my friends who met her got the same treatment. Pointed questions about their lives that, if asked by anyone else, would have been considered rude. But, when Rose inquired, you answered and told the truth. Somehow, you knew the questions were asked out of genuine interest or concern, and not to belittle or to embarrass.
Two of my friends held a special place in her heart. She loved Tim and Danny for all they meant to me. She had a lot of empathy for Danny because he is in the Clothing Industry and she knew how hard that business is. And she knew that, from the age of one, Tim was the brother I never had. She was so happy for him, not because of his success, but because he eventually got the wife and family he always wanted.
My grandmother also had this amazing ability to be both proud and humble at the same moment. So, when accomplishments came to those she loved, whether it was my sister getting married, or raising three wonderful children, or me graduating law school, she always let you know that, while she reveled in your success, she never wanted you to get big-headed or forget that more hard work lay ahead.
The picture of my grandmother’s life would be incomplete unless I mentioned her ability to
cook. Everyone who crossed her path got fed, often and a lot. Rose believed that no meal was complete without three entrees. Out of her minuscule kitchen came enough food to feed everyone for blocks around. I remember going to her house and finding the entire dining-room table covered with food, and she would say, “I made this for you.” As if she fully expected me to consume it all, by myself. And all of this was done without ever looking at a cookbook or a recipe. Chicken soup will never be the same for me.
And the story of my grandmother’s life would surely be incomplete if I failed to mention her long-term “hobby”, poker. How she loved to play that game. Driving her to the clubs was one of my favorite jobs. She would tell me stories of her winnings and losings. In her earliest days playing the game, not very many women played poker, so she was often the only female at the table. When I asked her if that was intimidating, she would say, “No, I was playing with men; they’re so easy to bluff.”
When I met my wife, Shannah, and introduced her to Rose, she instantly accepted her and her entire family, treated her like she was her own granddaughter and demanded that Shannah call her “Grandma”. Which meant that, if Shannah didn’t call frequently enough, Grandma would let her have it, with love, of course. So, when we decided to get married, we did it on New Year’s Eve, because that’s when Rose and Sam got married. We figured if it worked for them...
And, when our daughter was born, we named her Lily, as a reminder of how special Rose was to all of us. And she and Lily definitely had something special. Rose would tell everyone that Lily was better than any medicine the doctors could give her.
Yet, somehow, all of these memories and stories still don’t really tell you who Grandma was. And, as so often happens, it takes the pure, unfettered insight of a child to cut through and see the essence of a person.
On the night Rose died, Shannah was at home with Lily and I was with my Dad and his wife, Joan, and my sister at the hospital. After she passed, I called Shannah. And, before I got home, she had told Lily.
So, when I came in, Lily was there to greet me and she was very sad. She had already written several letters to Grandma to say goodbye and she wanted to show them to me.
We sat down and she began to explain the drawings and what they meant. And then, in one moment I will never forget, she said, “Dad, you know what I’ll always remember most about Grandma?” I said, “No, honey, what?” And she said, “She was never mean”.
In that moment, consumed by my own feelings, I dismissed her thought as the simplistic view of a six year old. But, over the past few days, it kept coming back to me, “She was never mean”. Despite all the hardships she endured, she was never mean.
The ability to remain strong and positive and kind no matter what Life brought her, “never mean”, is at the very core of what made my grandmother the remarkable woman she was. And how I, too, will always remember her.
The above eulogy was delivered in Los Angeles, California, on December 15th, 2008. It is the intellectual property of Michael Tenner and Michael Tenner alone and I am honored to publish it as the first posting on this blog with his permission. Any and all citations, in whole or in part, can only be executed through contact with Michael Tenner. You can reach him through the e-mail address linked to this blog.
This posting will be followed by Losses, Part II, “Going to the Lost and Found”, which explains my decision to post the words of another as the first item on this blog and to begin the year with Michael’s portrait of Rose Tenner’s life. Although I have asked that there be no responses to Michael’s words, out of respect to the sanctity of his eulogy, I will look forward to your comments on my own thoughts in the next posting. Thank you for your interest and your visit.
Posts
