A Tribute To Grandpa Breen

Grandpa said right before this photo was taken, "Alright, my first selfie!" Winter 2016

Grandpa's hands. I thank God for them. Grandpa's hands have carefully carved out thousands of intricate, yet sturdy pieces of wood which are placed carefully around each of my family members' households. Some of us sit inside walls that he built, others can look at those walls and see beautiful frames he's carved out from old barn wood, which carefully hold our families legacy inside the four corners surrounding that moment in time. Still others, will hold a carved out wooden toy, sit at a desk, open wooden drawers, place items on his shelves, and walk across wooden floors that grandpa's hands have wisely molded together to create for us a home. To sit and reflect on each masterpiece he's created leaves a grieving family member in grateful awe at his talent. After 32 years of life, I still have in my possession the dresser he built when I was a baby. This dresser has made it through every move from college and beyond. I have no need for a diaper changing table; it folds out so cleverly from the top, and at first glance one might not know this dresser is made for a baby. But the old squeaky drawers, the markings and dents, and the way it doesn't quite fit with any other furniture I own, are what gives it its sentimental value to me. It was made from grandpa's hands. 

At home, out in my parents back yard sits a "playhouse" he built, that his grandchildren and great-grandchildren have spent their childhoods peaking their eager little heads out of the windows, and have had countless picnics inside over the last 20 years. In our basement sits the dollhouse I received for Christmas as a child from grandpa. I spent hours in front of that house, which he built using kitchen tile and bedroom carpet from he and my grandma's own home. I used to force my brothers to play with me as long as I promised to allow them to play with the GI JOE "barbies" and farm trucks for transportation; so my barbies were in fact either farmers or enlisted in the military. A trophy case in my old bedroom holds all my medals from sporting events; he thought I should proudly show them off. Grandpa's hands are everywhere. There's not a room in our house that doesn't hold a piece of wood that he carefully sanded down and finished. 

I could go on for paragraphs on all the items he's built for us over the years, but instead I will parallel his talent with the family that remains to grieve his loss. Because what is even more amazing than his handiwork is the family he and my grandmother have created and molded, the living and breathing souls that have impacted so many lives because of two people's decision to unconditionally love each other. Their existence is the reason for ours, and now the reason for our grieving hearts.

Grandpa's heart. His heart, although physically began to give him trouble in his later years, was a heart full of unrestricted love for his family. His heart was wrapped in humility and forgiveness, and a quiet but loving presence. In his later years, I enjoyed how his heart grew to allow his humor to take over conversations; a little less reserved and a beautiful discovery in realizing he was a comedian. Always making jokes, and giggling like a child. Memories I cherish.  

Most if not all of my memories from childhood, and home, involve him in some way. Grandpa was home, grandpa is home. I was in fact the reason he first earned his title as grandpa, and he has been the only grandpa I've known my entire life. Milestones, holidays, birthday parties, vacations, are all filled with grandpa's presence. And some of my favorite memories are just sitting and having lunch or dinner with grandma and grandpa, the three of us talking about life over food.

I can't help but to think how incredibly perfect it is that he was a carpenter. My two other favorite carpenters are Jesus and his father Joseph. Joseph was not mentioned much in the bible, and I'm sure that's because he too was quiet, simple, disciplined, and faithful to his mission. Joseph had one mission, to take care of Mary as she brought our Savior into the world. As that mission extended into Jesus's later life, he taught him to carve wood, to build, and to provide for his mother. We aren't exactly certain of much in Joseph's life, or even his time of death, but we are certain he fulfilled his duty of taking care of his wife, and raising a son who honored his family and his Father. 

I can be certain grandpa too, fulfilled his mission on earth. Although my talks with him never delved into deep spiritual conversations, it was his quiet and disciplined example that I admire. A simple man. A man of routine. A man filled with goodness. An even temper; I don't believe I ever witnessed him angry or heard a curse word uttered from his lips. A man who never complained if he was struggling. A man who created a check list every morning of the tasks at hand, and found joy and purpose in checking each of them off. A man who loved nature, sunshine, and took pride in his yard work; the best gardener I've ever met. Three plants traveled with me to Florida that were taken from my grandpa's plants at home, which we potted together several years ago. I know the next time I bite into a fresh tomato or cucumber I will smile thinking of grandpa coming in from his garden with his prized vegetables.  

He was a man who loved history, and never missed a moment to relate whatever conversation that was being had to a moment in time long ago. He loved to tell stories about all the hundreds of books he read, or stories he'd discovered in the weekly newspaper articles. He would never be the center of attention at a family gathering, but the man who brought the turkey to the table at a thanksgiving meal and sat quietly with a smile while observing his grandkids giddy with excitement to dig into the feast grandma had prepared. As a grandchild, I hung on every word he spoke as he was either spouting off knowledge or poking fun at grandma in only a way grandpa could do. The banter that arose between them in many conversations was so sweet to witness. A quiet humor, a pure humor, a love between them that to me was perfect. Grandma and Grandpa fit together like no two people I've ever known. Prideful was not a word I'd use to describe him. But he became proud as he was discussing each of his children and grandchildren. I knew this because in my frequent visits, most of the discussions involved talking about his family and what each member was up to that week. He loved to hear about his family and their achievements, and listen in laughter to the funny things his grandchildren would say. 

Each member, now left to grieve his loss. A major loss in our family. Our patriarch. But each member left with an example of a man who lived a wonderful life. And each member, comforted knowing his heart, no longer physically struggling on earth, is with our Lord and at its absolute fullest. My hope is that St. Joseph and Jesus greeted him with the finest, shiniest saw, and the absolute best pieces of plywood, and said, "We were waiting for you to help us finish your room." And now they are finishing it together. My hope is that now, the three of them are painting the room, after placing in the drywall so perfectly; no need to measure in heaven. My hope is that this carpentry project is indeed his best creation yet, because he was working alongside our Lord and St. Joseph; his room for eternity. My hope is that the three of them have created the perfect room, and have made a perfect place just next to him, for Grandma to join him someday. 

When I accepted my first head coaching position, one of the last conversations I had with grandpa before my departure was full of some great advice. The advice went like this:

"Well Megan, just remember, coaching in your first few years will be much like flying a kite. The wind will blow and you'll be able to let out some string and the kite will soar high for a while, and then the wind will die down and the kite will drop again. It will go up and down, up and down, and you'll have to continually reel the kite in, regroup and let it go again. You just can't get discouraged when the kite drops, because it will eventually fly again. Never give up in those times of struggle, kites are meant to fly."

And so grandpa, I'll be taking your advice now, in this time of struggle and pain; because kites are meant to fly. 

Love always,

Megan