Eulogy for Solomon Stein
By Audrey Beth Stein, Granddaughter
December 26, 2006
When my grandpa was about to lose his leg, I wrote to a lot of my friends and asked them to pray for him. But I wanted them to know who they were praying for. "He's the youngest 95-year-old you'll ever meet," I told them. I sent them pictures of Grandpa in Florida at 93, having just been diagnosed with lung cancer-teaching a folk dance class with a t-shirt that said "don't worry be happy," swimming in the clubhouse pool with my dad, riding the rickety bicycle I could barely keep my balance on. Although I didn't have photos to show, Grandpa also played violin in an orchestra concert during that trip, and he hosted twenty or thirty friends and family members for the lunch on Grandma's birthday he had made a tradition every year since she had died, and when my dad and I flew back up North, Grandpa packed us each a lunch in a brown paper lunchbag, wrapping up chocolate chip cookies and sneaking them into the bags when I wasn't looking.
"Your grandpa is amazing," my friends wrote to me. "He's adorable," they said. "You're lucky to have him," they said, and they were so so right.
There is one moment that stands out most from that trip. My dad and Grandpa and Aunt Evey and I went to the beach, and the four of us were in the water, jumping the waves. Some of them were pretty big and at least once my dad or Aunt Evey had to grab Grandpa so he didn't go under. And I looked over at my grandpa and the pure joy in his face as he jumped the waves with us, and I swear he looked all of twelve years old.
"I'm going to live until I die," he said, and I knew for sure he meant it when he took the brave brave step of choosing an amputation. And afterwards, I heard him say "I'd rather be dead" more than once, angry and frustrated, but his actions belied his words in ways he couldn't fake-asking Aunt Evey to spot him while he practiced hopping across the room, singing along and calling out not one-not two-but three different requests at a rehab center concert, patting my knee affectionately in the midst of playing cards with his roommate, calling Judy to make sure she was watching 60 Minutes.
There are a lot of stories I could share with you about my grandpa, from the violin-playing "happy birthday" calls I would get from him and Grandma every July 8th, to the unannounced AT&T stock from them that showed up throughout my childhood and ultimately helped me through grad school, to the raspberries he grew that my cousins and I would fight over, to the zucchinis Grandpa and I baked into bread together last year. I could go on and on for days, and I'm sure all of you could too.
But there are two things I want to be sure you all know today-the braveness of my grandpa's spirit, and the joyful kid he always was at heart. My cousins and I have been the luckiest grandchildren in the world. I miss my Grandpa Sol, and I'm proud and glad to have his genes. I hope by now he's found out if there's a heaven, and that he and Grandma Hannah are dancing there.