my Siggie

Note: I wrote most of this the week after the funeral, but kept getting all weepy so I couldn't finish it. He actually passed away on March 21. 

Last Monday night, my great-grandfather passed away. I spent most of last week in Troy, MO, where he'd lived for many years, to attend the funeral and be with family. In life, my "Siggie" (so named by my mom because he used to smoke cigars) made a huge impression on me, and that continued in his death.

To say there's no one like Siggie is an understatement. He was a gunner on merchant ships in World War II, and he was a true sailor. As a little girl I used to always ask him to make the hula girl tattoo on his forearm dance. He was the best storyteller in the world. He told stories of the war, his years spent working at Ford Motor Company, stories about my great-grandmother, Nonnie, and stories of pranks he played and crazy situations he got himself into. No matter what story he told, it was a guarantee everyone would be in stitches by the end of it. He just had a way of saying things and of laughing at himself.




At his 80th birthday party. Wearing beer cans upon his head.

  When we started looking through pictures for the video at the funeral home, I realized that you very rarely found a picture of Siggie without one of two things in his hand: a fish or a beer. He loved to have fun more than just about anyone I know, and he succeeded at it. He woke up every morning happy and energetic, and he stayed happy throughout the day. It was unusual to see him not smiling, laughing, singing, or whistling.
Siggie also cared about people. He knew just about everyone in Lincoln County, Missouri (example: Schaeffer and I walked into one place of business and mentioned that our great-grandfather had just passed away, to which they replied, "Is it Hank?"). He was involved in the local VFW and Lions Club, spending time with his many friends. I never heard him say a negative thing about anyone; he was too good-natured. His friends were of all ages and all kinds of social backgrounds, but he could get along with anyone who enjoyed a beer and a good story.



My Nonnie and Siggie in their kitchen


I've heard people say a funeral should be a celebration of life, not a mourning of death. This time, that was really the case. The funeral director, who knew Siggie well, put on some dreary funeral music during the visitation, then realized that this was all wrong. Instead he switched to old country, which felt just right. From the time the visitation started to the time it ended, there was a long line of people streaming in to pay their respects.

The funeral consisted mostly of people standing up to tell stories about Siggie. Some were stories I'd heard my whole life, others were new. But there wasn't time to tell all of them. I've never met a person who's gotten himself into more crazy situations (most of which he also caused). There was crying, for sure, but there was so much more laughter at this funeral. And for someone who spent most of his time laughing, that was perfect.

The VFW and Navy did the military rites at the graveside, which I had never seen before. It was really touching. I dare you to try to keep your composure while someone is playing Taps. After the graveside service, we went back to the VFW hall for food, singing, and dancing. We took Siggie out with a party, just as he lived his life.

I think Siggie's best friend of many years said it best at the funeral. He was too choked up to tell stories about his friend; all he was able to say was all he needed to say: "He was the damnedest guy I ever knew."