Purposeful Memorial for Monday 1/7/13

Gone but not forgotten:  Ralph E Neidermyer Sr. (that's him in the photo joining me in an afternoon nap in the first year of my existence -- 1972).

This just seems like a natural fit with my daily-posting-schedule construct, so why not.  And, since it is looking less and less likely that I'll be returning to PA for the service (it's still at an unknown time due to a paperwork snafu, and I have a mostly prepaid vacation that was to have started Wednesday with vendors not being as flexible as I would need them to be), here's my submission for a eulogy:

Ralph was born in the summer of 1923 on Tuesday July 24th to Paul and Esther in Lancaster County.  He was apparently named after his father's brother, which may (or may not) be the reason that he got the nickname "Buddy" when it came to his family.  His father Paul had served in the "other war", as his wife (my grandmother) had called it in her scrapbook, and, with his six other brothers and sisters (two of whom now outlive him), they all survived the Great Depression and, as was customary at the time, Ralph did not finish school and he joined the military and served in the US Army Air Corp when the next big war came around.

He started a family (his first of many) after World War II, and, with a wife named Betty (who passed a few years ago), he had his first set of kids -- a Carol Ann, a Ralph Eugene Jr (we call him Gene), a Glenn and a Clyde (named after someone in Betty's family, which may, or may not, be the reason that he got the nickname "Titus" when it came to all of us).  In my 41 years, I've met them each at least once, and at least one of them many many times, and it is for this reason that I'm able to say that I was already an Uncle at birth, but I simply don't know all of the details of all of their lives.  Thanks to Facebook, I've actually reconnected with a few of their kids (the next generation), and I'm pretty sure now that some of their kids have had kids (the next next generation), which means that Ralph can start to add numbers to the kids, grandkids and great grandkids columns.

That marriage didn't work (note:  this will be a theme), which is sad for them, but good for me, as that allowed a second family to be formed, and soon enough, he was with my mother Mary (who, herself, had been previously married with a child named Bonnie and another one who was literally on the way when her first husband passed -- she would be named Holly) and, together, they had twins (my sisters Sherry and Sharon) and then they decided that they were done with kids (and I'm not saying that having twins had anything at all to do with that decision as I'm sure it's just a coincidence).  But seventies birth control being what it was, combined with the fact that the genetic ancestral heritage of my father's sperm was of the most stubborn obstinate Prussian stock, I decided to be born irregardless of the pesky IUD that was supposed to be in my way.

[NOTE:  It is perfectly acceptable for anyone who has stuck with this story up to this point to now pull out a piece of paper and to start to draw a map.  It may be the only way to not get lost on the journey of Ralph's.]

There were allegedly a few good years in the late 60's and early 70's in Bethel, which included annual visits by a Santa Claus who had the same eyes as Ralph, but who entertained the youngsters in the family in the remodeled and classically paneled basement where this photo was taken (circa '74), and the installation of a backyard pool (work must have been good at the concrete plant and the poultry processing plants where Ralph worked).  Drinking and dancing and even smoking were the adult entertainment rules of the day -- which, in retrospect, may have also been the reason that ...

... that marriage didn't work.  A judge decided that my mom couldn't possibly handle all five children as a single mother in that decade, and so the family was split, and me and my twin sisters went with my dad while my mother was given custody of her children from her first husband.  But Ralph was not deterred, and he went on to create a third family, courtesy of "Parents without Partners" (a pre-internet dating service if there ever was one)  -- in Elverson, PA with a lady named MaryAnn (who, herself, had been previously married with a child named Kevin and a child named Jimmy).  I don't remember all that much of this time other than I know he built a family room on to her house (which included squirrels running through the walls, as the story goes), and that we had a snowmobile that was driven through the winter woods (maybe to scare those darn squirrels) and that I was a "handful" who didn't do well in the blended family, and who spent time at the next door neighbor's house with a really nice older lady (whom I think we called "Aunt Catherine") and whom had allegedly taken my mother Mary's side of the divorce over that of new wife MaryAnn.  But ... guess what ...

... that marriage didn't work.  And it didn't work very quickly, for reasons I don't know for certain, but which may have been related to the long distance travel to work from Elverson to the heart of poultry processing plants in Fredericksburg or it may have been related to the lady he was wooing in that plant.  I'm just saying that my father's fourth family was jump-started when he found out he was having his last child, named Rhonda (who stole my mantle as baby of the family, not that I'm bitter or anything) with a woman named Paulette (who, herself, had been previously married with a child named Paula and a child named Trisha).  So now it's the 80's and now we're all in Jonestown for a minute, and then in Lebanon for my most formative years.

So, as an adult with the benefit of hindsight, it now kind of all makes sense that, by the time he got to these years, he was in his sixties and was definitely finished with kids and was content to spend most of his time away from all of us at work (and let me be clear, we did not necessarily "want" -- so again, business must have been good at the chicken plant to support this really large blended family) -- and so we didn't really get to know each other as father and son.  But I knew where his bedroom was, and I could hear him laugh at episodes of the Jeffersons and All in the Family as he would drift off to sleep, and I could place him somewhere in the house on the weekends (or outside mowing grass in horribly loud shorts with a papertowel headband that did little to stop his sweat, or in his basement or out back shed workshop entertaining himself with projects).  Those facts aside, we weren't exactly any kind of close, and our upbringing was left to his wife, and she and I didn't see eye to eye as the years went on, so much so that I ran away from home (a few times, but for reals in March of 1989 when I was a senior in high school).  He was home that night -- it was just he and I -- and he saw me carrying my three boxes of belongings across rt 422 as I made my escape, and he came to the front door to ask what I was doing.  I calmly told him "I'm leaving ... and I'll be fine.", which was seemingly "fine" with him.

A few years later ... and, true to form, that marriage didn't work.  Ralph, never one to be single for long, soon was married for a fifth time (I declined the RSVP with the message that I was sorry I couldn't attend, but that I might be able to make the next one).  But, finally, old age had settled in and there was no progeny from this coupling (which, by the way, didn't work).  There was retirement ... and there was a new job at Hersheypark ... and there was a lot more Santa Clausing that went on ... and then there was illness and a nursing home and cancer and a wheelchair and hospice and a passing.

There you have it -- 89 years (presented in about 17 times that number of words).  And what does it tell us about this man?  Ralph loved the ladies, that's for sure.  He came from an era where his obligation was to provide for the physical needs of his offspring, which he did without dispute.  And, if nothing else, I got to help take care of some of his final years stuff, which gave me a new perspective into his life.  It's through that lens that I now wish him peaceful resting, and that I now turn to finding a way to put to rest many of the unanswered questions that I have about the life he led, for he did so much in so many years and seemed so happy during and doing most of it.  And that's not necessarily a bad wish for the survivors who might be reading this post.  A long and happy life doing that which you want ... that's my wish for you.

So rest in peace, Ralph, as, for at least as long as this post appears on the interwebs, it is documented that you will be missed.