I would like to begin by reading a poem, which I came across on Sunday afternoon after being informed of Grandma’s passing. It’s by Robert Frost and appropriately titled “October”.

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.

We gather here today to honor the life and memory of my grandmother, Marie Christine Nicolette.

Born in 1923 to immigrant parents Christine Marie Schweitzer and Fredrick Steeb of the Black Forest, Germany, Grandma had an eternally optimistic nature and appreciated all the wonders the world has to offer.

Her unbridled passion for life diligently sought solace in the arts. Forever the Renaissance woman, Grandma appreciated literature, theater and music of all kinds, and as a writer herself, produced a prolific collection of personal poetry and, quite often, fantastic fiction. I along with many others here today, owe her an invaluable debt of gratitude for instilling in us an insatiable love of the arts. Grandma, thank you.

After growing up in Maplewood, New Jersey and graduating from Columbia High School, Grandma married my grandfather, Gale Sickles, in 1946. Together they had four precious children: the oldest son, Gary, and three daughters, my mother Chris, Nancy, and the youngest, Heidi.

Grandma was the loving matriarch of our family. With nine grandchildren (Miranda, Sammi, Laura, Missy, Jenny, Beth, Matthew, myself, and Ryan) and two beautiful great-grandchildren (Olivia and Jessie), she taught us all many irreplaceable lessons in life. And although many of her best characteristics and qualities were too rich and complex for me to fully comprehend let alone succinctly encapsulate in a single eulogy, I would like to concentrate on perhaps her most endearing contribution to our family.

The last time I saw Grandma was at my wedding just over a year ago. Despite her already declining health, she insisted on making the occasion, which of course meant the world to my lovely wife Katie and I. In her parting words, as her ride heading to the airport began to pull away, Grandma rolled down the window one last time and commanded me to do one thing: take care of Katie. While I grasped the sentiment immediately, I did not completely understand the scope of her request. But now, looking back on and learning more about here life, I have come to hear what Grandma has been telling us in her own peculiar ways all along: take care of each other for we’re all we have, and as I’m coming to find out with each passing year, it doesn’t last long.

In the past three weeks, as Grandma’s condition continued to deteriorate, I have spoken by phone with Uncle Buzz, Aunt Nancy, Aunt Heidi, and of course, Mom, all of who were by Grandma’s side taking care of her in the end. Though she may have left us for now, Grandma passes not before teaching her children, who in turn have taught us, how to stay together as a family.

In closing, I would like to read a poem by Marie Elizabeth Frye entitled "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep".

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousands winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there. I did not die.