Tom Combellick

Eulogy by Robert Christian 9-8-18

My grandpa Tom Combellick had the single most gifted mind of any person I’ve ever encountered. What’s noteworthy is not simply his raw intellectual abilities, but his lifelong love of learning, thirst for the truth, and his exceptional capacity for hard work. He graduated both high school and college early. He was selected to study at Harvard and MIT during WWII, as part of a program for the brightest young men in the service. He achieved great success in his career and continued to use those gifts in various roles after his retirement. He could recall the central arguments of philosophical texts decades after reading them. He could explain precise details of subjects that didn’t exist when he attended school. In his 90s, he studied particle physics on his own. He had an agile mind that lent itself to clear, precise, nuanced thinking. And he made the most of it.

He also had a genuine love of life. He traveled all around the world; he joined practically every club where one of his buddies was already a member (and inevitably tried to recruit him); he would make friends instantly and fill rooms with laughter and joy; he played sports in college and continued to boom thunderous serves on the tennis court, smash golf balls to the back netting at the driving range, post up kids 6 decades younger on the basketball court, and play bocce ball and pool deep into his retirement, just as he would continue to propel kids across the swimming pool with a signature launch from his knee. He relished these things and so much more.

Yet what was truly most remarkable about him was his extraordinary warmth and capacity for love. It was that love that left so many feeling a special connection to him, that led people to turn to him for comfort and counsel, that inspired his generosity and willingness to help when people needed it the most.  

This loving nature was in part rooted in his faith—to love God and his neighbor with all his mind, heart, body, and soul. He converted to Catholicism as a young man, after examining the faith and coming to believe that it represented the truth.

Eventually, he would become a deacon, a form of service that he loved and found so rewarding. For many years he was a daily communicant and would silently pray with his wife Eunice in the front room every evening. His belief was sincere, deep, and clear-sighted—and it profoundly shaped his life.

He was a man of strong moral convictions. But he had no affinity for legalism. He knew that a Christianity without mercy and forgiveness was fraudulent, an obviously counterfeit faith. So on the one hand, he could challenge affluent Catholics in a homily to do more for the poor and caution them about dangers of consumerism. While on the other hand, he could make those who have felt alienated and isolated feel welcomed and at home once again.

He understood that love should look like love. And he lived that way.

I saw it when he would carry my grandma from room to room when he was in his 80s. I saw it in the joy he brought to loved ones all around him. I saw it in the way he looked at and played with his first great grandchild with such joy and delight and radiating love. I saw it in how he treated people from all walks of life, never confusing a person’s gifts or luck in life with the measure of their dignity and worth. More than anything else, he lived a life of love.    

My grandpa was not a perfect person without any faults. He would never claim to be so. But in choosing to embrace the way of love over and over again, I truly believe that he will experience the communion he helped to build in his life here on earth.

Tom Combellick fought the good fight. He has finished the race. He kept the faith.

Obituary: Dec. 12, 1922 - Sept. 2, 2018

Vigil Reflection by Andrew Christian 9-7-18

I was in the first grade when I still had trouble tying my shoes. At school, we were taught to make two bunny ears but my small hands weren’t dexterous enough to ever tie it that way. When I was at home practicing one day, my grandpa asked me what I was doing. I told him my teacher said I needed to learn to tie my shoes. He gently took the shoe and showed my how he tied his, not using bunny ears but looping the lace around and pulling it through. It took me two times to learn and ever time I tie a knot I still do it the same way he did it that day.  

I am profoundly grateful for the lifetime of memories, experiences, interactions, and conversations with my grandfather. Luck is a word that comes to mind knowing how many people do not get the same chance that I had. My grandfather was many things to many people. He was the closest person I have ever seen to God, he was a mentor, a teacher, a sage, a patriarch, but to me he was just my grandpa.  

My favorite memory of him is when I asked him what his earliest memory was. He told me about when he was just a toddler his great-grandfather took him to see the trains. He told me he remembered the steam, the valves, knobs, and cranks, the sounds of brakes on the rail, and that he could still picture it. I keep this as a sacred memory. A history and a future for me to pass on. While mine are not of trains, they are of him teaching me to golf. Vacations in Hawaii and Cancun. The time just he and I drove to Tucson in the old van and stopped in Palm Springs and swam in the hotel pool in 100 degree heat at dusk. Watching him in his woodshop create toys for my and brothers. Christmas at the beach house. Seeing him experiment with his pizza making hobby including applesauce pizza. It wasn’t very good. Sleeping over at the house on Saratoga Avenue and asking if I could sleep in his bed because I didn’t want to sleep alone. Presiding at my wedding. At the baptism of my children. His imprint on me is inescapable. While no one is perfect, people can be perfect at certain things. And to me, he was the perfect grandfather.