My grandfather passed away early this morning.
For my entire life, he has been my only living grandfather. When grandfathers are spoken of in tales and stories, his is the only face that I see. Because of this, with his passing, I feel a hollow emptiness that I did not expect and cannot fully express.
This comes as a surprise to me because in many ways, although I am ashamed to admit this, I have thought of my grandfather as already being gone. The man I saw last summer, so greatly diminished, bared little resemblance to the grandfather from my memory. It did not help that on the last occasion that he spoke directly to me he said things that were … unkind. Although he said my name, he was not fully aware of his surroundings and was blaming me for something imagined. I had a hard time being in the same room with him after that, and I regret that.
It’s just that he was gone. Gone was grandfather who patiently explained strategies in cards and Monopoly (the later, primarily to help topple my father), who took me fishing on silent misty mornings with only poles, bait, and a bag of donuts (he let me take a bag of day-olds rather than just pick one fresh one), who encouraged me in all of my performances, who spoke with me on quiet evenings, and who on one memorable night gave advice about girls to a rather squirmy teenager. I hate myself for not wanting to see him in his weakened and confused state, for basically abandoning in his weakness he who had been a source of strength for me. Perhaps, then, I deserve his last tirade at me.
It’s not like I hadn’t seen him angry at me before. Ask Tom, Dawn, Chris, Cory, April, and Jennifer about the hole we put in his basement wall. While the wrath of my father was a major concern, I don’t think that I had ever seen and heard Grandpa so angry. We gladly walked around the block several times after that encounter.
I hated disappointing him and loved gaining his praise. I’m reminded of a ballet (yes, ballet) recital of mine and Jennifer’s that he and Grandma (for aside for some fishing trips and squirm-worthy talks, the two were usually a package deal) attended. I had a particularly small and light partner who I could toss into the air probably higher than I was supposed to without much effort. Even after my parents explained to him how tiny the girl was, he still made a point to compliment me on my feat of strength.
My strength feels drained from me now. My great solace in this is that he and Grandma are together again. If there’s one thing that I fully learned from him--from them--it is what marriage truly means. It fills me with deep joy that the two of them are now together, complete, watching over us and helping to protect us. We couldn’t ask for better guardian angels.
For my entire life, he has been my only living grandfather. When grandfathers are spoken of in tales and stories, his is the only face that I see. Because of this, with his passing, I feel a hollow emptiness that I did not expect and cannot fully express.
This comes as a surprise to me because in many ways, although I am ashamed to admit this, I have thought of my grandfather as already being gone. The man I saw last summer, so greatly diminished, bared little resemblance to the grandfather from my memory. It did not help that on the last occasion that he spoke directly to me he said things that were … unkind. Although he said my name, he was not fully aware of his surroundings and was blaming me for something imagined. I had a hard time being in the same room with him after that, and I regret that.
It’s just that he was gone. Gone was grandfather who patiently explained strategies in cards and Monopoly (the later, primarily to help topple my father), who took me fishing on silent misty mornings with only poles, bait, and a bag of donuts (he let me take a bag of day-olds rather than just pick one fresh one), who encouraged me in all of my performances, who spoke with me on quiet evenings, and who on one memorable night gave advice about girls to a rather squirmy teenager. I hate myself for not wanting to see him in his weakened and confused state, for basically abandoning in his weakness he who had been a source of strength for me. Perhaps, then, I deserve his last tirade at me.
It’s not like I hadn’t seen him angry at me before. Ask Tom, Dawn, Chris, Cory, April, and Jennifer about the hole we put in his basement wall. While the wrath of my father was a major concern, I don’t think that I had ever seen and heard Grandpa so angry. We gladly walked around the block several times after that encounter.
I hated disappointing him and loved gaining his praise. I’m reminded of a ballet (yes, ballet) recital of mine and Jennifer’s that he and Grandma (for aside for some fishing trips and squirm-worthy talks, the two were usually a package deal) attended. I had a particularly small and light partner who I could toss into the air probably higher than I was supposed to without much effort. Even after my parents explained to him how tiny the girl was, he still made a point to compliment me on my feat of strength.
My strength feels drained from me now. My great solace in this is that he and Grandma are together again. If there’s one thing that I fully learned from him--from them--it is what marriage truly means. It fills me with deep joy that the two of them are now together, complete, watching over us and helping to protect us. We couldn’t ask for better guardian angels.
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