He then told me that he was so proud of how I turned out... and of my compassion. He told me (I don´t remember this) that at one of my birthday parties, I saw that he didn´t take any cake, and I left my friends to offer him some. I was touched that he would remember something little like that, although I did think, at the time, that that story showed absolutely nothing. Of course I would offer him cake... who wouldn´t?
I never felt more appreciated by him until the end, however. When he spent those weeks in our house, and I was already a college student, and well on my way to being a political activist, and by then a well spoken debate team maven, we would have political conversations about everything... mostly immigration, though, of which he was pretty intolerant, considering he was the son of immigrants.
He told me, many times, that he was so glad he had an opportunity to get to know me, and how I thought. He put a really high value on my ¨intelligence¨ and came to me for advice.
One day, he came over the house, very morose. He talked to Mom in the kitchen, and said he didn´t really know why he kept doing it (living) and what was the point in it all? I came down the stairs at that point. He said ¨Oh, there´s Rebecca. She´s smart. She´ll know the answer.¨ He asked me what the secret to life was. I told him that it was 42. He laughed. Then he started doodling on paper. I realized that he was down, and asked if he would like to write notes to each other.
Mom thought it was a great idea. I don´t remember what he wrote... it was fairly trivial. I wrote ¨The secret to life is to live every second of it. Take advantage of all of the time you have, and do what makes you happy. And remember... 42.¨ We exchanged notes, he read his, then did the secret handshake, and ran out the front door saying that he was going to go dancing. He didn´t even stay for dinner!
You were in high school at the time, but can you imagine the University of Virginia police walking into your 250-person lecture hall, and stopping the class to ask for you? How scary that would be? Then, using a payphone to call home and find out that Grandpa was in the hospital? Without the trusty UD police, however, I never would have gotten to the hospital, to be able to sing ¨Darlin¨ with you, and to talk to Grandpa for 20 minutes straight, about what I was doing in school, and how he would be proud. Scott helped me through a lot of that time period. So did the marching band people, and my roommate.
It´s silly to think that he died, though. Yartzeit? Yes, I bawl every year (last year was particularily bad), but to think that Grandpa would stop living is ridiculous. I mean, come on, the guy died with braces on his teeth. And Grandma? She promised that she would look down on us from Heaven, and I have never had any reason not to take her on her word. So, it´s ok. They´re still here. And we wouldn´t be the same without them.
And Jess? If you ever need a hug, like Grandma gives, try Mom. She gives amazing hugs. I asked her how she learned to give such incredible hugs, and she said she must have learned it from Grandma. I hope I learn it from her. I´m sitting here in Spain right now, missing Mommy hugs sooo much.
Last week, many of us said Kaddish for both of them. We praised G-d for being His wonderous Self and ruling the world in the way He does. It helps me to know that we all hurt so much, yet can stand together (figuratively speaking) and continue to praise the G-d of Creation. I praise Him for creating me in the image of my parents and grandparents. And I thank Him for them, and for the opportunity to know them, to love them, and for them to love me.
But yeah... this is getting long. I´m just writing randomly. I´m sorry this is so scattered. I wanted to respond to you, though.
And now... oh, excuse me... RuJu!!!!!! (That comes with a big bear hug, a ¨Jessica, Jessica, Jessica¨ and a secret handshake.)
I never felt more appreciated by him until the end, however. When he spent those weeks in our house, and I was already a college student, and well on my way to being a political activist, and by then a well spoken debate team maven, we would have political conversations about everything... mostly immigration, though, of which he was pretty intolerant, considering he was the son of immigrants.
He told me, many times, that he was so glad he had an opportunity to get to know me, and how I thought. He put a really high value on my ¨intelligence¨ and came to me for advice.
One day, he came over the house, very morose. He talked to Mom in the kitchen, and said he didn´t really know why he kept doing it (living) and what was the point in it all? I came down the stairs at that point. He said ¨Oh, there´s Rebecca. She´s smart. She´ll know the answer.¨ He asked me what the secret to life was. I told him that it was 42. He laughed. Then he started doodling on paper. I realized that he was down, and asked if he would like to write notes to each other.
Mom thought it was a great idea. I don´t remember what he wrote... it was fairly trivial. I wrote ¨The secret to life is to live every second of it. Take advantage of all of the time you have, and do what makes you happy. And remember... 42.¨ We exchanged notes, he read his, then did the secret handshake, and ran out the front door saying that he was going to go dancing. He didn´t even stay for dinner!
You were in high school at the time, but can you imagine the University of Virginia police walking into your 250-person lecture hall, and stopping the class to ask for you? How scary that would be? Then, using a payphone to call home and find out that Grandpa was in the hospital? Without the trusty UD police, however, I never would have gotten to the hospital, to be able to sing ¨Darlin¨ with you, and to talk to Grandpa for 20 minutes straight, about what I was doing in school, and how he would be proud. Scott helped me through a lot of that time period. So did the marching band people, and my roommate.
It´s silly to think that he died, though. Yartzeit? Yes, I bawl every year (last year was particularily bad), but to think that Grandpa would stop living is ridiculous. I mean, come on, the guy died with braces on his teeth. And Grandma? She promised that she would look down on us from Heaven, and I have never had any reason not to take her on her word. So, it´s ok. They´re still here. And we wouldn´t be the same without them.
And Jess? If you ever need a hug, like Grandma gives, try Mom. She gives amazing hugs. I asked her how she learned to give such incredible hugs, and she said she must have learned it from Grandma. I hope I learn it from her. I´m sitting here in Spain right now, missing Mommy hugs sooo much.
Last week, many of us said Kaddish for both of them. We praised G-d for being His wonderous Self and ruling the world in the way He does. It helps me to know that we all hurt so much, yet can stand together (figuratively speaking) and continue to praise the G-d of Creation. I praise Him for creating me in the image of my parents and grandparents. And I thank Him for them, and for the opportunity to know them, to love them, and for them to love me.
But yeah... this is getting long. I´m just writing randomly. I´m sorry this is so scattered. I wanted to respond to you, though.
And now... oh, excuse me... RuJu!!!!!! (That comes with a big bear hug, a ¨Jessica, Jessica, Jessica¨ and a secret handshake.)
TWA BULLSHIT!!!
- Rebecca
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