my own writings, grandpa
I hope this is my last entry about my grandfather, but we were very close. My grandfather was an inventor, a fixer-of-everything, and wore himself down with his Puritanical work ethic. He was, above all, one of the best people I've ever had a chance to know, and it was an honor to be his granddaughter.
This is what I wrote to be read at his funeral, read if you would like.
"You live that you may learn to love, you love that you may learn to live. No other lesson is required of you." - Mikhail Naimy
My grandfather did, through his life, show me both how to live and how to love. I used to say of my grandfather with the utmost confidence that he could fix anything when I was small, and I only grew to believe that more as I got older. The thing that I wish he could fix for me is this void that is left without him, and I know that if he could he would invent and patent something to do just that.
Instead, I'll remember what he gave to me the time that I had him here. My grandpa gave to me the faith that I, too, could do anything, and a place to explore and fall in love with the world. Through walks through his woods where we stumbled upon blackberries to be picked and fish to be caught, I fell in love with the world that God had created through my grandfather's eyes. I learned that there is a lot to be said for living quietly, and that every day held a new promise and something that I had not seen before; that not only he, but The World had things to teach me every day if I was ready to listen and to look.
I wish I could catch his spirit in a jar and keep the lid on tight, as we did with the fireflies we caught in the front yard to be with me always, but just as those fireflies weren't mean to be mine forever, neither was he. He coaxed me to let them go, and so I did, and so I have to let him go, too, but not for long, for even better than the wonderland he created here when I was a child, I know he has somewhere better to show me the next time we'll meet. With open hands and an open heart I'll be ready.
This is what I wrote to be read at his funeral, read if you would like.
"You live that you may learn to love, you love that you may learn to live. No other lesson is required of you." - Mikhail Naimy
My grandfather did, through his life, show me both how to live and how to love. I used to say of my grandfather with the utmost confidence that he could fix anything when I was small, and I only grew to believe that more as I got older. The thing that I wish he could fix for me is this void that is left without him, and I know that if he could he would invent and patent something to do just that.
Instead, I'll remember what he gave to me the time that I had him here. My grandpa gave to me the faith that I, too, could do anything, and a place to explore and fall in love with the world. Through walks through his woods where we stumbled upon blackberries to be picked and fish to be caught, I fell in love with the world that God had created through my grandfather's eyes. I learned that there is a lot to be said for living quietly, and that every day held a new promise and something that I had not seen before; that not only he, but The World had things to teach me every day if I was ready to listen and to look.
I wish I could catch his spirit in a jar and keep the lid on tight, as we did with the fireflies we caught in the front yard to be with me always, but just as those fireflies weren't mean to be mine forever, neither was he. He coaxed me to let them go, and so I did, and so I have to let him go, too, but not for long, for even better than the wonderland he created here when I was a child, I know he has somewhere better to show me the next time we'll meet. With open hands and an open heart I'll be ready.