love and loss and the things they make you think about
i'm a little late in posting this, but i needed the time to collect my thoughts appropriately so this wasn't just a confused, emotionally distraught jumble of incoherency. i think he (and the rest of you) will forgive me and/or understand.
my earliest clear memory of my grandfather was visiting him at home after he had his cancer surgery. i was 4, and i wanted to sit on grandpap's lap really really bad but my mom said it might hurt him. so i asked him, and promised him i'd be gentle. and i was. as time went on, and his scar healed, he often joked that he had three belly buttons. and to a child, it certainly did look that way, the one god gave him in the middle where it's supposed to be, and two additional, about three inches away from the real one on either side of it.
my elementary school years are chock full of little tableaux, not necessarily in order (i blame killing too many brain cells in college), of things the man had done for me. when i was 5, enamored by my cousins' piano lessons, and constantly bugging anyone with authority to buy me a piano, he found a small electric organ at a garage sale, and numbered the keys for me. while i was away at school during the day, he would sit on the floor in front of that wheezing, vibrating thing and pick out songs by ear, writing the key numbers down on a piece of paper so that when he walked me home from the bus stop, he could surprise me by teaching me how to play 'ode to joy' or 'mary had a little lamb' or 'yankee doodle.'
he taught me how to play cards. poker, blackjack, gin rummy. sometimes, i think he'd let me win, just to ensure that i would continue to play with him. for gin rummy, we would play games to fantastical finishing points, the points recorded painstakingly on the back of an envelope that would stay in the magazine rack he built for the next time i'd challenge him to a hand or two.
my grandfather was an amazing man. inventor, artist, mr. fix-it. i often felt there was nothing he couldn't do, be it fixing broken appliances, healing skinned knees, or mending broken hearts. and if whatever he was trying to fix wasn't truly broken, he'd just make a better one.
no one that ever came into my life and met my grandfather didn't love him. he adopted everyone, friends, even the relentless stream of boyfriends in my teen years, into his confidence, never sparing a joke or a funny story he'd come up with.
and of course, if i were ever in pain, or needed a friend, he was there for me in a heartbeat.
one of the things i remember him saying to me, one of the things that lasted, he told me in one of my darkest hours, when i was confused and unsure about what i was doing with my life, was so incredibly simple, yet i found deep comfort in it. i was so terrified i had disappointed him, had caused him pain, had lost some of his love for me. 'yvonne,' he told me, 'i want your happiness more than anything else in this world. your happiness is my happiness, and whatever makes you happy in this life, that is what i want from you.' i took those words to heart and found solace in them.
he welcomed my husband into the family with open arms. towards the end, every saturday evening when i would visit him, the first question was always, 'how are you? how's your job?' and the second question was always 'how's the hubby?' he was truly considered one of the grandchildren, and that meant so much to me that he would open up his life and his heart to yet another person i dragged in.
he encouraged me, when, at age 28, i decided to go back to school to try to improve my life, find myself a better job, just make things better for me. he helped me financially, when the government wouldn't completely pay my way, and always asked how things were going. every semester i got through with a 4.0, i always felt that part of it was for him, part for me. it hurts my heart so deeply that he won't be here for my graduation, but i take comfort in knowing that he'll be watching.
so now i am the guardian of those memories, to lock them in a special box deep in my heart to be brought out and looked over when i need comfort, or to remember that special kind of love he had for me.
i love you, grandpap. i miss you. we all miss you.
you are reunited with the love of your life, my grandmother. rest well, both of you, and i hope i'll see you again when my time on the wheel has ended.
january 12, 1916 - january 28, 2008
my earliest clear memory of my grandfather was visiting him at home after he had his cancer surgery. i was 4, and i wanted to sit on grandpap's lap really really bad but my mom said it might hurt him. so i asked him, and promised him i'd be gentle. and i was. as time went on, and his scar healed, he often joked that he had three belly buttons. and to a child, it certainly did look that way, the one god gave him in the middle where it's supposed to be, and two additional, about three inches away from the real one on either side of it.
my elementary school years are chock full of little tableaux, not necessarily in order (i blame killing too many brain cells in college), of things the man had done for me. when i was 5, enamored by my cousins' piano lessons, and constantly bugging anyone with authority to buy me a piano, he found a small electric organ at a garage sale, and numbered the keys for me. while i was away at school during the day, he would sit on the floor in front of that wheezing, vibrating thing and pick out songs by ear, writing the key numbers down on a piece of paper so that when he walked me home from the bus stop, he could surprise me by teaching me how to play 'ode to joy' or 'mary had a little lamb' or 'yankee doodle.'
he taught me how to play cards. poker, blackjack, gin rummy. sometimes, i think he'd let me win, just to ensure that i would continue to play with him. for gin rummy, we would play games to fantastical finishing points, the points recorded painstakingly on the back of an envelope that would stay in the magazine rack he built for the next time i'd challenge him to a hand or two.
my grandfather was an amazing man. inventor, artist, mr. fix-it. i often felt there was nothing he couldn't do, be it fixing broken appliances, healing skinned knees, or mending broken hearts. and if whatever he was trying to fix wasn't truly broken, he'd just make a better one.
no one that ever came into my life and met my grandfather didn't love him. he adopted everyone, friends, even the relentless stream of boyfriends in my teen years, into his confidence, never sparing a joke or a funny story he'd come up with.
and of course, if i were ever in pain, or needed a friend, he was there for me in a heartbeat.
one of the things i remember him saying to me, one of the things that lasted, he told me in one of my darkest hours, when i was confused and unsure about what i was doing with my life, was so incredibly simple, yet i found deep comfort in it. i was so terrified i had disappointed him, had caused him pain, had lost some of his love for me. 'yvonne,' he told me, 'i want your happiness more than anything else in this world. your happiness is my happiness, and whatever makes you happy in this life, that is what i want from you.' i took those words to heart and found solace in them.
he welcomed my husband into the family with open arms. towards the end, every saturday evening when i would visit him, the first question was always, 'how are you? how's your job?' and the second question was always 'how's the hubby?' he was truly considered one of the grandchildren, and that meant so much to me that he would open up his life and his heart to yet another person i dragged in.
he encouraged me, when, at age 28, i decided to go back to school to try to improve my life, find myself a better job, just make things better for me. he helped me financially, when the government wouldn't completely pay my way, and always asked how things were going. every semester i got through with a 4.0, i always felt that part of it was for him, part for me. it hurts my heart so deeply that he won't be here for my graduation, but i take comfort in knowing that he'll be watching.
so now i am the guardian of those memories, to lock them in a special box deep in my heart to be brought out and looked over when i need comfort, or to remember that special kind of love he had for me.
i love you, grandpap. i miss you. we all miss you.
you are reunited with the love of your life, my grandmother. rest well, both of you, and i hope i'll see you again when my time on the wheel has ended.
january 12, 1916 - january 28, 2008