When Redwood died I felt like someone had carved out my heart with a dull knife and then stomped what little was left of my soul into little tiny pieces. The emptiness was overwhelming. When Rowan died, it took me a full six months to come to terms with the fact that she really wasn’t going to be waiting for me on the couch when I got home.
However, my experience with death of humans is much more limited. I have known people who died, and known of people who died, but this is my first brush with the loss of family. The loss of one of my own. My grandfather died this weekend. I truly didn’t think that it bothered me much, seeing as how it’s been at least ten years since I’ve seen the man.
Apparently though, it is bothering me, as I burst into tears after speaking to my mom who had just left his funeral yesterday. Tonight, at a wedding of a friend, I was overwhelmed by memories of my first wedding - a long, long time ago in a land far away. Because the man I married was a complete idiot (but that’s a story for another time), my first dance at my reception was with my grandfather. He simply rocked. I had absolutely no idea that Grandpa was quite a rug cutter in his day - and he was such a good leader that he twirled and dipped me across that dance floor like a pro. It looked like I knew what I was doing, and I remember being breathless with the effort of trying to keep up. That is one of my best and favorite memories of that reception and of my Grandpa, one of those moments in a little girl’s life when you really do feel like a princess.
Grandpa had bristle brush short silver hair, a mustache, and his cheeks were always smooth for a little girl’s kiss. He had the required “grandpa belly,” and always seemed to be wearing the same old jeans and button up work shirt. He always smelled like coffee. I have good memories of Grandpa from when I was little. Even though I’m pretty sure Grandma was behind it, he always sent Valentine’s cards and little presents, with “Love, Grandpa” scrawled at the bottom in his chicken scratch writing. It never occurred to me at that age that he always remembered us, but his birthday was February 13th, and I don’t know that I ever sent him a card. Grandpa was always good for a hug, and quick to growl at you if you got in the way of his precious TV. He didn’t say much, but who would if you lived with Grandma?
I haven’t seen my grandparents in years. Mostly because in the last ten, I’ve had so many growing pains of my own that I barely had time for myself. In the last few years, I’ve selfishly not gone because I want to remember them the way they were years ago. When they were healthier, not so confused, and a touch less cranky. I’m okay with my decision, and am glad that I don’t have any images in my brain of my Grandpa being weak or, well, old.
In a weird way, I feel like one of my anchors has been pulled up. It’s the men in my life, my Grandpa, my Dad, my brother, and my uncles - John, Jeff, and Randy, who are my anchors. These are the men that watched me grow up, the ones who teased, tortured, and tormented me from the time they figured out they could teach a willing toddler all sorts of entertaining tricks. These men that I may not see or talk to for years, these are the men that I carry with me all the time. They shaped who I am, how I view the world, and it is them that I know I can turn to should any dragons need slaying or tires need fixing. It is them, that although some are far away, that create my safety net. It is they who are my family.
I miss my Grandpa. There is a little hole in my universe that can’t be filled by anyone else. Not that his passing will affect my day to day life in any huge way, just a little empty spot inside. Of course, the loss of one brings to mind the loss of others. That maybe, just maybe, your family, however dysfunctional and batty they may be - are still the people who have nursed you through growing pains and watched you navigate your little road in life. They are the ones who cheered you on when you succeeded, and laughed their asses off when you fell down. But that’s what family is for.
As my husband and I hang tight to our little family, and prepare for the arrival of our daughter; my hope for her is that she will have some of the same safety nets that I did. I hope she has a Grandpa who will think she hung the moon, an uncle who will torture her just a little, and a Daddy whose lap she will always be welcome on - even when she’s far, far outgrown it.
Grandpa, may you rest peacefully, at least until Grandma joins you. I salute you, old man, and am grateful for the family you raised. I have to laugh that you won in the end. Grandpa was a diabetic with erratic blood sugars. Now that he’s gone and family is cleaning out the house, they are discovering bags of M&M’s and boxes (the super size ones) of 3 Muskateers hidden everywhere. Erratic blood sugars my ass. You still rock.
Love, Michelle
Posted on June 13th, 2008 by michelle
Filed under: The Naked Part
Michelle, this is your Aunt Chris. I read the blog your mom sent me and cried. You do have a way with words as well as dogs. Just a slight correction for you. The Valentine cards were from him to “his girls”. They were his idea and he picked out everything himself. He apologized last year when he wasn’t well enough. But what we got from him, was indeed from him. Good luck with your pregnancy, I know you’ll love being a Mom, it’s cool.
Love Aunt Chris