gramp.

five years ago today, everything i knew about my world changed. they say that as time passes, peace comes and the missing gets easier, but with this sweet man, that is certainly not the case. in fact, just typing those first two sentences, my fingers are already trembling and my eyes are already filling with tears. but just as fast as that is happening, in my mind and in my heart, i can feel his ninety-one year old hand on my shoulder and his voice telling me everything is going to be okay, sweetheart. 


he was the rock in our family. if anyone ever needed anything, he'd help. if i ever wanted someone to talk to, some sage advice, a shoulder to cry on, a couch to nap on, a werthers original to cheer me up, a pot of homemade chicken and noodles, a big open perfectly mowed yard to play in, a front porch to swing on, a laugh and some simple words that made everything in the world seem just fine - he was my go to.

i miss his sweet blue eyes and his red-turned-white perfectly combed hair. i miss his hard-worked hands that i got to gently intertwine my fingers in and just sit next to him and talk for hours. i miss his coveralls. i miss riding the lawn mower with him and drinking kool-aid. i miss summers at the house and volleyball with our family. i miss his war stories and walking around the old house with him on the fourth of july and him recounting all the things he did to make that house what it was. i miss watching him tinker in the old shed. i miss his laugh. and his voice. and everything about the energy that we shared when we were together.

we had a special relationship. some called it favoritism. i called it time well spent. i loved that man like nothing else i've ever known. he was strong and brave and tender and witty and he loved me with all of his heart. and i loved him with all of mine. i can't put into words the way i felt when i was around him. but i remember, even as a little kid, just knowing how much he adored me. you know sometimes when you love someone but you have that anxious feeling like you want to soak up all the time you have with them because maybe soon they'll be busy and you won't get to see them for awhile? i never had that. i always knew that he had time for me. and in my naive mind, i really thought he'd always be there. always and forever. like when i graduated from college. or to meet the man i fell in love with. or when we bought our first house. or when i had a baby. or when i got married. but he wasn't. and randomly, i'll think of him. fondly, always. and i'll cry. because i miss him so. so. much. and he was so present for all of my life, right up until half way through college, and right before so many huge things happened. and i just wish he could see. and share them with us. i wish he could know zoe and know jesse and i just wish he could be here now.

deep breath. wipe tear soaked face. pull my shit together.

okay. so five years ago today, he passed away. but it was actually two days before that when i really said goodbye. he was living with us at the time, and my mom was taking care of him on a day-to-day basis and i got to spend lots of time with him. he was old but that didn't mean anything to me. like i said, and i am not kidding, i couldn't imagine him ever dying. but at the very end, he really wasn't doing well and i started to wrap my head around it. he was at home, but couldn't really move out of bed, he was in a lot of pain, and basically all of his organs started shutting down one by one. i can't recall all the signs of that or all of the bad things, luckily. i think i blocked it out. but i remember very vividly when we were in this waiting game at the end of his life. one day he was aware, and i remember, my grandma was there and my cousin jake and some family and it was jake's 30th birthday. we had a little birthday party for him and we sang to him and my grandpa just kind of looked around at all of us and smiled. he said a few words but mostly had this satisfied grin on his face. he shared lots of affection and laughs and hugs and love. and then that was it. that was the last day that any words were spoken. and i remember him sitting up and pointing in front of his bed and asking me if i saw the bright white light. i didn't. but he did. and he said in the most peaceful voice everyone is welcome here. and he laid back down, and closed his eyes, and those are the last words i remember him speaking.

that whole night, we all thought he would pass. my uncle is a doctor and he was with us and we laid around him. i snuggled right up next to him for hours, watching his shallow breaths that were so far apart that with each time i'd watch his chest rise and fall, i'd look at the clock and just wait for it to happen. it was killing me. and suddenly i thought, if he were awake and aware and really alive he'd tell me to get the hell out of here, because he wouldn't want me to remember him like this. so i listened and i left. the next day i decided that i needed to say goodbye to the soul that was still there, in that lifeless body that used to be my gramp. so i went in...

i asked everyone to leave so i could share a moment alone with him. his eyes were closed but i held his hand and i choked back my tears. gramp, i just wanted to tell you that i love you. i know you wouldn't want me in here watching this part, so i'm going to say goodbye now. i know i'll see you again some day. and we'll play again. we'll run around in the fields and swing on the old swing and we'll have fun, ok? we'll laugh and hug and everything will be just like it used to be. ok? i love you more than anything in the whole world. he squeezed my hand. see you later gramp, i love you... 


and i ran out of the room and closed the door. and then i completely lost it. i think i left my body for awhile but in that moment, i lost him. and it was the hardest thing i've ever had to deal with in my life. i ran to the bathroom and just retched into the toilet in between sobs. i felt so sick inside and so sad and so completely lost. i had never, could never, imagine my life without him. and then there i was in the first moments of it, and at one point i literally thought i was dying. maybe i wanted to in that moment. it kind of escalated into a panic attack type of thing where i just couldn't catch my breath. i remember going downstairs because my doctor uncle (thank god for him) was there and i just wanted him to tell me i was okay. i remember being surrounded by amazing people and having a cold washcloth over my forehead and going from hyperventilating and sobbing uncontrollably to slowly calming down into a place of complete and total surrender.

more deep breathing.

even though he "lived" for two more days, i didn't go back in there. because i knew he wouldn't want me to. but he passed peacefully, and in essence, in his sleep. like i'm sure he would have wanted. physically, he wasn't with us anymore. but in my heart, i carry him everywhere. i think of him all the time and i long for him to share so many passing special moments with me, but i know he can see us and i know he's smiling and i know that one day we really all will play together again. i know it because it has to be true.

on his gravestone we had engraved: because he forgot himself, he will never be forgotten. 


he was the most selfless, generous, simple, peaceful man i've ever had the pleasure to know and love. he taught me so much about life and about what's important and he taught me that it was okay to cry. so as i sit here bawling and writing this stream-of-consciousness memorial, he told me i'm all good. and so it is.

i remember writing him a thank you note, some random tuesday a couple of years before he passed away. it just said 'thank you' on the front and from top to bottom inside i wrote words and thoughts and phrases separated by periods. and i remember it filled up quickly and i could have gone on and on. and i remember the note sat in this wicker basket next to his green corduroy recliner. a basket next to a coffee cup and an ash tray that housed nail clippers, a couple candies, some pennies and nickels, a gold zippo lighter, and some rolling papers. and no, my gramp was no stoner, he just hand rolled all of his own cigarettes. and yes, when his dexterity wasn't in tip-top shape i rolled them for him. you know why? because hand rolled cigarettes made him happy. especially with a cold root beer. with ice. and a big-n-tasty from mcdonalds or a steak and cheese. and he was ninety-one years old and had smoked since he was 13 with no lung damage. talk about a miracle. anyway back to my thank you note in the random wicker basket. first of all, it was cute that he kept it there. and i have no idea where it is now or exactly what it said, but if i wrote it again, it would be adapted to say something like this:

i am so thankful for all the years i got to share with you. thank you for loving me when no one else could. and thank you for sneaking me candy when i was a kid. thank you for meticulously mowing the grass at your old place for hours so that no clovers would grow and no bees would sting us. and thanks for telling me every time i freaked out about a bug, that they don't each much. incase you were wondering, i still freak out about bugs. thank you for sitting on the front porch swing with me for hours and for making me feel like you were my biggest fan. thanks for making homemade chicken and noodles for our big huge family and thank you for teaching me how to make it too so i can make it for my baby when she's sick. and for hosting the best parties ever so we could make memories as a family. thanks for watching me and jake and josh with granny that one summer so we could make memories we'll never forget. and for videotaping hours upon hours of us playing so that we could always look back and remember the house that built us and never forget what your sweet voice sounds like. thank you for showing us the simple pleasure in newly fallen snow and the beauty in landscapes. thank you for holding my hand. i still remember exactly what it felt like. thank you for being patient, so patient. and for building us a swing that allowed us to swing so high we could touch the leaves with our toes and belly laugh with our cousins. thanks for always being there when i needed you most and always knowing the right thing to say. thank you for making my mom feel so unconditionally loved and accepted by you. and for teaching me that it's okay to cry, and telling the truth is always the right thing to do. and to follow my heart and that things aren't easy all the time, it's hard work that gets you places. and thank you for loving me no matter what and teaching me the peace in simplicity. thank you for making me know we always had a place to go. i would give anything to have you next to me right now but i know that we'll meet again some day. and on days like today, i feel you right there. but when we do get to play again like i promised, you'll be running like you always said you did in your dreams. so you can keep up with zoe and kiss her sweet face. she knows who you are, you know, i tell her all about you with the photos i have. i'll do my best to teach her the life lessons you taught me. thank you. thank you. thank you. 


five years ago today, you left the physical world. but in my heart, you're right here.