If you've been disappointed lately because my posts have been non-existent or because when I do produce a post that it's on the grumbly side, well...there is a reason. I've been stuck in my own head, lost in thought...I've been mentally chewing on shoe leather while walking in a fog.
My grandfather, who lived a long and happy life, passed away recently. His passing was ideal, if dying can be ideal. He was at the end of a very long life in a very small town where he and my grandmother, who is still (thankfully) going strong, made their lives together and subsequently have lived forever. He slipped away on a Sunday morning after having spent the night with his wife of more than 75 years. It was peaceful, quiet and expected. A perfect death preceded by a good life.
My grandparents surrounded themselves with generations of their own making and in a small town this translates into, really, a remarkably huge extended family. If you aren't actually family, you probably grew up knowing my family and by extension my grandparents. There is sense of a very large net there to hold them (I grew up with the family "gypsies" so my view is that of a person looking in from the outside). From my vantage point, everyone in the community seems to know and even love my grandparents. While this is probably an exaggeration formed by the rose colored glasses I tend to wear when looking at my family, I think you could say at the very least they were a well known and respected couple. My grandparents lived good, respectful lives and were by all accounts, happily married. For seventy five years. A marriage of that length (and those that knew them together knew it was a good, loving marriage between two good, loving people) garners respect, if not affection. The last few years in particular seems to have concentrated their general good natured-ness which complimented the fact that they appeared to physically shrink in stature, seemingly by the minute, giving them both a sort of Muppet like quality. Respected yes, but also frail, good natured and only 3/4 "real".
I have thought a lot about whether or not to try and write a post about my grandfather after he passed. Would it honor him? Would it be cathartic for me? Should I mention that the sense of humor that so clearly marks me (and most of my family, I am not actually the funny one. I just happen to be the only one with a computer) was a gift directly from him? Should I try to describe him or what he meant to me? Do I even know what he meant to me?
My conclusion was this. I don't have the skill required to do him justice. I didn't want to write about my Grandpa in part because I thought I didn't have anything important to say about him or my relationship with him. I'm not the best writer. Even more frightening...I don't have the skills to cover up the fact that my connection to him felt tenuous because in truth I am all about my Grandma. I felt guilty because I didn't carry that gut wrenching love for him away with me after each visit, not the way I have with her.
When he passed, she was my concern. Well, that and covering up the fact that I was NOT wracked with pain.
The way that I respond to the guilt of "not loving enough" is to, what else? Ignore it. I would try to think about how I would write about Grandpa and come up empty handed because I had nothing to say. My thoughts would submerge looking for small intimacies or funny anecdotes and every time I would come up empty handed. I was flying in a fog without my IFR. Then, a funny thing happened. During a phone call with my Grandma the other day, I heard it in her voice. She's okay. More importantly, I think she's going to be okay.
After we hung up I went upstairs to put laundry away and suddenly, the fog lifted. I remembered everything. The memories I thought I didn't have, I have them. The fact that I annoyed him with my selfishness as a child and even more so as an adult. How I saw his eyes sparkle with love and amusement more times than I can count made those rare moments of disappointment in my behavior stand out. I have stories, memories...hordes of them and they are private. Not only am I not able to do them justice, I wouldn't want to try. The important thing is that I remembered that I love him, or that I loved him and gratefully that he loved me, too. Awkward, avoiding, just-out-of-reach, won't-return-a-phone-call, selfish, immature me. I was loved by a good man.
What else is there to say?
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Goodbye Grandpa.
With all my heart,
Jennifever