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| My grandpa as I will always remember him, holding me tight. |
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| A fun day at the zoo. |
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| From left to right, my step-dad, Scott, grandpa, Aunt Laura, Kate (my sister), my mom, and I. This was our last family ski trip. Grandpa skied until the day he was diagnosed! |
Three weeks ago my Grandpa Mike was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a cancer caused by asbestos. Two weeks ago I was able to spend five days in Montana enjoying his company and getting to introduce him to my charming boyfriend, Taylor, for the first time. Unfortunately, Taylor will only have a small view of the man my grandfather was as he passed away soon after. I dedicate this letter to him; the swiftness of his death didn't allow him to read it for himself but I know he is watching down from up in the sky. He was a good man and a better grandpa and he will be missed by all who knew him.
Grandpa,
These
last few weeks, I have been reflecting a lot on time. There is no doubt I crave
more with you. Perhaps bitterly, I am frustrated at the swift nature of death;
my awareness of these being my last moments to know you intimidate me. I have
an overwhelming feeling that if I don’t soak in every part that makes you the
wonderful man you are, I won’t have been close enough. There is a constant
shame in feeling that I could have called more often, I could have visited more
frequently. In short, I would have liked to have loved you better. But here, at
this moment of reflection I recollect the things that dismantle my shame.
I
know I will never forget the way your glasses tilt to the bottom of your nose
when you are studying something. They also tilt when you look at me
questioningly. The moment your eyes narrow, I am sure you know something I
don’t. Two summers ago, you brought the jet-skis out for me and my best friend,
Morgan, to have fun on the lake. We had a blast and got half way across only
for one of them to run out of gas in the middle of Flathead. For three hours,
we struggled to tug the tired jet-ski with the one that still was holding
strong. As I remember, Morgan was lying on the jet-ski with one hand on her
head like a model posing to express desperation strewn across the seat, her
hair flowing in the wind. I was tugging that jet-ski at 3 miles per hour hoping
to get back home before dark. You, grandpa, came forging towards us on the
pontoon like a knight; your back was straight as you steered with a robust
knowingness amused at our misfortune. But, when you got to us, your head
dropped, your eyes narrowed, and your glasses fell. You told me you had assumed
we met some boys to party with and that when you saw us in the middle of the
lake, we were disappointingly good.
You told me you couldn’t have been more proud. Here I was, having thought I
ruined my grandpa’s jet-ski and you told me you were proud. I won’t forget that
moment. I also won’t forget that you made us continue to tug into the cove
without any help—you were always very good at letting us learn our own lesson.
I
will never forget waking up early in the morning to catch you dutifully
scooping out mouthfuls of peanut butter and then proceeding to find the pumpkin
pie in the fridge, piling it high with a container of whipped cream, and
happily eating your breakfast standing up. It was like you were too excited to
even sit down because that pie was going to be too good. And you didn’t waste
resources grandpa. I know this is true because most of the time you would use
the pie pan as your plate to make sure there were less dishes.
I
still have a score-card from miniature golf when you picked Kate and me up from
school as a surprise. I remember feeling so special because my Grandpa Mike
wanted to play golf with me. I know I am not alone in feeling special because
of your presence. There was a time our family was debating about politics or
religion around the dinner table and you told my mom that even if you didn’t
agree with everything she said you would want her on your team because she was
a good thinker. When we all went to bed that night, mom cried because she was
special to you, and that was a feeling that was unparalleled.
Last
week, when I started thinking about time, I tried to remember my memories of
you. Again, the desperate feeling of needing a tangible memory to keep hold of
made me feel like maybe I could keep you here a little longer too. Most of my
fondest memories don’t include action, most of them don’t have words you were
more subtle than that. Yes, I will remember that you liked to read your books
in the bathtub, that you checked that the pontoon had lifejackets for everyone
on board but never forgot the beers too, that you had a secret room with a
complete artillery, that you cuddled Maya. I will remember that you drank that
nasty green machine shake in the mornings, the way you worked tirelessly, and
your straightforward honestly even when it hurt, oh and when I look in the
mirror and think my butt is WAY too big I will remember I have you to thank.
But
perhaps most importantly, I will remember you loved God with your whole heart.
The last time we spoke with just the two of us, I said, “what’s going on
grandpa” and you said calmly, “well, I am dying” I asked what you thought of
that and you told me you wanted your family here. I was sick with a cold and I
didn’t want to make it worse and you chuckled and said you were sick too. I
asked what you thought of dying and you said you were happy to meet the face of
the Lord. That made me happy too but I cried saying I couldn’t imagine my
Grandma Gail being alone. I told you my heart was hurting because of that. You
cleared your throat, and told me “when you think of the physical body, your
heart starts to hurt too”. So for just a moment grandpa, I’d like to selfishly
sit with our physical bodies because I am hurting having to accept loosing you.
I am in a lot of pain thinking of life without grandpoopa and I know we are
going to have a lot of trouble “herding cats” without your leadership. There is
a Christian mystery behind suffering. Perhaps you passing during the Easter
season is only a reminder of this.
I
am sure in these moments, I loved you as much as a granddaughter could and
assuredly, I felt your love too. I envy the moments of previous summers when we
sat around the house, listening to the Eagles, quietly unaware of the slipping
time but I look forward to someday sitting in the glorious presence of the Lord
with you.
