I thought it would be a good idea to get all of this out while my
memory was still fresh. As many of you
are aware, I do have a tendency to whine and complain and get overly emotional
when things don’t go my way. It’s
basically how I deal with the everyday hardships that I come across throughout
the course of my life. Yet, unbeknownst
to those who don’t know me very well, as emotional and as in touch with the
softer side of things as I may seem when I do express myself, I actually have a
rather tough external shell. When I’m
not being way too human, I’m being almost Vulcan-like. I have a duality about me that can switch
from emotional/lovey dovey to cold/stern and analytical, which I often feel I
need to do in order to sometimes separate myself from whatever situation it is
that I come across that I can’t relate to or understand.
Why this often happens is beyond me. Whether it’s due to being repeatedly hurt or
disappointed in women, or having to face so many other life hiccups is truly
beyond my comprehension. All I know is
that I have the distinct ability to turn myself on and off like a light switch
when I feel I need to in order to protect myself. No, it doesn’t always work and sometimes
people can break me down, but not very often.
Especially when it concerns death.
Until now. Prior to this point in
my life I handled death rather easily.
Usually when I was close to someone, it was a delayed emotional response,
and I wouldn’t cry for months down the road and, even then, only briefly. But, like with everything in life, things can
easily change.
The story starts off simply enough. I mean, I knew that my Grandpa was sick and
that his passing was probably good in a way due to the fact that he was
suffering. That’s what the analytical
part of my brain told me which, for the most part, can easily kick the butt of
my emotional side. So I felt prepared as
my mom and I drove up to Illinois in order to meet up with my Dad, who was
already there. As we entered Georgia, I
thought the trip would only be filled with a series of non-stop anecdotes that
would keep my mind off of the inevitable.
Like, as an example, the fact that the entire southern part of Georgia
had a sign advertising either a strip club or adult entertainment store every
mile or so. I never got that,
really. I mean…I don’t know about you,
but I personally never drove 70 mph down the Interstate and thought, “You know,
I could go for some good old fashion porn or a lap dance right about now.” All I’m concerned about when I’m on the
interstate is whether or not the whack-a-dos driving next to me are going to
allow me to make it home or not.
Or, there’s the fact that Georgia police department apparently has
way too much time on its hands, since I saw a cop every two miles or so, usually
having pulled someone over already.
Which is a far cry from Florida, mind you, where they seem to not even
blink unless you’re going 100. Of
course, then there’s the activity within the car itself. Like the fact that the scenery going by is
like visual candy to my cat who, surprisingly enough, makes a rather good car
companion since she doesn’t complain unless she’s been in the car for more than
12 hours, after which she started squawling like a parrot with ADD. Then
there’s my mom, who has the appetite of a fat person who had just binged for a
week, even though she’s super skinny. I
swear, she stops to get something to eat more times than a five year old has to
go to the bathroom.
The rest of the trip was okay I suppose. The nearer we were to Illinois, the darker,
colder, and more dreary it seemed. All
of the green I have been accustomed to seeing on the side of the road had
disappeared and, in its place were lifeless trees looking like the bad ones from
the Wizard of Oz. With that, of course,
were accompanying winds that made me remember quite often why I moved down to
Florida to begin with. Can we say Brr,
boys and girls? I thought we
could.
Anyway, as we reached our destination, I was reunited with my Dad
and, of course, my step-grandma (I have always called her Grandma since she is
in my eyes, but for the purpose of clarification as to who she is, I thought
it’d be best to stick with specific titles).
She was, as expected, not doing the greatest. She wasn’t just married to my grandpa for
umpteen years, but he was also her best friend.
We spent a good portion of the trip consoling her and talking about good
times and trying to get her to see that he is now at peace, but it soon became
quite obvious that a LOT of time is going to pass until she is finally ready to
move on.
For me personally, the visitation is what hit me the hardest. Before other visitors arrived, it was family
time. I thought I had a handle on
this. I was, after all, a brick wall,
right? Wrong. When I stepped up to his casket, as soon as I
looked at him I was sadder than I think I’ve ever been in my entire life. The water works started instantly, and I felt
a tremendous loss. It’s one thing to
THINK about someone passing and missing them, but when you SEE them, then it
becomes a lot more final in your mind. A
lot more.
I tried like gangbusters to remember all of the good times…his
funny little songs he would sing, the fact that he was almost never seen without
a hat and a toothpick in his mouth, times when we were little playing catch in
the back yard, or making tents out of sheets and pillows, and all of the myriad
number of times we were always laughing and having a good time. But I just couldn’t think of those
things. All I saw was a shell of a small
man, emaciated by the ravages of cancer, who was in his final resting
place. I stood there above him, holding
on to his sleeve, knowing fully well that I was never going to see his smiling
face, or his sparkling blue eyes where I got my very own. His eyes, that were always filled with joy
and love, would never be open again.
I will always remember how much he truly loved life, and how he
enjoyed every last breath of it even when he was in pain. His laughter, his joy, his giving spirit and
his easy-going demeanor are all some of the many things I will always miss. I love you Grandpa. I will always remember how much you made my
life better and everyone else who knew you.
Always.
As the visitation progressed, and the tears stopped, an outpouring
of people came in, so I had to be strong once again. Although, at 87, many of my grandfather’s
friends had already passed on, those who were left showed up to show their
respects, and those who wanted to support my dad’s time of grief showed up as
well. My dad’s story is an interesting
one in the fact that it wasn’t until my brother and I were born that my
grandfather, who was my dad’s biological father, re-entered his life after being
gone for so many years. I could see by
the pain in my father’s eyes, which accompanied my own, that we were all better
people because he decided to all take a chance on us after being gone for so
long. Prior to that, my dad’s only
father figure was his step-dad, so when my grandpa entered our lives, my dad
was blessed with having two fathers,
when most people only have one.
The visitation, overall, was exactly what my grandpa would have
wanted. Talking, laughter, and people
reunited. My Grandpa was always taking
to anyone and everyone, and could even make a new friend in one minute standing
in line at a grocery store. He was THAT
likeable, and my step-grandma said that absolutely everyone who ever met him
liked him. I always knew why. He was always a very gentle soul, and more
friendly than anyone I have ever met, outside of one person, my dear friend
Kelley who, by the way, showed up at the visitation. It was good to see her again. It was equally good to see the appearance of
my Uncle Steve, who shocked my mom so much by his presence that she started to
tear up.
The next day, at the funeral, I cried yet again, and it was so hard
looking at my Grandpa one last time before the casket was finally closed. But his final resting place was exactly what
he would have wanted. Always being
immersed in cars his whole life, and having an affection for Cadillacs, that’s
exactly the kind of coffin he got. One
that took him out in style. Costing
16,000 dollars, it was a work of art, with copper handles and trim and a
beautifully burnished top, he deserved it, so my Grandma spared absolutely no
expense.
My brother had written a really great passage on the funeral home’s
visitor’s web site, and it was read at the end of the ceremony, which also made
me remember even MORE of the good times, including those I had pushed clear back
in the recesses of my mind. With Brian
being a little older, his memories were obviously a little clearer, so I am
eternally grateful he spoke those words.
Finally, standing at the external crypt, we heard the final words
of the preacher, as I unfortunately shook like a leaf on a tree due to my
inability to adapt to the bitter cold winds of the Illinois winter day. As the day moved on, closure was finally
making its presence known. What helped
more than anything was when we all looked through past photo albums, which
helped to further reinforce the fact that my Grandpa truly had a full and happy
life.
Overall, I learned a great many things by going through this. First, I saw, in my Grandma’s eyes, a
reflection of what true love really looks like.
I really think I needed that reminder.
Her sorrow, having lost both a
mate and a best friend, is something that I know will always be a final result
of true happiness. Yet, without having
experienced all that she did with such a wonderful man, her life would have
always been incomplete, so the tradeoff was always worth the risk. I don’t envy my Grandma’s current pain, but I
envy the fact that she was able to find her mate for life and be blessed to have
so much time with him before he was gone.
He shined a light on her, and she did the same for him. It’s funny in the fact that my Grandpa went
from a gambling drunk to meeting her for just ONE blind date, and then he
stopped his sorry ways and turned his life around because of how much he loved
her. I guess sometimes all it takes is
meeting the person who was actually meant for us to truly show us the light that
we so desperately need to see.
Secondly, I also learned that I’m not as strong as I once thought I
was. I have fully realized my humanity,
and know that I break just as easily as everyone else. Last, and most surprisingly, I now am
starting to somewhat doubt my own beliefs.
Having forever been agnostic, it has always been very difficult for me to
believe in any resemblance of an afterlife.
Yet, as my Grandfather was passing, my Grandma said that he just kept
repeating, “Wow. Wow. Wow.
Bells. Beautiful.” right before
he passed on.
Maybe there IS something out there. If so, I’m almost positive that my Grandpa is
now there, being comforted by those who went before him. So….this trip has been a real eye-opening
experience for me. More than anything it
makes me know, deep in my heart, that those we truly do cherish will always be a
part of who we are. We must never forget those who have touched
our lives in such positive ways.
I will forever miss you, Grandpa.
Love forever,
JJ
