Good Grief

Not to be the epitome of depressing, but I need to write another sad post. My grandfather died this morning. He was my step grandfather, but I never once thought of him as being my “step” grandfather except that my mother never called him “dad.” He was the only grandfather I ever knew.

How lucky I am to have known him. He was a really amazing person, full of life and passion right up to the end. I was always so surprised at his ability to have deep, intellectual conversations at his age, and even more so at his wide knowledge of pop culture. I loved how at his 88th birthday party, he wanted to discuss “those silly desperate housewives on TV.” I loved how when I got home from Bonnaroo, he called me to talk about the article he’d read on it, how they said it was like a modern day Woodstock, and how he was so jealous that I got to go. He always went out of his way to take an interest in my life, and I loved him for it.

December 26th was the last day I saw him. He had already begun the inevitable fight against his ending days. He looked so skinny and small, moving his tired feet in tiny little steps along the carpeted floor, shuffling from place to place. Still, he never looked sick. He still carried himself with that certain dignity that seemed to radiate from him all his life. His intelligence always seemed to enter the room just before he did, announcing his arrival.

He loved the Peanuts cartoons and I always think of him whenever I see Charlie Brown or Snoopy. All of the birthday cards I’ve ever gotten from him had the Peanuts gang on the cover. They always made me smile. He was a lot like those cartoons I think, so good-hearted, so filled with wisdom and joy, so loveable. You just wanted to hug him constantly.

Something I adored most about him was the way he looked so surprised every time I did hug him, as though I had done something so unexpected, given him something so extraordinary. I think he was the one who taught me how extraordinary a hug is, how precious a gift. I don’t know if I ever told him that.

There are things I regret of course, as one always does when a loved one dies. I regret not telling him that. I regret not holding on a little bit longer the last time we hugged goodbye. I regret not saying something more significant as my last words to him. I can’t even remember what they were.

I was sad when my mom told me about him after I’d gotten home from work this afternoon, but part of me wished I could have been sadder. I didn’t cry and somehow I felt as though I ought to, as though that would somehow prove exactly how much I cared for him. I suppose since his death didn’t come as too much of a surprise, I had already had time to deal with it, to accept it. I’ve been preparing for both of my grandparents’ deaths for some time now, hoping that it would make it a little easier.

Of course, it’s never easy, but there’s so much comfort in knowing what a great life he lead. He was happy and wonderful and loved. He was what I hope to be when I reach the end. He was what I hope to be each and every day of my life. He was an extraordinary human being, and I will miss him more than he will ever know. I love you Grandpop, forever and always.