Grandpapa

GRANDPAPA

It was a nasty old house with an old cemetery out back. The house sat too far off the dusty dirt road. A small stream meandered down along the side, the water working its way around the rocks. Mom didn’t want to be here. Grandpapa was in the hospital. She kept saying it wasn’t right just because she was the only one of his kids that didn’t have a job that it was up to her to come take care of the him and the house.

Eight years old and I didn’t know him. He and Mom had some kind of disagreement and had not been speaking much for years. And now here we were. “You can have the bedroom you want,” she told me as we pulled in the yard. That didn’t work for me. I had not said a word to her since she had told us we were moving. I was still mad leaving my friends and my home behind.

As Mom unpacked I took my things to the room overlooking the stream. My brother, Michael, wanted the room that overlooked the farm next door. He was happy in his own little world. Being 3 years older than I was, he didn’t have time for me.

We were headed to the hospital. Michael stayed at the house, checking the grounds and checking out the tractors and the other farm machinery next door. If it didn’t have wheels and an engine, it wasn’t important. I was too young Mom said so I had to go. But that was okay with me as I wanted to meet my Grandfather.

When we got to the hospital Grandpapa was sleeping. Mom left me there with him while she went to talk to the doctor. Grandpapa woke up and with a scowl on his face he just stared at me. Finally after what seemed like hours, he said “Who are you?”

“I’m your granddaughter,” I whispered.

“Speak up, or don’t speak at all,” he snarled.

“Wow!” I thought, “he is as nasty an old man as his house.”

We went every day to the hospital. Michael had made friends with the kids next door so wasn’t interested is seeing someone he barely remembered. Days went by. Grandpapa wasn’t well. Mom still didn’t talk to him much. She always left me there alone with him a lot pretending that she had to talk to the doctor. I know she just went down to the cafeteria and had coffee.

I talked to Grandpapa a lot after that first day. We got to know each other well. He told me a lot about the house. He had lived there since he was a little boy. He would tell me about the secret passage in my room or the tree house he built out back and then when we got home from visiting him I would go exploring.

He told me about the best spot to fish and I went home and caught a big one. He told me about the people in the cemetery and I would go home and read the head stones. I learned a lot about my family.

I would tell him about my secrets and he never laughed at me. I told him how much I liked to write and I would bring in some of my stories and poems and read to him. We talked about his favorite songs and mine. We laughed at songs we would change because the music was beautiful but the words weren’t right. I told him some day I would put words to a song but someone else would have to sing it because I couldn’t sing. Grandpapa told me, “You can sing, just do it.”

“No,” I said, “people laugh at me.”

“Sing from the heart my little one, just sing from the heart.”

I still wasn’t saying much at home. Mom tried to get me to talk for awhile, then just let me be. Grandpapa was getting sicker. He told me one day that he was going home soon. “How?” I asked “you are way too sick.” Then he told me where home was. I didn’t want to listen.

That night while I was getting ready for bed I looked out my window at the cemetery, and listened to the gurgling of the brook. “Don’t plant me close to the stream,” Grandpapa told me one day. “In the spring the water rises and I don’t want to be washed down stream.” He still made jokes and still made me laugh. I smiled thinking of that story even though it made me sad. The night wind gently blew in and as I was closing the window I know I heard him say, “I love you, my little one.”

The next morning I was told Grandpapa had passed away in his sleep and he was gone. I couldn’t tell Mom how I felt. I just sat in my room and stared out that window. Mom told me that we were all suppose to say our goodbyes at the graveside. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t want to say anything. I thought about it all day and into the night. There wasn’t anything I could say, only Grandpapa knew how I felt.

The day was clear, the sun was shining, and a gentle breeze was blowing. I could feel Grandpapa smiling, he would be happy with this day. Everyone was gathered. One by one they each said a little something. Then everyone was looking at me. It was so quiet. I lifted my head and looked up at the sky. I closed my eyes and pictured Grandpapa, and suddenly the words just came to me. I opened my mouth to speak and in a shaky small child’s voice the words came out………..

Go home now my grandfather
I know you’re on your way
And when he calls me up there
Then I’ll see you some day

Was that the wind blowing across the gables of the house or did I hear him say, “Tres bien ma petite.”

I closed my eyes and said, “you are home now grandpapa. Je t’aime beaucoup. God, please make him an angel.