Grandpa

Grandpa

I remember how Grandpa used to play silly games with me when I was little. He and I, and Grandma, would all camp out on the living room floor, but not before having delicious marshmallows made on the camp stove. I remember grandpa splashing us in the pool, and coming to the “drive thru” window of my playhouse in the backyard to place his food order. I was his personal professional chef. These were good times that I remember about Grandpa. Something went wrong between us as the years went on, and eventually Grandpa passed away. This is the story of my life with Grandpa, without Grandpa, and how I had to move on without closure after he died.
Grandpa was not always known as Grandpa to me. He became my grandfather when my stepfather adopted me at five years old. I don’t remember a whole lot from those days, but I know I was always excited about going to visit Grandpa. One thing that really sticks out in my mind is the woodwork shop that he had in the basement of him and Grandma’s house. This was what Grandpa did; he made anything and everything out of wood. In fact, to this day, I still have the huge wooden dollhouse my grandpa made for me as a little girl. Grandpa’s shop fascinated me every time my parents and I visited him and Grandma. At one point in time I wanted to get in to woodworking, just like grandpa.
I remember would Grandpa would take us to Grant’s Farm. He loved the various animals at the farm and pointed out facts about each and every one of them throughout our day there. He would always take us to White Castle because it was his favorite restaurant, although it made him sick afterward. Grandpa used to tell me stories of his days in the war at Iwo Jima. He never expressed how scary it must have been. He just told us what happened and showed us pictures of his time in the war.
Grandpa was a tall, lanky man with brown coke bottle glasses and a sheath of black hair that he combed over and slicked to one side on the front of his scalp. He had a finger that was permanently bent into a downward L-shape on his right hand that he said grew that way after the doctor replaced the top portion of his fingers from a saw accident at his job. He always made light of it and eventually it just became a part of what I knew about him.
My childhood with Grandpa was wonderful. I have so many beautiful memories of our holidays together where Grandpa was sure to make it extra special. Then, Grandma passed away. Grandpa didn’t know, or want, a life alone. He always had Grandma to take care of him. Without her, he was never content. After a few years of going it alone, he met Laura. She was a widow, four times over, and promised to take care of Grandpa. Six weeks after they met, they got married. Grandpa sold the house he had shared with Grandma and moved in to a brand new expensive condominium with his new wife. This is when life with Grandpa really changed.
Grandpa had always had issues with his stomach that made him sick frequently. His new wife, Laura, didn’t seem to care as she made Grandpa fatty steaks and less than healthy meals daily. Grandpa always pinched his pennies and saved money for years and years. Now that he was with Laura, his finances seemed to be deteriorating quickly with all the extravagant trips they were now going on as a couple and all the beautiful décor that was now furnished in their home. My whole family was worried about him, but he just shrugged it off. “She takes care of me”, He would say. We weren’t so sure that was really the case.
Eventually, Grandpa stopped inviting us over to the house, returning phone calls, and attending family events. When he did, he was absentminded and seemed preoccupied. His health started to deteriorate, too. Grandpa was in our lives just as long as we were the ones putting forth the effort. I didn’t really know this new man too well, nor did I necessarily like him; however, I loved him because he was my grandpa. I continued to make the effort to see him after I got my driver’s license and throughout high school, never allowing him to turn me away. The pain from his rejection was horrible, but I couldn’t give up on him, even if it felt as though he had given up on me.
One month after I graduated high school, I found out I was pregnant with my son. Being unwed and young, I knew my grandpa would not be happy, but I was destined to change his mind. I went to his condo, like I usually did, and told him my exciting news. Grandpa sneered up his nose, and quietly said “Get out!” I couldn’t believe it! This was the worst that he had ever made me feel. I wanted to argue with him, and then plead with him if that didn’t work, but instead I burst in to tears and fled from his home. This was the second to last time that I ever spoke to him.
I went through the next few years full of heartaches and joys alike, all the while not hearing from Grandpa. He had never met his great grandchildren. He didn’t know their names or their birthdates. He wasn’t there when I got married. This was all because he couldn’t accept me as I was, young, unwed mother, or not. It was a crushing blow that I relived time and time again. I needed Grandpa in my life, and so did my children, but he wasn’t going to budge, and I had finally given up.
Then, on a hot July evening, I received a phone call from my dad. He broke down in tears as he told me that Grandpa was in the hospital and he wasn’t going to make it. Six weeks earlier, he had been told he had stage four lung cancer. The cancer had spread to all of his organs and he was scheduled for a leg amputation that day, when the doctors called all of my grandpa’s children in to tell them it was just a matter of time before he would pass. The world seemed to spin around me so fast that it felt like it nearly knocked me off my feet.
I became frantic. I said, “Dad, you’ve got to let me talk to him!” He explained that Grandpa wasn’t able to speak at this point. He was already too far gone. I didn’t care. I asked him to place the phone to Grandpa’s ear so I could tell him goodbye. When he did, I began to tell Grandpa how sorry I was that he wasn’t able to come to terms with my life. I told him I knew in his heart that he loved me, and I loved him, too. I told him I wish things could have been different. Then, finally, I told him the hardest thing I would ever have to say, “Goodbye…”
A few seconds later, My Aunt picked up the phone and told me Grandpa had passed. I was at a loss for words. I could do nothing, but cry. In fact, at some point that night, I completely lost touch with reality to the point where I wasn’t even able to drive myself home. Hours passed but felt like minutes. On the radio I heard the Kelly Clarkson song “Because of You”, and I immediately snapped back in to the reality of what had just happened. This became the song that I buried all of my emotions in when I needed to think about Grandpa.
A few years have gone by now, and I still think about Grandpa all the time. I still relive those last moments, and they still take my breath away, and I still yearn for that last chance to hear Grandpa’s side of things. These days, though, I have learned how important it is to forgive, but not forget; to love, but not to let my guard down. Most importantly, though, I have learned to always tell the ones I love, that I love them. You never know, this moment could be the last moment that you have with that special someone. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Believe me, you can move on, but you can’t ever forget the pain. It will stay in your heart forever.