Grief and a Small Tribute

Kennan's grandfather died on Sunday night. He had been in hospice care for awhile, so the news was not a shock to the system. No matter what, though, when you get that phone call your heart stops. In that moment it doesn't matter if you knew it was coming, it doesn't matter that you thought you had made peace with it, and it doesn't matter that he wanted to die because he was ready to go. None of it matters because the sheer truth is that no matter what your theology is, death is gut-wrenching and heart-throbbing.

Oddly, the date was exactly one year after my own grandfather died, a point that my mother reminded me of when I called her to convey the sad news. How crazy, I thought, how strange. A gray, dark time of year for gray, dark feelings. Twice now, this has happened. I'm hoping next January's end brings better news.

This particular passing means that we have no more grandfathers. Just 10 years ago, when we got married, there were eight grandparents. Now, just a short decade later, there are two. It seems almost criminal, somehow, that life can change so much in such a short amount of time. I am not the first to feel this way and I am decidedly not the last.

With all that said, here it is, a short ode to Kennan's grandpa:

 

Dear Doc,

 

So many small things that you were to me, to all of us. I will miss your laugh, especially the laugh you cackled when you teased grandma or gave one of us a bad time. The chuckle, oh the pain of never hearing it again.

 

I will miss you telling the story of your life: the way you got married so quickly before the war, the way you named your motorcycle 'Lucille' after the love of your life, the way you stayed married for 70 whole years - a feat that few accomplish.

 

I will miss you asking me if I want a Santa every time we visited. I will remember always how after our apartment burned down and we came to visit you, you looked straight into my eyes, seemingly into the depths of my soul and said, 'you will get through this, I promise'.

 

I will always chuckle at how you painted the fingernails of your wood carvings red or pink instead of white or tan.

 

I will never be able to purchase a car without thinking of you and your ability to wheel and deal with the best of them.

 

You were an old flirt, and I thought it was hysterical.

 

I loved how you told people how it was, how you encouraged Kennan's younger brothers in the midst of the darkest of times, how you were willing to go out of your way to sacrifice for your family.

 

You were a wonderful man. Your memory will live on in the stories we will tell our children about the man who loved, the man who laughed, the man who did his best to stay the course until the end.

 

I shall miss you, dear one. You shall be greatly missed by so many.

Thank you for treating me like one of the family.

 

Love, Alaina