January 5, 2011
Wednesday
Monday I mentioned that my grandfather (Grandpa A) had passed away. He deserves more than a mention though. I wish I’d had an outlet for when my other grandpa had passed; both deaths have hit me hard. Harder than I expected. Grandpa D passed away a little over two years ago. He was a rock solid man; a lifelong advocate for hard work, and a consummate family man. He wasn’t without his faults – he was a drinker, a chaw user, and a ladies’ man early in life. But we all have our faults. All. But what mattered most was his love for his family – it’s what carried him, and his five sons and one daughter, throughout. I wasn’t in a place, emotionally, where I could really acknowledge or feel what his death meant. But I remember sitting in the garage, smoking, and just crying my eyes out that he was gone. I’m tearing up now. I am content that he is no longer in pain or in hospice care. I am content that he loved his family. I am content that he was loved. Dearly loved. Like my Grandma D who survives him is, he was a pillar of that family. And he is missed. And I don’t visit or call my Grandma D nearly enough. Which sucks.
And now, at just a week past, my Grandpa A has passed. That was a shock. He had health problems, was having problems remembering and recognizing people, places, and things. It wasn’t dementia or Alzheimer’s, it was most likely a direct result of the strokes he was having. The strokes no one knew he was having. Until he fell last week. And didn’t get up. And had an ambulance take him to the hospital. Where he didn’t wake up. And passed away on Wednesday at 5:05 am.
Going through the divorce this past year hadn’t left a lot of “free” time, money to travel, or much, if any, emotional recognizance. That’s improved a bit. But it doesn’t take away the utter dejection I feel. I had planned on visiting Grandpa A in January/February of this year. Ever since he’d acknowledged his illegitimate daughter (30+ years after the fact), and some crazy Thank you card issues, we’d grown apart as he, his wife, his daughters and son struggled with this fact – along with his decaying health. A lot of this was my fault. I could have done more, but didn’t. I could have visited earlier, but didn’t. Now, that chance is taken away. And it blows.
It’s sort of pathetic that I’m sitting here mourning him, but also suffering from self-flagellation. I get it. The fact remains that I miss him. And I missed the opportunity (opportunitIES, really), to rectify the distance we’d incurred. I didn’t have enough money to even go to his service. To which my father tried to tell me that Grandpa A would understand, being the practical man he was and all. I think my dad missed the point as to why it was so hard for me to not be able to make it. Funeral services are to pay respect to the deceased; it’s for the living to feel sorrow, a sense of loss, to remember, and to be there for one another. I couldn’t be there for that.
What I remember best about Grandpa A was his love of gardening, his fruit trees, his making sugar cookies (a recipe he thankfully shared with me) for us and with us, his patiently guiding us through card and board games, and most of all? His infectious laugh and smile. Oh, and those awful, awful slippers he wore, but didn’t care. He loved them. And we loved him. His eyes would twinkle with the jokes he’d tell. He’d wink when he was poking gentle fun at someone, so we’d all know it wasn’t meant in harm. His impeccable grooming. Ooh, and those moments of cold steel when he would be discussing some political issue that got him riled up. Which he’d then, typically, soften with that oddly lilting Wisconsin laugh of his. “Almost Canadian, eh?” he’d say. Funny man. His dry sense of humor was also something I loved about him. Or how he’d lower his voice and say things like “The little shit,” but in the most non-malicious, gently rebuking way of his, with that little wink. It didn’t happen often, but he always looked like he was having a hell of a time saying the bad word and waiting, just waiting!, to get caught saying it.
Part of what made him him, were his wishes – he did not want to be on life support, no extra measures were to be taken to keep him alive. He wanted to pass as humanely, and as simply, I think, as he could. He was cremated. His services were on New Years’ Eve. Which was just perfect for him.
My eyes are burning right now, as I type this. Because, hell, you can’t really see what you’re typing as you cry. I know. I tried to start this post after my mom had called me to let me know what had happened, when he’d fallen. I definitely couldn’t see, or type. But then, two days before he died, I still hoped he’d come through somehow. Oh, and my mom? Wow. It was like she couldn’t allow herself to fall to pieces just yet. She had to hold it together for everyone else. All families have their issues. She just happens to be the eldest and still in charge of all those issues. By the by, Mom, I’d totally be pissed in your situation, too. If anyone can handle all that, you can.
What I am glad about most for my mom is that she was able to get to Wisconsin in time to see her dad before he passed. Seems morbid, but she and I both believe that he knew she was there. If he didn’t know, she was there, and that meant much to her, and sometimes that’s just what matters. 
Special thanks to my cousin Kristi – she had this lovely photo of him on her Facebook page. Grandpa was born October 13th, 1930 – in Oshkosh, of course! And was married nineteen years later – July 9, 1949, in California. Sixty-one years with Grandma A. The cad! The year I was born, he retired from the Air Force. He was a Chief Master Sergeant. He lived in Oshkosh, Wisconsin until he died, working at Oshkosh B’Gosh (when he told me that, years ago, I laughed until I nearly cried), the library, and a few other places I hadn’t even known about – Sterling Garden and Prescott Grocery. The man was spry, lively, intelligent, and active until he couldn’t be any more. Cripes, even with Parkinson’s the man kept walking at least a mile a day. Something he’d admonish me about on our too-few phone conversations: “Walking is good for you Jenny, you should do it, too.” I’d roll my eyes and laugh, knowing he was right, and also knowing I wouldn’t. He knew it, too, but he didn’t care. I think a lot of times he was just happy to care and be talking to or be around those he loved.
One of the things that created a gulf with us is something he and I never talked about. And in retrospect, it’s so ridiculously small. Of course.
Grandma and Grandpa A would send Christmas gifts. We’d open them and laugh, because honestly, a lot of them would be just downright awful. Plaid fleece sweaters, pants, or Hanes sweats. But that’s what made them so special, y’know? The problem was, calling and thanking him and Grandma wasn’t enough. When thank you cards weren’t sent to them to formally appreciate the gifts, the gifts stopped. And letters slowed. Birthday cards stopped coming for my daughter and myself. And then we were barely talking. Thank You cards sent after the fact didn’t fix this egregious oversight on our part. And I know, I know that part of it was also his flagging health, the news about his other daughter, that I was in Ohio, they in Wisconsin; but it hurt. No amount of cards sent, letters written, phone calls made on my part fixed this. And now, I’m going to have to be okay with that. It’s not the getting gifts part that I even gave two craps about, it was the distance, figuratively and literally. Because he’s gone now, I can’t even ask him, hug him, let him know I didn’t care, and let him know I still loved him. However, I’ll take a stab at it and guess that he knew all that, he just had a lot of stuff going on.
This was the last time I saw him; a little over 18 months ago. July 4th, 2009. He was – is – a beautiful man. I love you Grandpa, and wherever you are, I know you know it.
I love you, you little shit.
(4) 
yes, yes it is.
