I had a hard time thinking about the next “question” I wanted to blog about. I think I realized that in a sense, blogging is an open invitation to judge me. After all, I’m opening myself up to friends, family, acquaintances, and other random people to read bits and pieces of my life. I’m allowing you to learn details about myself that I didn’t think were possible to share. There is a lot more to my “story” that I want to tell. Many more “questions” that I want to answer for people. But it’s not time. Eventually, yes. But some parts of my life will remain private for now.
I feel like blogging is a step in the right direction for me. I’ve always enjoyed writing…and although this can be nerve-wracking, it’s something I love to do. And in its own weird way I believe it is making me more assertive…stronger…and that is something I need more of in my life. As much as I understand that there are people who read my blog because they enjoy my writing, I also understand that there are others who read my blog to be nosy. Because they need something (or someone) to gossip about to all their friends. –Yes, you know as well as I do who you are– But I no longer care. I need to start living my life. Not being ashamed of who I am and what I’ve been through, but instead being proud of myself because I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’ll get there eventually. I know I will. These are just “mini steps” to my ultimate goal. A goal that eventually I will achieve.
If this is your first time reading my posts, you can find the answer to my first question HERE…and it also gives a bit more of a backstory to how the questions got started and why I think it is an important part of my blog.
So this brings me to my next question. Question #2.
“If you could have breakfast…lunch…or dinner with a deceased person, who would it be and why?”
First of all, I have to say this. Why is this question always associated with food? I mean, really… think about it. If you are going to meet a dead person, why on earth would you want food to be involved. I know you need food to live, but if I am going to see a dead person, I certainly don’t want to be worrying about whether or not I have food stuck in my teeth or dipping sauce on my face! Umm…no thanks! I think I would prefer to enjoy my time with the person and actually be able to have a conversation with them instead of obsessing over the food on my plate! (Although I obviously wouldn’t be opposed to a glass of wine heehee) So I think this question needs to be worded differently. Something along the lines of “If you could have a conversation with any deceased person, who would it be and why?” Yes, that’s better…
My thoughts are that most people would choose individuals like God. Jesus. Marilyn Monroe. Abraham Lincoln. Hitler. (Okay, that one would be a little scary. Interesting… But scary. And a little weird.) But you get the point. I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not one of those people. Of course I’d like to meet someone “famous” that has died. It would be amazing to hear their life stories, talk to them about their experiences and how the world was viewed when they were alive. How THEY impacted the world and WHO impacted THEIR world. But ultimately, I wouldn’t choose any of them to meet. Instead, I would choose someone that I have had multiple conversations with already. None, however, as an adult. But it is someone who has had a profound impact on my life and my world. Someone who meant the world to me when I was a little girl. Someone I would love the opportunity to meet with and talk to again. Although I wouldn’t technically be “meeting” him, the person I would chose to have a conversation with is…….my grandpa.
I suppose this is where I’m suppose to give some sort of backstory on him. So it’s easier for readers to understand why I would choose to talk to someone I have technically already met and known for some time before he died. I want readers to understand why He was so important to me. I don’t remember a lot of my childhood, but a lot of the memories I do have involve him. He brought so much laughter and joy to my life…along with a tremendous amount of sadness in his last few days with us. He was the first person close to me that has ever died. And I guess I didn’t realize how much his death would affect me in the years that followed…
My grandpa…I tried to find a picture of me or the grandkids and him. My mom doesn’t have any…I can’t find any…and my sisters don’t have any. And that makes me incredibly sad. (So please, if any family members are reading this and have a picture of him, send it to me in a message or post it in the comments!) He was always one that HATED getting his picture taken. Avoided it like the plague. That must be where my dad gets it from 🙂 But regardless of not having pictures, the memories are there. And I remember his love for us grandkids. I remember all the tricks and jokes we would play on him and never once did he get mad or yell at us. He always had butterscotch discs and fire jolly ranchers in his truck. We would sneak in there and steal them, along with the stash of quarters he always kept in his ashtray. (You know the ashtray I’m talking about… I don’t even know if they still make them in trucks these days but it was that little “ashtray” that you could pull out. He just happened to use it to store his spare change, which lucky for us was usually quarters! 😉 …) I know he knew we took them. He was never mad though. Never even mentioned his “disappearing candy and quarters” to us. He and my grandma lived 5 miles from my house, so as kids we stayed there a lot. At nighttime we would often dress up as “ghosts” and walk into his room to scare him at night. He always played along. Acting “scared”. We’d constantly be messing with him while he was sleeping. We painted his toenails on multiple occasions. Even cut his hair once. The worst thing we ever did was put pins in his bed before he went to sleep because we loved playing pranks on him. (As much as it makes me giggle I seriously can’t believe he let us get away with that one!) Instead whenever we would leave he’d look at us and smile and say “See you in the funny papers.”
Him and my grandma loved taking us sledding and ice skating near our house. We would have hot chocolate in those ancient looking thermos mugs. At Christmas time “Santa” would always come by to our house. My parents still refuse to tell us how the presents got to our house but I am almost certain it was him.
We’d take bike rides to the cemetery down the road from their house…the same cemetery he would eventually be buried in. (We lived in a small country town–lol, there wasn’t a lot to do there!) We would play in the cemetery and in the old church school across from it. Pumping the well water, playing “school” in the church.
He wanted us to succeed. Wanted the best for us, wanted us to be our best. To finish high school, go to college. He promised all of the grandkids that if we graduated college he’d buy us a convertible. lol
I always knew he had a history of health problems. One day everything changed. I was in 6th grade, and I came home from school and saw my dad sitting at the kitchen table with my aunt Marie. My dad was wiping his eyes. I realized then that he was crying. I was confused…scared…it was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry so I knew something was wrong. I somehow learned that my grandpa had cancer. I never thought he was going to eventually die though. I just thought he was sick. I remember visiting him at his house when he was sick. He was lying in my grandma’s bedroom…the bedroom us kids used to play in growing up. I remember my parents telling us that we needed to talk to him…that it was okay to sit on his bed. But I couldn’t sit by him. I was young. Scared. I remember standing in his room one day, him lying on the bed, my grandma sitting next to him. Even on death’s door he would still be making jokes for us…that’s who he was. And every time we left it was always the same thing: “See you in the funny papers.”
The last visit I remember with him is still very clear to me. He was sitting up in bed and started coughing, obviously struggling. He had a white kleenex in his hand and my grandma’s hand was on his back. As he was coughing he put the kleenex up to his mouth. I remember him pulling back the kleenex away from his mouth and all I saw was blood. I’ll never forget the look my grandma gave to my aunt who was in the room with us. I didn’t know back that what that look meant, but I know that look now. Fear. Sadness. Acceptance that he didn’t have much time left.
The day that he died is a story for another day. That deserves an entire post of its own. One that I’m not ready to share. One that few people know the whole story of. But that’s not the purpose of this post anyways…
The song linked to this post is the song I remember being played at his funeral. “On Eagle’s Wings” Some people may find it silly or a little disturbing but that song has stuck with me through all these years. I remember arguing with the Priest who married Jeff and I because he didn’t understand why I would want that song played at my wedding. “It is a song that is played at funerals” he said. I tried explaining to him that the song was special to me, but he still didn’t understand. Needless to say my stubbornness won. (As usual, haha) And I remember hearing that song during our wedding ceremony and knowing that my grandpa was there with us that day. I still sing it to my girls when I rock them to sleep at night. It reminds me that he’s here with us…
So now you know the answer to my question. And I think you can probably figure out from the previous few paragraphs why I would choose him. I don’t care to learn how Marilyn Monroe or Abe Lincoln changed the world or who impacted their world. I’d rather talk to my grandpa about his life. About who impacted his world. About his story. His childhood. How he met my grandma. I want to know him. Not as a grandfather but as a person I respected and looked up to. I recently had a conversation with his wife, my grandma… We talked a lot about my grandpa’s death. About life. About Faith and religion…something that within the past 18 months has had a new impact on my life. We were communicating like adults instead of like a child to her grandma. I will FOREVER hold that conversation incredibly close to my heart. That is why I would choose my grandpa. So I could have that same type of conversation with him. So he could tell me that everything was okay. And so I could tell him how much he impacted my world. How he changed my life…And how much I miss him…
If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane,
I’d walk right up to Heaven and bring you home again
Live and Let Go 