I've watched this day arrive for weeks now, knowing that the sun would shine, the world would pass on by, but that those who knew him would feel the ache even still. I miss Grandad; today he would have been 97. Oh, I miss him so much. On so many occasions I write about him because I simply cannot help myself - here I am again, feeling the silence of the morning without him, without our daily phone-calls, without his dry humor, without his infinite wisdom. This time, my words will tumble one upon another, raw, unedited, hardly graceful prose; but they flow from my heart with a rush of tears as the hiccups and staccato of my typing empathize with the soundless wailing inside my heart.
Few people come into this world so unerringly extraordinary, so selfless, so independent and yet so involved. Few people understand what it is to step beyond themselves every day and every moment to seek and shape the lives of their loved ones. Too many of us walk around as adults, caught within cycles of childhood, pretending to be parents, while 40, 50, 60 arrive and perhaps too late, the grave swallows us whole. Life wasted in wishful thinking, in mundane, in acceptance of the mediocre or in blaming others for any and all pitfalls.
It is remarkable that every turn of media, every public conversation, every corner market, cell phone app - every single one exists for the promotion of self only. Everything is about improvement and pedestal, acceptance and glorification. These are hollow, lifeless, self-consumed, empty, bitter and uninspired emotional highs, deceitfully hidden within their self-described swag packaging - garish. Miserable. Worthless.
Grandad was born in an age I envy with all of my heart. I feel displaced. Cheated. My being and thoughts align with the 30s and 40s. My sense of family, of being a woman, the characterization and classification of family so untouched, so pure. So purposeful. Family meant something. Family was everything. Money and corporate station was not the center of esteem but quiet necessities, a supporting cast to hearth and home, love and laughter, simplicity, yet ever-so-wealthy in Joy, in spirit, in connection. Life was about creation, innovation, mutual give and take and the commitment to building and continuing legacy and the family name.
All of us have someone whom we revere within our families. But do any of us realize that we could become that for our children, for their children, for others? We have gifts and identity, purpose and a divine life plan to blossom into selves of the same fiber, stature and inspiration. Who we are now affects the lives our children lead. Is family first? Will they always be first? Do we assume that once they are eighteen, our job is done? Or are we there - always. Always ready to lift, to gift, to encourage...one phone call away, instant messaging for those critical moments of wisdom or emotional need. I know without a doubt that Grandad lived until I was able to fly on my own wings. I know that this man and the twinkle in his eyes, his matter-of-fact demeanor and yet mercilessly teasing humor, continues to drive my determination to achieve. Not for myself. But outside myself. For others. To give what he gave me. To carry forward and onward.
In my mind, I can still walk down the familiar stone steps, heart beating with anticipation for the chime of the ancient Grandfather clock, its moon face smiling in greeting, a spinning wheel set to the side of a white marble hearth as a stately Pyrenees lifts its head to acknowledge my arrival. Tucked into a turn-of-the-century ornately carved chair, Grandma, a sweater about her shoulders, absent-mindedly reading the pages of a Harlequin Romance novel. Several curio cabinets gracing the room housing a variety of porcelain figurines; my favorites - romantic couples in the sway of ballroom dancing, propelling me back into a wonderland of youth and fantasy. Oil paintings and gilt mirrors, brocade drapes and a telescope atop a large cabinet compelling my eyes to take in breathtaking window views of the Puget Sound. Welcoming waves crashing on the beach of Lincoln Park just down the way and a ferry boat's wake dissolving into the mists of pacific northwest glory. More tears slide down my cheeks.
Death, I loathe thee. I ache and hurt. Want and remember. I wish with all of my heart that this side of Living could be as peaceful as the blissful sleep of those who have passed on. I want, beg, will and know that for all the missing of this man who shaped my being, my insistence on integrity and will-power, fortitude and the pursuit of dreaming, achieving and never quitting, that it was who Grandad was and his legacy that I refuse to forget. I refuse for my children to not remember. I want my children's children and so on to be able to pick him out of a photograph. I will not ever let him be a nameless face from generations long forgotten. I want to live a life that gives to mine the way he did for me. Outside myself. For the greater good. For Love. For Family.
Today, I remember him, honor him, think of him and just might have to whip up a batch of lemon squares and stick them on top of the microwave for a snack at midnight in his honor. Life is a gift. Every moment, every breath. Don't waste one moment. Give, gift, repair, become, enjoy and open your arms to every lesson, every stage, every learning curve and every opportunity to share Joy, gratitude and encouragement.
Happy Birthday, Grandad. You are remembered today in more ways than pages and pages of words could express. I love you from the deepest part of my soul and I cherish the gifts you have given that live on inside of me.
Love,
Becca
It is remarkable that every turn of media, every public conversation, every corner market, cell phone app - every single one exists for the promotion of self only. Everything is about improvement and pedestal, acceptance and glorification. These are hollow, lifeless, self-consumed, empty, bitter and uninspired emotional highs, deceitfully hidden within their self-described swag packaging - garish. Miserable. Worthless.
Grandad was born in an age I envy with all of my heart. I feel displaced. Cheated. My being and thoughts align with the 30s and 40s. My sense of family, of being a woman, the characterization and classification of family so untouched, so pure. So purposeful. Family meant something. Family was everything. Money and corporate station was not the center of esteem but quiet necessities, a supporting cast to hearth and home, love and laughter, simplicity, yet ever-so-wealthy in Joy, in spirit, in connection. Life was about creation, innovation, mutual give and take and the commitment to building and continuing legacy and the family name.
All of us have someone whom we revere within our families. But do any of us realize that we could become that for our children, for their children, for others? We have gifts and identity, purpose and a divine life plan to blossom into selves of the same fiber, stature and inspiration. Who we are now affects the lives our children lead. Is family first? Will they always be first? Do we assume that once they are eighteen, our job is done? Or are we there - always. Always ready to lift, to gift, to encourage...one phone call away, instant messaging for those critical moments of wisdom or emotional need. I know without a doubt that Grandad lived until I was able to fly on my own wings. I know that this man and the twinkle in his eyes, his matter-of-fact demeanor and yet mercilessly teasing humor, continues to drive my determination to achieve. Not for myself. But outside myself. For others. To give what he gave me. To carry forward and onward.
In my mind, I can still walk down the familiar stone steps, heart beating with anticipation for the chime of the ancient Grandfather clock, its moon face smiling in greeting, a spinning wheel set to the side of a white marble hearth as a stately Pyrenees lifts its head to acknowledge my arrival. Tucked into a turn-of-the-century ornately carved chair, Grandma, a sweater about her shoulders, absent-mindedly reading the pages of a Harlequin Romance novel. Several curio cabinets gracing the room housing a variety of porcelain figurines; my favorites - romantic couples in the sway of ballroom dancing, propelling me back into a wonderland of youth and fantasy. Oil paintings and gilt mirrors, brocade drapes and a telescope atop a large cabinet compelling my eyes to take in breathtaking window views of the Puget Sound. Welcoming waves crashing on the beach of Lincoln Park just down the way and a ferry boat's wake dissolving into the mists of pacific northwest glory. More tears slide down my cheeks.
Death, I loathe thee. I ache and hurt. Want and remember. I wish with all of my heart that this side of Living could be as peaceful as the blissful sleep of those who have passed on. I want, beg, will and know that for all the missing of this man who shaped my being, my insistence on integrity and will-power, fortitude and the pursuit of dreaming, achieving and never quitting, that it was who Grandad was and his legacy that I refuse to forget. I refuse for my children to not remember. I want my children's children and so on to be able to pick him out of a photograph. I will not ever let him be a nameless face from generations long forgotten. I want to live a life that gives to mine the way he did for me. Outside myself. For the greater good. For Love. For Family.
Today, I remember him, honor him, think of him and just might have to whip up a batch of lemon squares and stick them on top of the microwave for a snack at midnight in his honor. Life is a gift. Every moment, every breath. Don't waste one moment. Give, gift, repair, become, enjoy and open your arms to every lesson, every stage, every learning curve and every opportunity to share Joy, gratitude and encouragement.
Happy Birthday, Grandad. You are remembered today in more ways than pages and pages of words could express. I love you from the deepest part of my soul and I cherish the gifts you have given that live on inside of me.
Love,
Becca
- This Carman Girl
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