My grandfather died twelve years ago today. His was the first death that really hit me probably because my grandfather was just the best. He would always hug me, play with me and make me feel loved - no matter what. He'd carry me around, call me sweet pea his raspy voice and laugh whenever the kids did something funny.
It was such a deep, happy laugh too. When I think about it now, I just think of comfort and consistency.
And that's just who he was. He was just such a man. He worked hard, he loved his family and was happiest when he was with us.
He also loved my grandmother to absolute pieces. He was about 9 years older than her. He was my age when they met and she was just a teenager, but to this day, she will tell you he is the only man she had ever loved.
My favorite story about my grandparents is that my grandfather had been engaged before he had met my grandmother and gone off to war, when he came home the woman was having a baby with some other guy! Can you believe that? So, my grandfather of course leaves her and sometime later meets and marries my grandmother.
Fast forward to a trip to Coney Island a couple years, after they're married. My grandma at this point is very pregnant with my aunt and she sees my grandfather talking to some girl. She walks over to them, probably as pissed off as my hormonal grandmother could have been and waits. Within seconds, my grandfather bursts into a smile, puts his arm around my grandmother and goes, "And THIS, this is my wife, Helen," oozing with all sorts of adoration and pride at showing her off to the very woman that had probably hurt him very deeply years before that.
That's the kind of man my grandfather was. When he loved, he loved for real and he protected and adored.
My grandmother tells me one other story about my grandfather that moved me to tears. At the time I thought it was because she was telling me this as a means to make me hold out for that kind of love following another relationship ending, but even now, I'm tearing up as I type this.
Twelve years ago when my grandfather was dying and his mind was rattled with dementia, he didn't really know us anymore and it was fleeting glimpses really. But there was one last conversation she had with him where he turned to her one day in the hospital, knowing that his end was in fact coming and said to her, "I'm scared."
Nodding, my grandmother seeks to comfort him. "I know."
"I'm scared for you," he tells her.
She stares at him.
"When I'm gone who will take care of you?"
Mustering up what I feel would need to be a huge amount of strength, my grandmother says to him, "It's okay, John. God will take care of me."
"Then I leave you in God's hands," he replies.
He died a few days later. Even in the end which I am sure is the scariest freaking thing that can ever happen to you, his thoughts were for my grandmother. Now, isn't that the fairy tale? To know that you were loved that much, for so long and even in your partner's final moments, his thoughts were solely of you for a bit.
Every year since then, I visit my grandmother because I can not imagine how horrible this day still must be for her. I couldn't get there this year and we had all but a five minute phone call, but I know she still appreciated that because sometimes you just need someone to care.
She listens to me cry over my breakups, well the big ones that actually bother me, and sometimes I wonder if she wants to slap me because the love she lost seems so much greater than the love that I've had in my life.
I still can't believe it's been 12 years already. It seems like yesterday but in the same time, another life time ago as well.
It was such a deep, happy laugh too. When I think about it now, I just think of comfort and consistency.
And that's just who he was. He was just such a man. He worked hard, he loved his family and was happiest when he was with us.
He also loved my grandmother to absolute pieces. He was about 9 years older than her. He was my age when they met and she was just a teenager, but to this day, she will tell you he is the only man she had ever loved.
My favorite story about my grandparents is that my grandfather had been engaged before he had met my grandmother and gone off to war, when he came home the woman was having a baby with some other guy! Can you believe that? So, my grandfather of course leaves her and sometime later meets and marries my grandmother.
Fast forward to a trip to Coney Island a couple years, after they're married. My grandma at this point is very pregnant with my aunt and she sees my grandfather talking to some girl. She walks over to them, probably as pissed off as my hormonal grandmother could have been and waits. Within seconds, my grandfather bursts into a smile, puts his arm around my grandmother and goes, "And THIS, this is my wife, Helen," oozing with all sorts of adoration and pride at showing her off to the very woman that had probably hurt him very deeply years before that.
That's the kind of man my grandfather was. When he loved, he loved for real and he protected and adored.
My grandmother tells me one other story about my grandfather that moved me to tears. At the time I thought it was because she was telling me this as a means to make me hold out for that kind of love following another relationship ending, but even now, I'm tearing up as I type this.
Twelve years ago when my grandfather was dying and his mind was rattled with dementia, he didn't really know us anymore and it was fleeting glimpses really. But there was one last conversation she had with him where he turned to her one day in the hospital, knowing that his end was in fact coming and said to her, "I'm scared."
Nodding, my grandmother seeks to comfort him. "I know."
"I'm scared for you," he tells her.
She stares at him.
"When I'm gone who will take care of you?"
Mustering up what I feel would need to be a huge amount of strength, my grandmother says to him, "It's okay, John. God will take care of me."
"Then I leave you in God's hands," he replies.
He died a few days later. Even in the end which I am sure is the scariest freaking thing that can ever happen to you, his thoughts were for my grandmother. Now, isn't that the fairy tale? To know that you were loved that much, for so long and even in your partner's final moments, his thoughts were solely of you for a bit.
Every year since then, I visit my grandmother because I can not imagine how horrible this day still must be for her. I couldn't get there this year and we had all but a five minute phone call, but I know she still appreciated that because sometimes you just need someone to care.
She listens to me cry over my breakups, well the big ones that actually bother me, and sometimes I wonder if she wants to slap me because the love she lost seems so much greater than the love that I've had in my life.
I still can't believe it's been 12 years already. It seems like yesterday but in the same time, another life time ago as well.
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