If it isn't okay...
On Thursday, October 10, 2013 my grandfather passed away. He was a good man who lived a good life of 88 years and everyone loved him. He was weird, funny, and very, very stubborn.
3 years ago, my Papa had a series of small strokes that slowly started away his abilities to live a "normal" life. He and my Nana moved from their dream home in Wisconsin to a one bedroom apt in Illinois. My Nana took very good care of him as he began to lose more and more speech and motor ability. Toward the end, my Papa was a changed man; he was not usually the happy, funny man I remembered from years ago. He was often grumpy, he shooed away things he didn't like with hand, and his favorite word became, "Bullshit." There were still days I would go visit and that little spark in his big brown eyes would light up and you could tell he was not only there, he brought his A-game. His laugh was still contagious and would pop out randomly when you thought he was no longer listening. He would often forget things and look surprised when you brought them up; like me being pregnant. I wanted him to feel the baby move day because my Nana had and since he couldn't get out of recliner I kneeled next to him for about 5 minutes waiting for something happen.The baby didn't move for him but we ended up laughing about the awkwardness of staring at each other with his hand on me for that long.
Honestly, I thought my Papa would have died three years ago when he lost his independence. He was so mad he could not do what he once did, but like I said, the man was stubborn. Once I moved back to Illinois after a two year stint in Arizona, I began driving out to Elburn to visit my grandparents; I would try to do this at least once a week. My parents would go far more often and I know it was hard on them, as well as my Nana seeing as she was so limited in the amount of time she could be gone. I also knew how lonesome it could be when you are by yourself and how much it meant it to my Nana to spend together. It was time well treasured. Now mind you that I am 31 weeks pregnant before you judge me, but Wednesday afternoon I didn't want to drive out to see them. I was tired and hungry and had a long day. I was spent. I didn't want to go Thursday or Friday though, so I sucked it up and drove out to Elburn with some licorice treats for my Nana.
I stayed a little over an hour, but it was one of those increasingly rare visits. Papa was awake and out of bed when I got there. He was smiling and happy, ate his dinner and only had "Bullshit" to say when he was done eating. By the time I left around 6, he was tired and ready to go bed. My Nana was tired too, but she she was talking about how lonely she gets when he sleeps, (which at this time could easily be 12 hours a day). She told me she was considering getting a small dog or a cat. If you knew my Nana, you'd this was weird. When I left I bent down to kiss him and he didn't turn his cheek so he got a big face smudge on his glasses. I teased him about it and kissed my Nana goodbye as well. I went home, cooked dinner and then after watching a TV show online, drifted asleep. At about 2am my mother called me to let me know that Papa had passed away. I knew as soon as the phone rang that it was going to be a bad call, but I had a hard time believing it at first since I had literally just seen him that day and it was such a good for him. I didn't really sleep that night. My husband got up with me for a while, but I made him go back to bed. Thursday was a very difficult day to keep myself together, it didn't help that I was exhausted. I thought though, that since I was able to pull myself together after that I'd be good on Saturday for his services... Nope.
The hardest part was yesterday; actually saying goodbye, having it be the final moment you have together and then knowing that you will never see that handsome face again in person. No more howling with the end of Law and Orders, no more "Uh-Oh"s, not even "Bullshit". The hardest part for me was that while I was relieved he went quickly, painlessly, and with the two people who loved him more than anything, (my mom and my Nana), I was upset because I thought his stubborn-ness would last at least another 3 years and he would at least get the chance to meet my little one. Walking into my Nana's apt was easy, even with all the family there. Walking into the funeral home was a little harder; I was nervous I would not even be able to walk up to his casket. the first 15 minutes in the funeral home was actually not bad; the director was kind and his words were kind of beautiful. They even explained well to my cousin's younger kids what was happening today. I'm not going to lie, when I saw Tommy the Turtle written on a box with what seemed like plenty of air lines, I got excited because I thought he was real. Again, Nope.
As the director showed how people would be coming in, I lost it. I couldn't keep my tears in, I couldn't keep myself together, and that awful sob/can't catch my breath started. After I went, I set off basically the group. As other family started arriving, the atmosphere changed and it wasn't quite as intense. I was able to pull myself together again. However, the priest came at the end of our time at the funeral home and some of his last words to us were about how lucky we were to have been able to have as many years as we did with him. I lost it again. He was right. I am absolutely lucky to have known him like I did and get as much time with him as I did. There are many people who grow up never knowing their grandparents because they passed away before they could remember. I was lucky enough to keep 3 grandparents for 27 years; that is something special. Saying goodbye to him was even harder than walking into the funeral home... but enough about that.
Before we even left for the service, I gave my Nana a new cross. She had asked for one for Christmas because hers was falling apart; all the little rhinestones had fallen out and it was super-tarnished. She wore it on a piece of ribbon because the chain gave her a rash. I bought her a new one and gave it to her before the services because I just kept thinking how if there was ever a time that she needed a cross, it would be then. Matt helped me pick out a sterling silver cross with four white rhinestones/diamond looking rocks in the center. I hope she liked it, but more so, I hope she found the comfort she needed. She could break your heart a mile away; she kept saying how she didn't know what to do without him and she didn't think she could leave him. Coming from a woman who up until three years ago had never slept apart from her husband and until two days ago, had been married for 65 years. That kind of love, unconditional despite hard times, can never be duplicated. It's the kind of love that continues even though he is passed, and enough that just thinking about it sends me to tears.
I hope she knows she is never alone; not really. I'm not a very religious person, but I know when you have that kind of love for someone and are surrounded by family, you are loved and are never alone. I hope she never feels alone. I hope Nana knows how much she is loved. I hope she knows there is still so much to look forward to.
I do want to remember him though, not just the Papa in the end of his life, (although it seems so much of my family ~cousins etc~ want to forget that part), but all of him. I want to share and remember the man I knew who would walk around the grocery store whistling and just lose my Nana at every turn, the man who would wake up and eat a banana and a peanut butter English muffin every morning while singing the Banana Boat Song, the man who used to tell us we couldn't leave the table until our plates were clean enough to be placed on our heads... and if we were good, we could go to bed with our shoes on. He used to keep hats in the back window of his car, particularly sombreros and throw motor oil and gas on the little fires behind their house in Wisconsin. He things to be tidy and collected antique cars; my favorite was always the Dusenberg. I memorized the car name and model from a poster he had hanging in his garage, 1929 and Model J; the epitome of a cool car. He liked to tinker and golf until he couldn't. He said the most ridiculous things and had a deep, guttural laugh that couldn't help but you make smile. His hair had the perfect, Rat Pack wavy curl through it and for as long as I've known him, had salt and pepper hair. His barber used to tell him he could fix the hair, but couldn't do anything for the face and he used to tell that joke after every haircut. As we got older, around he holidays when mom would go crazy trying to perfect everything, he would always reply, "I'll get it" when she would request something and then laugh and sit there; the doorbell would ring and he'd do the same thing... "I'll get it." Lastly, the man loved his wine, martinis with olives (cocktail hour was always a good time because he'd share the olives with us), and he loved his family.
I love you, Papa.