Shadow Pacing the Floor
The thing I like about posting here is the anonymity it has. While I've shared the link to a few friends, those that might stumble across this will know who I am so I can be as verbose as I want about my trivial times. That's why I can't post these thoughts anywhere else because I don't want a pity party. I don't feel "oh woe is me" and I don't post because I dig for sympathy from others. I post because I want to share in this relative safeness.
This morning my grandfather passed away. My mom called me at about 5:30 and told me that she was with her mother and that he had gone 45 minutes earlier (or so). It's been difficult finding the right words to say because I'm conflicted between anger and acceptance. I know I'm skipping some of the stages between but I've never been one to follow all the rules to the letter.
Foremost, I'm angry because my grandfather, Poppa, gave up on living an active life and I'm angry at myself because once he did that I gave up on him. Over the past ten years or less three of Poppa's older brothers died of old age and illness. As they passed, one by one, he slipped away bit by bit, becoming more and more convinced of his lack of vitality and his impending mortality. Years before his death, he began using an oxygen tank due to difficulties in breathing caused by a lifetime of labor as a farmhand, smoker, and all around laborer. The tank became a crutch for him as he took what was an aid and made it a dependency. The dependency became a sign of his transience and an excuse for him and my grandmother, Dot, to excuse themselves from social situations and events. While earlier in my life he was a very active and spirited individual, my grandfather withered slowly away from us while we silently gave our affirmation to his request for his ability to do what he wanted.
I'm angry for selfish reasons as he is a man who has led a full life and served his family, community, and country. My anger is spawned from the fact that I never wanted him to quit serving our family as a rock on which to depend for hope and laughter which he was eager earlier on to supply. Always quick witted with an old man joke, he was fearless when it came to talking with people. He would greet each one with a straight forwardness and earnestness that comes rare to many individuals in our current time.
There's more that I'd like to say but this it for now. I may edit this later and add more.
[Edit: Jan. 7th, 2010]
The Wake and Funeral went well and it was great to see the out pouring of support and fondness for him. At the Wake there were over 500 people and another 200 or so at the Funeral. I shook so many hands and gave/received so many hugs it was unbelievable.
It was difficult at first being around the casket but I spent quite a bit of time there. Prior to the doors opening for the public, we were given time to observe and mourn as a family with his body. They started the photo/video for him and everyone walked across the hall and watched it. I stood by the casket with my brother-in-law, I took a moment and snuck a pack of Camels into his jacket pocket. My brother-in-law smiled and then gave me a hug. We cried a bit and then watched the video from across the room.
As angry as I was previously, I'm content now in the knowledge that he's gone. I accept that he's gone. I'm happier knowing that he doesn't have to use oxygen anymore or depend upon people to help him get around. I'll still think about how he taught me how to refinish furniture, or used to let me drive the van on the country roads while he had a smoke and I couldn't tell Dot (I was between the ages of 5 and 10 and never exceeded ten miles an hour), and how we'd walk through wooded acres mushroom hunting.
He was my Grandfather. My Dad's father is still living, but the man who died last week was my Grandfather. Love you Poppa.
Later folks...