Wednesday, March 26, 2014


I miss my grandpa.  He passed away about thirteen years ago.  My great-aunt passed a week or so ago, but I do not miss her.  She would not share enough of herself for me to know her well enough to miss her.  Instead, her passing has made me miss her brother more.

Munchkinhead and I spent hours sorting through old family photos that we had never seen.  Photos of my grandpa and great-aunt as young children, frolicking in the yard, dressed for church, in graduation gowns and Indian costumes.  Photos of their parents as a young couple, of their mother as a young girl, of their aunts and their uncles and their grandparents.  Photos of a history we could only attempt to piece together.  I wanted to hear Grandpa tell us stories about it all.

Grandma and Grandpa used to take care of me and Alfred when we were little.  Alfred and I would run amok in their big house while Grandma quietly supervised from the dining room table where a puzzle or game of solitaire was spread over the dark wood.  On special days, we would walk up to the office to visit Grandpa.

As we got older, and they got older, Grandma couldn’t care for us anymore. Grandpa would pick us up from school or take us out to lunch.  Sometimes it was in his little red Datsun, sometimes it was in his giant blue boat of a car.  I think it was an Oldsmobile.  It had a very loud blinker noise that I remember distinctly.  A sort of click-clack, click-clack.  Betty’s blinker makes the same noise.  It makes me smile; it makes me think of Grandpa. 

Grandpa would tell us stories, make animal noises and explain why he would never patronize Hardee’s but would always be loyal to McDonald’s.  I don’t remember what we talked about most of the time.  What do children talk about with adults?  But I do remember that we always had fun.  I may not remember particulars, but I remember love.  And I miss that love.

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I am very lucky.  Everyday, I sit in Grandpa’s old office.  I believe a piece of him is still there, and it’s comforting to be around that.  Comforting to see his desk and his knickknacks.  Comforting to think he’s near.

1 comment:

munchkinhead said...

I remember that beep too.