"What are you doing?" I called after him as he took off down the road. He didn't answer me, though it didn't take me long to notice the boy with a surfboard he seemed to be chasing after. A boy, who very well could have been my age... AKA a boy who Grandpa was not allowed to humiliate me in front of.
The boy obliged, probably because he was confused, and also because he was maybe a little scared... My grandpa was not a slight man, by any means. He was 6'6", with an intimidating gaze and a gruff voice.
"May we borrow your surfboard for a moment?" Grandpa asked, pointing to the yellow, white and blue board under his arm.
"Huh?"
"Your surfboard," Grandpa grabbed at it, "may we borrow it? Just for a second."
The boy shrugged, handing it over. I watched, in horror- mind you, as Grandpa ambled back toward the car. He propped the board in the backseat, took a few steps back, and said to me, "Smile, Liz. This will make it look like you're a real surfer." He snapped a few photos, trying to get me to smile the best I could, even though I was mortified long after the board was returned. I was still red-faced hours later, reliving the moment at the Thanksgiving luau.
I was 15, and that's what 15 year olds do- they get embarrassed when any member of their family makes a noise, or move, or look- about anything, ever.
This Grandpa I'm speaking of is the very same who told me his appendectomy scar was a bayonet wound from the Revolutionary War. He's the same grandpa who was present for literally every other moment of my life. Who actually thought that I'd be a writer someday- he wondered if I maybe took after him, a little bit. He's the Grandpa who, when allowed to buy me a birthday present (rather than just sign the card Grandma picked out), bought me Tonka trucks. At age 6, I did not like Tonka trucks. I liked Barbies, and tea sets. I had several tea sets... and I had lots of guests so I could have used another... But he bought me Tonka trucks, and I played with them anyway, because he was the one who gave them to me.
Honestly, I would not be who I am today without my grandpa. I would not have gone to the college I went to, I would not drive the car I drive, and I would not have the job I have. I probably wouldn't have the friends I have, either, because I have a sneaking suspicion that half of them used me for access to his pool through most of our formative years.
Grandpa picked me up from school when I was sick, took me to plays and parades and the fair, and had I ever played any sports or done anything like that I'm sure he would have been a fixture in the stands...
My grandparents were my most frequent babysitters, and lived a few blocks away from me for a lot of my life. They bunked with my parents and I for a few months when they were building their new house, and I've spent several Christmas Eves sleeping beneath their tree- including last year. We had mimosas and tequila coffee all before the presents were opened. I was in Heaven.
All my life I have relied consistently and heavily upon my grandparents. Grandpa was a writer for the Herald and as influential as he was in our community- he was more so in our family. He was loud, opinionated, unfailingly sweet and incredibly generous. There are many things in my life... so many that I can't even really count that high... that I have because of him.
On that note, I suppose, I should mention that my grandpa passed away on Wednesday.
It was not expected. He didn't have cancer or heart problems, but he did have trouble with blood clots, so much so that on Wednesday he could no longer hang on.
Oh, God. It's so weird when someone close to you dies. You probably know this already, people go through this sort of thing every day. Every second, of every day. But I've never dealt with this before. My family is fairly small and fairly healthy and I have nothing to compare this to... this feeling.
One minute I was on my way to Coeur d'Alene on a mini-vacation of sorts, and the next I was being shoved into the quiet room; this suffocating little space within Kennewick General Hospital, with chairs lining the walls and multiple boxes of Kleenex strewn about.
Maybe these are the little pieces of life that create grown-ups- as if little bits of childhood are falling away. And here I am, trying again to understand the fact that he was an integral part of my life since it started- that I have never known the world without him in it, and now I have to.
There's this one short story that I read in one of my creative writing classes, written by Walter Kirn. It's about a father-son relationship and that certain loss of innocence that occurs when a child finally sees their parents for what they are: human. We do this a lot, with friends, relatives, significant others... even celebrities and politicians. We put them on a pedestal and we know that they will never do anything wrong- that they'll never make a mistake... they couldn't. Until they do. And then, when that misstep occurs, when they show that frailty of humanity, the illusion is ruined. And it's devastating.
I don't think I ever had this realization with my grandpa. Sure, he broke more things than he fixed, had the patience of an ADHD-addled 8 year old, and sometimes spoke without actually thinking of what he was saying... but he was still kind of perfect. He was caring, and giving, and always held out a hand if ever someone needed help up.
But what Walter Kirn was talking about is entirely real, and even though my grandpa never lost his superhuman luster in my eyes, when I see blatant displays of emotion I can understand the feeling. It's like the facade is cracking, and beneath my mom, or dad, or grandma, there's a person. A person who isn't alive just to be related to me. A person who had a life before I existed, whose day continues even if I'm not a part of it... I realize this is stupid, but, even now it's difficult for me to wrap my head around.
In that moment in the hospital, sitting with what was left of my family- when we understood that this man who embodied the very blood that was within all our veins was gone- I felt a certain kind of disconnect. It wasn't my mom, or my uncle, or my cousin sitting there. During that small segment of time they were just very familiar people who were completely crushed. And I couldn't handle seeing them like that, so I left.
Driving through town, I really wanted to slam into people's cars. Why weren't they getting out of my way? Didn't they know? Couldn't they tell what had just happened? Why was everyone still carrying on as if nothing was wrong? I realize this kind of thinking is futile and idiotic, but it's where my head was at. My world had stopped- so why hadn't everyone else's?
Grandparents die. I understand that. They're typically a lot older than other members of a family, and as such, they are usually the first to go. My grandpa was 79, that's a decent age. Blood clots are serious- I know all of these things.
But, this knowledge doesn't make it any easier. It still fucking sucks. And for a few days I didn't really know what to do with myself and I still don't know how to act, or what to say. I feel silly, because I know people die everyday... but this is the first time someone's passing has invaded my every thought. He was my grandpa, you know? He mattered to me. He mattered to my family, and maybe he was just some old guy wandering the aisles of Fred Meyer to most, but in my life he played a really important part.
And, again, I know it's stupid and obvious, but being an adult is hard. And if this is what it entails, I'm not so sure I want to be one anymore. Work, bills, and now this shit? Seriously, no thanks.
Wow. This is such a gloomy blog entry, I'm sorry. I'll just leave you with this- the thing that gives me peace: My grandpa was loved, and he loved. And he was passionate about things, and he did what he wanted and followed through with what he promised- and he was a good man. The last time I saw him, 8 days ago today, I told him I loved him- and I meant it.
I will miss you forever, Grandpa, I promise- I have never been so sure of anything I've ever said.
And I will do everything in my power to make sure that I'm the person you always thought I was.
I love you, so, so much. And I want you to know that we will be okay, someday. Different, but okay.
And we'll take care of Grandma.
I love you.
