Grampas

My Grampa passed away just over a week ago. A normally loud, broad-smiled, opinionated man, he was quieted by CHF. Seeing anyone whose life changes so markedly after an illness tends to make me wonder about what it is that makes up that person's character. Did I really even know my Grampa? My most instant memories of him are from summers at the cabin when he would step out quietly before dawn to slip his silver boat into the lake to fish. And at Christmas, the same routine every year, Grampa in his recliner watching us kids open wrapped packages (sweat suits, socks, wrench sets, candles). I had an impression, rather than "real knowledge" of my Grampa. Most kids probably have a similar relationship with their grandparents, but there are those who, for whatever reason, have developed a deeper bond. Perhaps all I needed was a single heart-to-heart conversation with him. Or maybe I'd know him better if I had deer hunted with him like my brothers and cousins had. Or maybe no one really knew him.

I'm not living with regret or sorrow, but rather a mystery of sorts, a little confusion. Just enough of an emotional itch to make me want something "better" for my kids and their grandparents. I do feel like I "know" my parents. And what I know of them (and even things I don't know about them) is what I want my kids to know as well. Someday, I promise, we will live closer to the girls' grandparents. And we'll visit for no reason whatsoever. And I'll try to keep writing about these visits to help jog memories later.

The picture is of Leah sitting in my dad's lap in his radio office. He's helping to record her voice for little intros and sound bites they play during the morning show. On our way home from that trip, we actually heard Leah's voice on air. Her eyes widened and she smiled when she heard it. "Pretty cool," I said to her. She grunted a happy response and kicked her legs.

The pastor at Grampa's funeral read this poem. I know it's been used for every other funeral out there, but it is really nice, and you know I love a good metaphor.

I miss you, Grampa.
I love you, Dad.