Honestly, you looked a bit funny when I saw you yesterday. Similar to a kooky old man in a rampant, sex-crazed movie all the “cool kids” from middle school would sneak into. Your silver, baby bird down hair a wild mess. The matching gray hugh hefner pajamas with slippers. A cockney eyed look of stubborn confusion I myself might don one night after a few too many shots of KG.
But, really, there’s nothing really to laugh about. I know that was probably the last time I’m ever going to see you alive. I’ve been seeing how it’s progressed, not just for you, but for everyone else. I like to be optimistic about things and see the bright side of life, but I really am a realist, and I knew that you wouldn’t make it through this.
It’s a very odd mixture of emotions I’ve been feeling as I’ve watched this cancer progress. From strongly asserting that I understand that death is a part of life and that I, a young alpha male, will be the one to look after the rest all the way to the night I called Caitlin over just so I could cry in her arms.
I felt a strong nostalgia yesterday when you were lying there in your hospice bed. Looking around the room brought me back to a Sorcerer’s Stone level of sentimentality. Your stretcher sat adjacent to where a treadmill used to be, and I thought back to how damn foolish I must have looked as my 10 year old self vowed a new weight loss regime, power walking for only a few minutes before whipping off the ol’ shirt to feel like a badass. Up top a shelf perched a shiny golden clock, encased in a glass shell. If memory serves, it was forbidden for us kids to touch, and it brought back all the hi-jinks of my childhood days. The time we lured Gator onto the roof just so he’d get in trouble (although we felt bad after you spanked him for it, poor dog). How we used to fear going down the stairs at night because of your very convincing role of the “stair monster”. The wild fit of giggles we’d get caught in after asserting that those weird, green lamps that used to sit in the living room looked like farts come to life.
Of course, your glasses seem almost trademark. You’d spent countless hours doing crosswords or scripture or that one large-print Christian catalogue I’d read when I got too bored to sit still. I wonder when you used them last.
I was talking yesterday about how very awkward and weird death is. Everyone expects sadness, but nobody expects how bizarre it feels, especially now that everyone actually verbally speaking what I’ve been thinking for the past six months. You almost feel insulted. As if some mischievous, sinister fellow is prancing about performing this great magic that you can’t stop. You almost get flabbergasted at the nerve of things. Really, it leaves me speechless. Not in shock, but…..just uncomfortable. Driving over, planning a little speech of fond farewells or a testament of strong family bonds.
In the end, you just sit in silence. Not me, I mean you. I make awkward small talk, and there’s really no response. I can’t blame you, but I do blame me. Or I did.
I remember a few years back after my car's starter messed up. I had to spend a few days venturing over while you worked on it. I acted as an assistant, and we’d actually have talks. I was finally a young man and could talk about things on an adult level. I remember those, and I thought about how I might start coming over and helping you work on stuff and get to know you better and learn about your history. Now….well, obviously it’s too late for that.
I guess it’s a form of coping. I’m hard on myself anyway, so it comes as no surprise. Caitlin tells me I can’t live with that regret because it’s useless now. Mom makes me feel even better when she simply says “Honey, grandfather just isn’t like that”.
Idealist Taylor and his glory day schemes.
It’s true though. You’ve always been the more stern and silent type. In fact, I hear that you weren’t exactly the best father. That’s really not for me to decide though. You are a typical stubborn conservative gospel man, but that doesn’t change the fact that the grandkids all loved you.
I remember your completely racist impression of a Chinese Man once. That was hilarious. Like……silly...stupid, even..but extremely hilarious.
Then there was the time you explained that you stunned the squirrel that was stealing the bird feed, as opposed to just ending it’s life. You said you didn’t like to kill things, and that really stuck out to me for some strange reason.
I’m sorry, that’s just more nostalgia. Not really on topic.
Anyway…..like I said at the very beginning, I think yesterday was our goodbye. I sat in the living room while you rested and told Matt that I didn’t really know why I was even there. He agreed with me on the awkward silence and the heavy, heavy air in the room. Still, he had a point when he reminded me “at least you’re here.”
I’m glad I was there. It was depressing, and it was awkward, but I have to remember that this isn’t really about me. I’m sorry that you’re going like this, and I’m sorry that you have to suffer. You’ve had a very long life, a lasting marriage, strong convictions, a hard-working ethic, 5 children, 9 grandchildren, and 3 great-grandchildren. It still really takes me for a loop that you’re actually going to die. I hope you’re at peace soon.
In the end, despite how hard it may have been to be there, it was worth it.
You managed to mutter a weak “love you”.
I love you too, grandpa.
Rest in Peace.
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