Going up yonder
I haven’t updated in quite a while (not that many people read this anyway), but I have a good excuse. Actually, a few of them. For today, though, I’ll focus on the first one.
My grandfather died on February 3. He was 92 years old, and had been ill since October of last year. When he was first diagnosed with lymphoma (among other things), I found myself completely devastated. To be honest, the intensity of my feelings shocked me. I have always loved my grandfather, but I don’t know if I ever explored what he meant to me and what he had contributed to my life until I knew he was ill. Perhaps that is an area in which I have failed somewhat, but when I think about it, I don’t know if we always reflect on what a person means to our life until there is a specific reason to do so. And when we do choose to reflect, we never reflect on each and every person we know and wonder, “What impact has this person had on my life?”
I realized that the impact my grandfather had was deeper than I could have imagined. My grandfather was a quirky, humorous, and incredible person. He truly lived life. During his ninety-two years, he married, had four children (the first of which was my father), served in the Army Corps of Engineers, received the Soldier’s Medal for bravery, had a successful ironworks business, and had many friends and admirers. My grandfather was not the gentlest man. He could be blunt, and in fact, when people reminisced at the funeral they often mentioned funny and blunt things he had told them. One that stood out to me in particular was a man who said that when he asked both of his sons (who have long hair) what they remembered about my grandfather, they both said simultaneously: “Here’s five dollars: Go get a haircut!”
He loved the stock market and was a successful investor. I occasionally check the stocks on my phone these days, just to see how the market is doing and what he would think of it. The day after he died (also the day I found out about his death), the stock market tanked it. I had to smile at that. My grandfather also loved the Yankees, and would watch the games on the YES channel on full blast (he was hard of hearing, naturally). I rooted especially hard for the Yankees to win this November, as I knew it would be the last World Series my grandfather would live to see. I realized the other day that Pop lived through each and every World Series the Yankees were ever in. Pretty incredible. I think that gives him a gold star of some kind among Yankees fans.
The most difficult thing for me to realize was that my grandfather was an essential part to what I love about my father’s family. If someone asked me to describe what that side of my family was like, I would have to tell a story about my grandfather that showcased his sense of humor. I would talk about my grandfather inviting random people in the supermarket to our family reunions. I would imitate his voice (a must if you are telling a Pop story). I would also tell stories about my aunts, my uncle, and my dad, who, for the most part, all have that same sense of humor. Pop was the essence of our family, and when he died, I wondered if we would be the same.
The time I spent in Connecticut for his wake and funeral proved that we would. I am not sure how other families handle death. I suppose it depends on the circumstances and the people. But for this funeral, for this family, it was as humorous as it was sad. We laughed. We told stories. We had Thursday night spaghetti night, which has been a family tradition since time immemorial. My Aunt Linda wore Pop’s green apron, which he wore at every meal to avoid spilling food on his clothes, in his honor. We watched a movie of family photographs set to music that had been made for my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Actually, we watched it twice. I feel like we came together as a family and brought that same spirit to everything we did, even through our tears.
Since the funeral, I’ve kept the prayer card from my grandfather’s service tucked into the windshield of my Jeep. First, because he was big on looking in your mirrors and driving safely (who couldn’t use that reminder?), but also because I wanted to remember. On the front of the prayer card is a photo of my grandfather. He is at work at the ironworks business, working on some kind of machine I can’t even name. Orange sparks are flying toward his feet. The sleeves of his blue work shirt are rolled up, his favorite boots are on, and he’s wearing the green army-type hat I’ve come to associate him with. I’m not even sure he’s aware that the photo is being taken. He’s intent on his task. It is a photo of him doing what he loves. On the back is “The Prophet”, written by Khalil Gibran. It reads:
We would ask now of Death.
And he said:
You would know the secret of death, but how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
