When Grandmother was dying, I had so many thoughts and memories swirling through my head that I had to write them down. I sit here now thinking about Grandfather, who was a man of such few words. I spent almost as much time with him as grandmother but he was more of a presence than someone I interacted with a lot.
Whenever I went over their house he would always be in his recliner in the corner of the den. He’d either be napping or reading. On the table that sat between their two chairs there was always a National Geographic and a folded up newspaper with the crossword partially filled out. As a kid, I wondered how someone could take so many naps. When he saw you come in, he would un-recline his chair to say hello. I remember loving to sit on the dimpled leather chair in that room at his desk. I’d rotate around back and forth and it had a little squeak.
If he wasn’t in the den, he’d be at the kitchen table, which was right when you walked in. Always in the same chair. He’d have a small bowl of nuts, a nut cracker, and a small pile of walnut remains. We’d say hello and then run down to the bath house with the green translucent roof, put on our bathing suit, and jump in the pool. We could only come back inside if we were completely dried off and dressed. I remember going into the bathroom and seeing his thin metal comb on the sink. Sometimes I’d comb my hair with it because I thought it was cool.
I knew him and Grandmother as world travelers. After trips we’d go over their house and he’d be the one sitting behind the whirring projector, flipping through each slide. He’d describe some photos, and flip through a couple in a row without saying anything and we’d just stare at the photos. My favorite would be when he’d chuckle recalling some funny incident. There’s over 50 boxes of slides and we still look through them from time to time.
He was generous enough to fund half of our college tuition. Every semester when I added up the cost of school and books, I’d nervously drive over there. Asking him for money felt so awkward and uncomfortable, I dreaded doing it. He never showed any emotion when I’d give him the total and he’d sit at his desk, pull out the binder of checks and write it out. My teenage brain was a mess: “Am I too greedy? Is this too much money? I shouldn’t have included books in that.”
Part of it was that I knew he never seemed to spend any money on himself. I don’t remember seeing him in new clothes, he kept his truck till it was rotted through, and just didn’t seem to like stuff in general. This made gift giving especially hard. I remember when we tried giving him a cell phone for Christmas, it ended up getting returned.
Instead, he chose to treat himself with travel. Him and Grandmother went to places I never heard of and they would even meet us on a couple trips around the country. We went to Garden of the Gods and into the Rockies, Outer Banks in North Carolina and one time they took my sister Jen and I to Oregon.
At Christmas or when his entire family was together, he’d sometimes stand up, pull a small price of paper from his pocket and give a little speech. He’d recite a poem, either one he found or wrote, interesting family stats, or a quote. Four years ago, on his 90th birthday he stood up and recited three poems by memory and a few stats, which included how many days he’d been alive up to that point. One of the poems he recited was one he read back when he was a senior in high school:
Strength for each day, that is all that I ask,
Food for my hunger, Zest for my past.
Health for my body and a roof o’er my head.
When I am weary, a rest and warm bed.
Give me a job and a place in life’s scheme.
Give me a moment in which I can dream.
Give me a glimpse of some beautiful things;
Flower and sunshine and birds on the wing.
Not to have riches, position, or fame;
But to be useful, let that be our aim.
Look not ahead to the future;
But pray just for the things we need day by day.
He said it was his philosophy of life and that it was a good way to live; one day at a time because the days really do fly by. He died on December 4, 2017 having lived 34,309 days.
3 responses to “Grandfather”
What wonderful memories
Thanks for sharing, Dad
Really felt I knew him from your writing. Thank you for sharing.
Love this, Kelly. So wonderful to learn about such a special and impactful person in your life. Took me back to memories of my own grandfather and watching him smoke his pipe most of the day. Love the poem. May borrow that! Xoxo