It has come to my attention that I am a very lucky girl. At 28, I've only lost one grandparent-my maternal grandmother-when I was six years old. I remember small parts about her funeral and large parts about how I missed her and wished we could talk. As an adult, though, I realize how blessed I am to have only experienced that one loss.
I just returned home from the wake for my son's paternal grandfather. Of course, my son (at eight years old) wanted to go. He's inquisitive by nature and compassionate. I wondered how much he wanted to be there to support his father. Family is of utmost importance to M, and while I was cutting his hair he was telling me how he doesn't know why his daddy hasn't cried yet. We all grieve differently, I explained.
I'm proud of my son. He handled the situation with a maturity far beyond his years. He communicated appropriately when he needed to step outside for a break and asked if he could be positioned so that he may not see his grandfather laying in the open casket. He greeted people properly, shook hands, hugged, expressed sympathy... all things that his father and I had neglected to warn him about. M even had his first experience with a weird relative! Let me tell you, I was laughing!
We explained that this is what these times are for. All of the people showed up to remember his grandfather and tell stories about the good times they had with him. Stories that communicated his warmth and passion for drag racing; his dedication to his band, the Chicken Chokers. Some laughed, some wept. Everyone had their different way of coping.
My son's father asked if I'd like to visit the casket, and of course, I did. I knelt and thought about what this man had meant to me. No sooner did I begin to sort through it, I felt two little knees kneel down beside mine. M was ready to say goodbye.
I told him that we could pray together, so we bowed our heads. I gave thanks for the man who fathered my son's father. Who loved his grandchildren and always included them in his passion for drag racing. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: if it weren't for this man, I'd never have my son.
I was barely eighteen the first time I walked into Palmer's Tavern on 5&20. I had just gotten kicked out of another bar for being underage but I didn't want to go home. I walked into that old dive bar and pulled up a seat and gave my drink order to one tall, blond haired man with amazing blue eyes. In an act that he'd joke about regretting ever since, he didn't card me... and so it began. Him and I would become friends and when I had gotten myself into an unseemly situation, he stepped up and became so much more. The relationship taught me about love and boundaries, self respect and bar tending. Most importantly, it begot one blue eyed, blonde haired little boy who would become my entire world and purpose for existing.
That bar belonged to the man laying in the casket in front of me. He had hired his son to work for him... that son fell in love with the underage girl and together they created the most caring little boy. Now the four of us were together for the last time. Without that man, my world would have been entirely different. How do you say "Thank you" for that?!
It feels weird that this amount of gratitude took so long to surface. I'm sure M was none the wiser about the thoughts speeding through my mind... I was there to help him grieve. Never did I anticipate having to grieve for my own reasons. I wish I had made it to see him before he passed, but I doubt that I would have figured out how grateful I was until now. We get so caught up in daily drama. His son and I parted ways in a very messy fashion that took years for us to mend. I had thought about seeing him in Hospice but my mind flashed to thoughts like, what if he doesn't want to see me? or what if the family doesn't want me there? In the end, there's death. Its final. Non negotiable. I'm sorry that I didn't get to thank this man, but I have to believe that what I told my son is true: somewhere, he's smiling, knowing that we remember him and are thankful for the time we had and the memories we made. There's no divide great enough to disconnect a heartfelt connection.
Danny: From the bottom of my heart... Thank you for everything.
No comments:
Post a Comment