Written @ 9:54 a.m. on 2007-04-19
Granddad
My grandfather is dying. He loves nature, money, and eggs. He is 91 and ate eggs every morning for breakfast. I only saw him once or twice a year growing up, and I think I could count on my fingers the number of meaningful conversations we have ever had. He was of the old school where men did not involve themselves with children. He fought in WWII, and I believe my father said that he was an interogator. My grandmother told me that he saw his best friend's skin peeled off while he was still alive. He was born in Montana, and had a difficult childhood of limited means, and decided to be an economist. He made lots of money and worked for the White House at some point.
I remember him smoking cigars and reading the paper. He shot at geese in his front yard, in his advanced age, in the middle of his upscale suburban neighborhood. He had an amazing garden that always seemed to be exploding in flowers. He travelled all over the world and loved to hike. He could be very mean. He taught me to count in Japanese. He saved the packaging to everything. He has boxes for radios he bought in the 50s.
As a kid we were never relaxed around my grandparents. My parents wanted us to be perfect. We wore uncomfortable dress-up clothes and ate adult foods like asparagus and salmon and liver pate. Everyone was competing to be the best, the strongest, the richest, the one with the best resume. Maybe my parents just wanted my grandfather's approval, but, as we called it in our family,"the montana way" was never, EVER to hug or say,"I love you."
My father is not rushing to his father's death bed. I'm not sure what the problem is between my dad and his parents, but getting him to talk to them is always like pulling teeth. My grandmother asked me to stay put, as well, and that she would call me if she needed me. There will be no messy funeral, a quiet cremation and a memorial service later. No one should be inconvenienced. I called her twice yesterday, and again this morning, and she sounded cheerful. My grandfather has been sick and unable to care for himself for 10 years. Maybe my grandmother is relieved, although I know she loves him with all of her heart. She sees no reward in prolonging his suffering.
I feel like I should feel more, I only feel sad that this man has a motley crew of family all around him, and in all of his 91 years never reached out to befriend any of us. It would have been cool to go fishing or build model airplanes or whatever it is people do with grandfathers. I know how much joy I get in being around children, but I guess not everyone feels that way.
My father is becoming more and more like him, retreating into himself and frowning a lot. He does not seem to enjoy his family. I look at it like this-There is no reward in life for being the most austere. We are all sharing the planet together, and food and laughter and family are treasures. Don't be like my grandfather. Call someone who you need to call and say,"I love you."