Posted in confessions, coping mechanisms, death, Family, finding your way, growing up, Inspirational, life lessons, memories, moving on

Remember Me…


The other night, I took my four oldest daughters to see a movie. It was Thanksgiving, we were restless, and I did not want to go shopping. Since my youngest does not do that well in movies yet (she is a bit of a busybody), my wife stayed home, and I took the girls to see Disney/Pixar’s, CoCo.
Without giving any spoilers, the story involves an aspiring musician named Miguel, who, by chance, finds himself in the afterlife. In his quest to get back home to the “real world,” he searches for his great-great-grandfather. Like I said, I am not going to go into details here, because I think you should watch the movie yourself. However, the premise of the movie is that once your last living relative has forgotten you, you are truly gone forever. Nobody deserves to be forgotten, and if someone remembers you, then you still get a chance to come back and visit your family.
As a kid, I met older relatives, not really understanding who they were, how we were related, what they did for a living, etc. I never really knew them. You know? I have brief memories, flashbacks, if you will, of visiting my grandpa at the grocery store he worked in. I can still remember going to a work picnic at the factory my grandmother worked in. To this day, I still don’t know what they made at that factory.
My great-grandmother and great-grandfather used to live in a nursing home. When we visited, we never stayed long, but I usually left with a dollar I didn’t have when I got there. I remember my great-grandfather wearing overalls and glasses, and I remember his name. I do not know what he did for a living. I do not know what he was like as a person, who he aspired to be, and if he ever reached his goals.
My parents went through a lifetime of hard lessons raising my sister and me. There are some spotty memories, and some stick to me like paint on a wall. I know a lot more about my parents (not really that worried about forgetting them), than I do about my grandparents, my great-grandparents, and my great-great grandparents. In a way, I have forgotten them. I hope someone else in my family is taking the reins and remembering them for me, and showing their pictures to their children and grandchildren, so they will not be gone forever, and can still come and visit us.
Truth is, none of us really know what happens to a person when they are gone. It was kind of nice the other night, nonetheless, to think that my deceased family members come back to check on me and the rest of my family. I bet there were times when they were wondering when I would ever start to grow up. If life really is like that movie, I hope all my relatives come and visit me all the time now. Even if it is just once a year, I am okay with that.
I have heard a lot of names in my wife’s family, and many I have forgotten.
However, I know that I will never forget the nickname, “Apple.” From the stories my wife has told me of her grandfather, I know she loved him just as much as I loved my grandpa. Unfortunately, I never had an opportunity to meet him, and she never had a chance to meet my grandparents. However, I have had the pleasure of meeting her grandmother, and I could not be happier she is now a part of my life, too. She is just as big of a cheerleader for me as my own grandmother used to be, and for that I will always be grateful. PicsArt_11-25-08.27.06

Do not get me wrong, I am still a young man, but my kids seem to be growing up a little faster than I would like. Occasionally, I will throw out a random number, like “five years,” and see how old my children will be then. It puts things in perspective, because I keep getting older by that many years, too. Hypothetically, in five years, I could be a grandfather myself. I could have a kid about to graduate college, another in the middle of college, a couple in middle school, and another in elementary. I know one thing, in five years, “I” will be a college graduate, and if you had asked me about that five years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Life has a funny way of revealing itself to you, and the last year of my life has been eye-opening. Instead of looking at things on the surface, I pick them up, peek behind them, and dust them off before I put them back down. I have struggled with certain aspects of my life, and there are plenty of chapters in my life I wish had never been written. I still struggle attempting to turn a couple pages of the new chapters I strive to write. Despite that, I know there is still a lot of my book left to be written, but one day it is going to say, “The End.” When it does, and the book shuts one final time; I am going to tell you all the same thing I told my kids as we walked out of the theater the other night: You guys better remember me.

 

Advertisements
Posted in coping mechanisms, death, Family, Family Time, growing up, life lessons, memories, Uncategorized

Goodbye, Old Friend…


Last week, my mother invited me to go out of town with her. When I left Kansas City, I didn’t realize I would be seeing my grandfather for the last time that week. I guess I’ve always been a pretty optomistic guy, and although I knew he was not doing well, he’s always persisted in the past.

On our way to Illinois, my mother and I conversed about anything and everything. As we crossed the Mississippi River, leading into Illinois, the tone of our conversation became a little more serious. The doctors had given my grandfather possibly, a couple more months of life on earth. Turning down small country roads, we passed through St. Elmo, and we wondered if that was where “St. Elmo’s Fire” was filmed (I looked it up — it wasn’t).

As we pulled in front of his house, I was a little uneasy. We had visited numerous times over the years, and he had met my oldest four daughters. I hadn’t been to his house, however, since high school. He had moved since then, and it was surreal seeing my grandpa through a different set of lenses. My mother told me that more than likely he would not ever be coming back to this home. It hit me pretty hard as I walked through his house trying to learn about him through his acquired possessions.

Walking into his home, I was greeted with oxygen tanks next to the doorway. A grandfather’s clock hung on one wall, a rifle next to his rocking chair. Sitting on his coffee table, was a picture of our family we took at Christmas this past year. Another wall displayed a picture frame with my nephews and my oldest four kids. His coffee table reminded me of my other grandparent’s coffee table. There was a small office space, and a small guest room. One of the closets was filled with Western genre books.

I have never read a Western novel, but I do enjoy watching them occasionally. In his bedroom, his cowboy boots filled the bottom of his closet, and his clothes were neatly hung. Although he was already fairly small in stature, as he aged, he appeared even smaller.

My mother invited me out to the back yard, so we could take a look around the property. We spotted the well, and the old outhouse. There was a large barn, with a broken-down tractor, and a dilapidated bike. Into the edge of the woods, an older bus had been tucked away. IMG_20170731_154733 We walked around to the front of the yard, trying to avoid the hornet’s nest we had awoken when we first arrived. His garage told the biggest story about him. His main passions in life were fishing and hunting. In the small guest bedroom, you probably could have guessed he liked to hunt, by the amount of rifles that were in there. However, if you hadn’t guessed that by now, maybe the amount of antlers hanging up on the garage walls would have given it away. In the back of his pickup, a single fishing rod was still hanging out, just hoping for one last trip to the water.

After a few minutes of looking around, we headed to the hospital. Since he lived in a very small town, we had to drive over an hour to get there. Seeing grandpa lying in the hospital bed, he looked even smaller than I had remembered. He looked up at his daughter, his grandson, and smiled. Although he was having an incredibly hard time breathing, he insisted on talking with us. He sat up, had dinner, and inquired about the girls. He was doing better than I had thought he was going to be, and we had a good conversation. I shared the newest pictures I had of all the girls, and reminded him of just home much they loved him. He said he loved them, too and it felt so good to say those words, and hear them reciprocated back.

On the way back to his house, we stopped at his sister’s house to visit with her and her husband. I may have met her when I was a child, but I cannot recall. Either way, after spending a couple hours with them, I felt so much better about the quality of my grandfather’s life. I know he has been in good hands with them. In fact, they had been taking that hour-long drive back and forth to the hospital every day, and helping him with anything he needed. I am truly thankful he had them looking after him.

With life, the only thing guaranteed, is death. It is inevitable. Too many times in our lives, we lose people, just to have regret over something we said–or didn’t say. As a younger person, when I was just eighteen years-old, I lost my grandfather on my dad’s side. We all said our “goodbyes” to him in the hospital, as the doctor’s said he may not make it through the night. However, he willed himself out of the hospital, and back into his own home for a couple more months. Not one time, did I go back to see him. In my mind, I had already told him goodbye, and I have lived with regret ever since.

When my mother told me last Thursday night (after I had driven home), that the doctors had given her dad only seven to ten more days to live, I had a little bit of regret creep back in. Although she had spent hours at the hospital that day, without him even waking up, I still felt like I could have maybe seen him one more time. I could have hugged him one last time. I could have told him one last time that I loved him.

The following morning, my dad called me to let me know my grandfather had passed early in the morning. My oldest two had already been told of his recent situation, but my middle two were out of town. My youngest, being only one, will have to rely on pictures and stories to know her great-grandpa. That night, was my twenty-year class reunion. I tried my hardest to suppress any sadness, and enjoy my night. Although I truly enjoyed seeing my classmates, it didn’t take away the fact that he is gone now.

My middle two children were out of town last week, and my wife and I agreed that their first day back should be a day of relaxation, happiness, and them telling us stories of what they did on their trip. Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I had the talk that no parent enjoys having with a seven and eight year-old. My wife was cool, calm, collected, and worded everything perfect for them to understand. Perfectly-formed words, however, do not turn away tears from a child’s eye, and hurt from their hearts.

It was a pretty rough week for my mom, and she is still out of town tying up all the loose ends. For a few more days, she is still battling hornet’s nests and his neighbor’s twenty dogs who like to show up unannounced in the pitch-black. My mother has worried about him for years since we lived so far away, and now the worry part has gone.

grandpa

We all love you grandpa. Goodbye, old friend.

Posted in growing up, memories, single life

The Single Life…


The Single Life.

Sounds awful, huh? Or does it sound amazing? Now, before you get too far ahead of yourselves, just know I’m probably NOT referring to what you automatically assumed.

No, what I’m referring to is being an only child. I have an older sister. Her and I are not very close although we live one town away from each other. At times growing up I wished she didn’t exist. I’m sure the feeling was mutual occasionally. It’s not like I had a total disdain for her, but she and I never really saw eye to eye.

My sister and I (circa mid 1980s)
My sister and I (circa mid 1980s)

Even now, literally a couple of decades almost into our “adult” lives, we’ve yet to bridge that gap. On the rare occasion that we see each other, we do talk, but there’s usually not that much substance to the conversation, if you will. A couple of months ago, I did take the time out to text her (baby steps) and tell her I love her. We came from the same place, and we’ll always have that.

Growing up, however, a couple of my best friends had no siblings. Zero. How amazing that must have been, I remember thinking to myself. There was no one there to fight with. No one there to interfere with your mom and dad time. No one to build forts with, no one to have a food fight with, no one to have thumb wars with. There was no one to play bloody knuckles with, no one to play catch with, no one to help with your homework.

Wait a minute, maybe that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But maybe it was. I’ll never really know. I do know I really enjoyed going over to those friend’s houses a lot, because they and their parents really made me feel welcome. I think maybe it was because they could tell how happy their kids were to have somebody over to play with. Whatever it was, they invited me to come over all the time, and I even got to go on a couple of vacations with them.

I loved them almost as much as I loved my own family. There was no drama. There was no tattle-telling on each other. There was nothing but good times. Eventually though, we had to grow up. It’s inevitable. We all do it. We ran off, got older, got married (some of us), and started our own families.

I keep up with them. I really do. Not in “real life,” but definitely in the Facebook life. I absolutely love seeing who my friends have become. Never in a million years, could we tell in high school just who the person we knew the most would be 20 years later. Sure, we had our ideas, and maybe some of them did grow up and be the doctor or lawyer we thought they may be.

As I’ve gotten older though, I’ve realized something about people and something about life. It’s all about finding YOUR happy. Your friends will never be the same person later in life than they were in grade school. They just won’t. One thing I think we all took for granted growing up, was our siblings. When there were no siblings, I think we all took for granted the friend(s) that took the obsolete sibling’s place.

I don’t like to think of myself as a placeholder, but if that’s what I was to them, then so be it. I’m OK with being a placeholder, while my friends started becoming an adult, and finding their happy. Some of my friends are single, some are married. Some have children, some have had children and lost, and some have never had children. I just hope they know how much of a joy they meant to me growing up. I hope they know they made a huge difference on who I am now, just as much as who I was then.

Some of my friends have made choices over the years that I’ve questioned, and I am more than certain I have made a few baffling decisions in their eyes too. Watching my friend’s kids grow up right before my very eyes gives me a little happiness and a little sadness at the same time. I don’t hang out with my friends anymore. Not for real. Thanks to Facebook though, I see them.

As I sit here typing this, my wife is currently checking a marker to make sure it’s non-toxic because one of my kids just colored her lips and teeth with it. Thank goodness she isn’t living that single life though, or her non-existent sister would have never told on her.