My Wings Are Wide

My Grandpa could be summed up by most people in one word.  Cantankerous. He was surly, easily offended, and certainly knew how to hold a grudge.  In fact, I did not meet him until I was 15 years old because he wasn’t speaking to my mom.  The reason?  She once told my Grandma she would be at a family dinner at 6pm, and instead, my Grandma told my Grandpa she was on her way.  When she showed up at 6pm, hours later, but at the time she said she’d arrive, he gave her a good cuss and didn’t speak to her for oh, about 20 years.

Despite being practically an adult the first time my Grandpa ever spoke to me - we talked about the trip I had just taken to Australia that summer - we managed to somehow form a special bond.  Yes, I saw that he could be mean, even hateful to people, especially his children.  But he also had a large capacity for love.  We wrote letters to each other often.  When I was unemployed, he would send me $20 every now and then “so I’d have some extra money” even though I was bringing in more on an unemployment check than he was on Social Security.  And though he could have easily seen me as a bum during that time, I knew that he was proud of me.  When I was home for the holidays, my Grandpa entered the hospital, and I knew then, it was probably the last time I would see him.  (I am currently working in London.)  I made sure to call him when I returned to England, but felt bad keeping him on the phone, as his congestive heart failure made it harder and harder for him to breathe.  I was just in Madrid over the weekend and sent him a postcard, which he probably would have enjoyed, but will never get to read.

Death seems like something we should be able to handle, especially when you’ve been through it before.  But even when you have time to mentally prepare for it, you still get the wind knocked out of you by loss of someone you love.  What has made this so much harder, is being away from my mom - who is not only dealing with the loss of her father, but other family drama as well.  I cannot imagine how hard this is for her and her siblings, given the tumultuous relationship they have all had with their parents and each other.  I feel so incredibly blessed to have been loved so profusely by my mom, in a way that she has not experienced with her own parents.  I have never doubted her love for me, even when I know I’ve made her so incredibly angry that she’s wanted to spit, I have felt deeply loved and cared for.  I can’t imagine what it has been like for her not to have had that.  With my Grandpa’s passing, I’m sure there will be a conflict of emotions, and many questions that will always be unanswered.  And, because “we are Alberts” and we don’t get all mushy and talk about our feelings with each other, I’m sure things will get worse before they get better.

The picture in this post is the only picture I have with my Grandpa.  He was in and out of the hospital all last summer (we didn’t think he would make it then), and when I was back in the States for a few weeks reprieve from the UK, I made sure to go home for a few days to see him over Labor Day weekend.  In a strange moment of morbidity, I wanted to make sure I had at least one picture with my Grandpa.  Although I did get to spend Christmas with him, we did not take anymore photos.

I was thinking today about God, the Universe, Fate, whatever you want to call it/believe in, about all of my Grandparents.  When I was younger, my favorite person in the world was my Grandfather on my dad’s side.  He passed away when I was just 8 years old.  After that, I became much closer with my Nana, who quite frankly, scared me a bit as a child.  She passed away my senior year of college.  Since then, I clung tighter to my relationship with my Grandpa Albert, and now all I have left is my Grandma Albert - who honestly, I have the least of a relationship with of all.  It’s almost as though God took them in order, leaving me more time to build stronger the relationships that needed it.  I don’t know that I’ll ever be close to my Grandma, and I’ll certainly never have with her what I’ve had with my other Grandparents, but it’s important to me that I give her more of a chance.  

As for my Grandpa, who wished “he’d just die and get it over with,”  I hope there is, at long last, peace.