I’ve been trying to write this blog post for nearly a week now. I start, then stop. Start, then stop.
Because, for one of the first times in my life, I’m struggling to find the right words.
So I’m just going to write what I feel. And hit publish before I can second guess myself. So here goes…
My beloved grandfather passed away on Labor Day, when he finally succumbed to the disease that first took him away from us several years ago: dementia and Alzheimer’s.
It’s so tempting to dwell on the sadness and the grief and how awful it was at the end. But he wouldn’t want me to do that. And, truthfully, to do so would be a disservice to his memory and to the remarkable life that he lived.
Because it was remarkable. He was an artist. A Korean War veteran. A chef. An athlete. A cake decorator extraordinaire. A house builder. A sentimental romantic. A Mr. Fix-It. A storyteller. A mechanic. A role model. A husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather.
Most importantly, he was devoted to his family, whether it was his decision to turn down opportunities as a young man to try out for Major League Baseball and attend a prestigious art school because, as the oldest of ten children, he needed to help his parents … or the way he would wake up before the crack of dawn for nearly 40 years to go to work at the bakery because that’s how he provided for his wife and children … or the way he was always there for us grandkids for every school recital, every honors night, every graduation, every birthday party.
As an adult, I recognize how incredibly fortunate I have been to have him in my life for nearly 40 years, to have a grandfather who was more than just a name scribbled on a birthday card or someone I made awkward conversation with on holidays.
He was truly in my life… and not because he was only in his mid-40s when he became a grandfather, or because we lived in the same town, or because we had dinner together every Sunday. It was simply who he was.
He’s the one who would use his artistic talent to make his granddaughters’ birthdays something truly special, letting us pick whatever we wanted for our birthday cake each year and then hand decorating it with such painstaking precision. They were truly works of art. I still remember each one to this day.
He’s the one who would come up with silly songs and rhymes, getting on the floor to play with me and my sister and make us laugh. Even now, we get a kick out of one slightly inappropriate ditty called “To the Mama Cockamamie.”
He’s the one who would suggest an afternoon drive for ice cream or apple picking after Sunday dinner, or would dust off the rickety old slide projector in the basement to look through old family photos, knowing how much my sister and I loved it (an event she recently coined as “Slide Show Sundays”).
A firm believer in the idea that the holidays were the time to celebrate and be with family, he’s the one who would carefully plan every dinner menu, turning the Christmas meal into a wonderful, multi-course delight for our extended family…and creating magical Christmas memories that I know I’ll carry with me forever.
He’s the who — as a retired baker in his mid-70s — still made and decorated my wedding cake.
He’s the one who would take such delight in playing the harmonica for his little great-grandson, who would clap and laugh and dance along every single time … and who eventually had to have his own harmonica so they could play together. I think about this moment a lot now, especially since Buddy reminds me of him in so many ways, from his love of baseball and his lightning fast speed to his artistic ability and silly but sweet nature.
But what I’ll remember most about him is the love he and my grandmother shared for 64 years. There’s a reason why, instead of throwing my bouquet at my wedding, I presented it to my grandmother in recognition of their extraordinary example of love and devotion … something that was evident every single day until his final breath.
From the beautiful letters he wrote to her from his years away at war (including a beautifully hand-drawn two-month anniversary card that still brings me to tears) to the pictures of them throughout the years (usually with him gazing adoringly at her) to the way they would slow dance, our very own Fred and Ginger completely oblivious to the world around them, to the way she cared for him throughout his illness with such grace and compassion and patience … theirs is truly a love story for the ages.
I feel blessed to have witnessed it, and to know he loved his family with the same fierce and unconditional devotion.
And even though Mimi never got to know him the way Buddy did, I thank my lucky stars that both my children had the opportunity to meet, and be loved, by him.
We love and miss you, Grandpa.
Elle @ keep it simpelle says
My sincere condolences to you and your family. Your grandpa sounds like an amazing man! xoxo
Danielle Kempe says
So sorry for your loss!
Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man & you wrote a beautiful tribute.
I lost both my grandfather’s last year, within a few weeks of each other. One was a similar situation to yours, dementia had changed him, the other was a 95 year old that had a 2 week decline.
Keeping your family in my thoughts.
Your kids will cherish their memories of their great grandfather. (I still have happy memories of my great-grandmother.)
JENNIFER says
I am so sorry for your loss. Your post brought me to tears – he sounds like a truly lovely man and a fantastic grandafther.
Cheyrl says
Thanks for sharing his wonderful life story. May these many memories hold you tight and help you smile. Hugs.