Suicidal Snowflakes

Just because I have a short attention span doesn\’t mean I…

Father’s Day

My grandmother passed away last month, so for father’s day I made him a “memory box” with things belonging to both of his parents. My grandfather went a few years before from azheimers, and I don’t think I’ve ever properly let go. There’s so much I regret, and so much I miss. Going through their old things was almost like some new trauma.

I tricked my sister into coming into the basement to “help” me go through pictures–I think I just needed someone to stay with me, so I’d have someone to put a brave face on for. Afer she went home, I couldn’t sleep the whole night, thinking about my grandfather.

I miss summer days at their house. I miss the tall grass he could never keep up with. I miss his bare belly sagging over his shorts, arm skin sagging and swaying as he pushed a green gas mower up and down the yard in imperfect lines. I miss the sweat dripping off of his forhead, and watching him wipe it with his shoulder. I miss sitting with him on the swing afterwords, drinking CrystalLite together, as though I’d somehow worked hard too. I think of him when the buckets of sweat are pouring off of me in the yard, or when I’m drinking CrystalLite after.

I miss seeing the wildflowers he bought from one of my school fundraisers grow in the back yard every summer. Most of them never actually flowered, they just grew tall and drove my grandmother nuts; and meant that he didn’t have to mow that whole portion of the yard. I miss the flowering bushes that made her crazy, and how much she hated all of his plants. I miss the walk he built out of bricks, and how uneaven it became as the dirt settled. I miss him never letting me go in the shed, because the hornets nested in there. I miss his kindnes; his innocent smile, his child-like devotion to God.

I miss cupboard full of “healthy” food from the 80’s–bran this, whole grain that, sugar free jam… How he could go down to the freezer and bring up a half gallon of icecream for any or no occation, fold back the paper box, and cut it with a knife. I hated the neopolitan that he always bought, now I miss it. I miss those hunks of icecream, and how a half gallon somehow ended up being “just enough” for seven people, or three.

He wasn’t an educated man, but he worked hard and took care of his family, first his younger sibilings and mother, then his wife, kids, grandkids. I miss the simplicity of his life, and how what he had was calm and peaceful and ENOUGH for him. I miss his gravel driveway off his gravel road, I miss the summer that they drove the ten hours to our new house to help us move and settle in. I miss his bright orange truck, I miss how his truck made my other grandfather jelous who ran out and bought one just like it. I miss cookouts over my family’s house. I miss him sitting on our back porch with a thirty-two ounce plastic glass of soda. I miss his love of pizza and lasagnia.

I miss HIM and I regret my attitudes and feelings that I kept to myself, that I thought he was low because he lacked education, and because he was happy with his simple life. I regret that I let that be a barrier, and I regret I never fully expressed my love and gratitude before he left me.

I miss my grandmother too and have similiar regrets, but this wound is older and deeper, for now.

I know this is long and long-winded, but I’ve been carrying it around for so long, it just all came out in one big vomit of a post.

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June 20, 2005 - Posted by | Family & Friends, Thoughts, Wordy

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