Grandpa Don

At first, the day of, I didn't know what to write. Now on March 27th at 2:39 a.m. I have a compulsive urge to write what I feel and what I know. I swear this compulsion about sharing my feelings through writing is why my sleep is so fucked up. All my ideas flow through my fingertips best at night. This would be helpful if I slept all day and was up at night ehemmm maybe I should be a vampire.

Anywho, March 24th 2010 my Grandpa Don died. His heart stopped, his breath left his lungs and his eyes closed. My family saw him before he passed and I was up at school when I got the news. I have and still do hold on to the fact that I wasn't there, wasn't there to squeeze his hand and give him a kiss. My grandpa has been a part of my life since I can remember. I remember the rosmoor fair where he bought me the barbie basket filled with everything pink and Barbie. All the trips to Disneyland and in particular riding the jungle cruise with him. Being young, vivacious, curious, self centered, I didn't appreciate him and the time I spent with him. I have come to terms that that is okay because I was so little and didn't realize that all moments were fleeting, though I do believe as I got older I did kind of make up for lost time. But, only kind of.

There's a lot of things I could say about my grandpa, I suppose the most important things were that he served in the Air Force during World War II and was in the top turret of a B-24 Bomber plane, he loved his country and even more his family, he came from nothing and made something of himself, he was courageous, strong, loving, kind, smart, and generous. Of course none of these things that I have just said define my grandpa, he was undefinable. (Sorry for the first sentence run-on)

On the day of his funeral I was sad, nervous and happy. Seemingly odd emotions to have at your grandfather's funeral. I was happy that even though the pain was not gone, that we were making progress in this difficult time. After this day there would be no more talk of funerals, death and things that I didn't want to think about. Who will get this? Do you think she will even show up to the funeral? What flowers should we pick for the arrangements? So stressful in a time where all you want to do is curl up in a ball and wait till it is over. I have to say that it was definitely a bonding experience for my mom's side of the family because in the death of my grandpa we found what truly held us together, him. I was of course sad and pained with grief that my grandfather was now gone but I was sad that I didn't get to say goodbye necessarily like my family had. We kind of knew that within a few days he would probably pass so of course people flooded into his house to have one last glance at his life and a give him a kiss or two. I was not there. I thought I was going to be seeing him over spring break but unfortunately he passed a day before I was supposed to leave.

I was nervous because I was going to be speaking in front of everyone at the service. I had decided to read a Henry Scott Holland poem (posted below) because I just couldn't come up with any words to express how I felt. Not being able to put my own feelings on paper was heartbreaking for me because I knew what I wanted to say but I just couldn't find a way; I wanted to do my grandpa proud but I couldn't. The service was beautiful and then we went back to his house. It's funny because I could read so many different emotions on everybody's faces. I saw happy, relived, sad, torn, indifferent, empty, lost. So many emotions in a small house in Long Beach can be quite tiresome to the soul and mind. Me and Scott escaped to the car. Everyone grieves in their own way and for a while there was silence and mindless babbling about the fact that he was actually gone. The day was lovely for such an unfortunate occasion. I dressed up that day in a little black dress, pearls, with my hair pulled back, and way too high stilleto heels. I wanted to look good for my last and final goodbye to him.

It's odd, I have always believed in ghosts/apparitions. My mom went to this median and she was able to talk/contact her mother who died a little after she was 21 (not sure as to her exact age when Grandma Mary died). Maybe you don't believe in that kind of stuff but I did and after hearing about my mom's experience last year it was just more of a confirmation of the ability to communicate with the dead. I don't feel this way now. After my Grandpa died I remember being able to feel him, feel where he was after he had passed...somewhere in a space between death and heaven (if heaven exists). Caught in the afterlife I felt what he was experiencing, and me and my mom would talk about it. I thought it was all real but now I look back and think that it was all in my mind. Why such a change of heart? It has now been a year since his death and I don't feel his presence anymore and I don't know if this is because my outward grieving has stopped and I no longer have to console myself with this idea of him watching over me or if it never existed in the first place. My grandfather believed in ghosts and I just feel like I should still feel him, always, by my side, or up above looking down upon me. You know how if you stare at someone they eventually look your way, I feel like he isn't staring and I can't find him. See it doesn't matter if what I believed to be true, ghost, really exist or not because I have learned how he carries on in other ways. He is forever present in me, my mom, my brother, my auntie, jen, sal, jack. His genes run through us, basically. I have his many photo albums, his medals and all other memorabilia that I have staked claim on. I know he will never truly die, not in my heart at least. After he had died and I had heard all the things that people had to say about my grandpa I started to realize, in depth, what an amazing person he was. Words fail to even describe him. I realized I wanted to live a life like his; Always giving to others when he didn't have enough for himself, extending his hand to people who weren't even his family, keeping in touch constantly with the people he loved, always having a joke to make the day lighter, having passion for his life and country. My grandfather instilled drive, passion and perseverance in me. He fueled my phases of art, horse back riding and everything else I wanted to try. He brought light to my dreams, making me believe that anything I wanted to do was possible. Today life can fucking beat you down into the ground. Life is just so destructive and beautiful at the same time that we don't know whether we are happy to be alive or wishing we were dead. I don't believe my life was easier than his or harder, just really different. But he got through it and made it something worth talking about. I want to be like my grandpa. This is how I know he will never die. What I've learned from him will never disappear and when I falter the memories of him will drive me on. Death brings light to many things, things unknown that you never noticed. Death also breaks your heart and makes the world at times seem a little bit terrifying.

I have been reading a lot about religion for of course my world religions class and I have realized that life is kind of messed up. I understand why myself, and others prayed for death because the world was so hateful and painful. I get it. The difference between now and then is that to give in to the world, to kill yourself, is the fact that you lack fiber and courage. I don't believe we are meant to succeed. I believe in a theological sense that the world is against us and that there is no hope for mankind because we will end up destroying ourselves and everything we build. But, I also believe that we are meant to be here so that we can change it, change destiny if destiny exists or make up our own story because noting exists ahead. Choose...live life or live dead. I want to ask myself everyday, am I taking today for granted? Have I told everyone I love that I love and appreciate them? Am I enjoying my life? These are simple questions to ask but how often to we continuously ask them? I, myself, never do except for once in a while. All I am saying is that through death there is meaning and by adding to your life there is meaning in death.


Death is nothing at all by Henry Scott-Holland

Death is nothing at all

I have only slipped away into the next room

I am I and you are you

Whatever we were to each other

That we are still

Call me by my old familiar name

Speak to me in the easy way you always used

Put no difference into your tone

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow

Laugh as we always laughed

At the little jokes we always enjoyed together

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was

Let it be spoken without effort

Without the ghost of a shadow in it

Life means all that it ever meant

It is the same as it ever was

There is absolute unbroken continuity

What is death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind

Because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you for an interval

Somewhere very near

Just around the corner

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost

One brief moment and all will be as it was before

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!



I love you Grandpa<3