Not that we wouldn't have fun, mind you. I remember how he used to get down on the ground and chase me and my siblings around as we would try and outrun the tickle monster. Never in my life have I ever felt so much adrenaline and fear and comfort course through my veins than in those moments. Now, I sat and looked at those same hands that would once reach out and those knees that used to knock against the carpet and realized that they may never that swiftly again. How the once warm voice that once called out for his "A.B. Baker the Junk Man" may very likely simply slur "hey" or "ha ha, yeah" for the rest of the time I'll know him.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my leg. My mother was sitting on the edge of her dad's bed now. She was telling him all about how her classes were going that she was teaching and how my little brother had just gotten his senior pictures. She reached for her phone and called up the website so she could show grandpa how high my brother could jump in the photo of him dunking. I used the break to check my Twitter and Facebook, but soon realized that for the past 2 hours my phone had been in the car. Normally, this would prompt me to really worry because, you know...I HAVE to stay updated. I NEED to know what's going on. But in that moment, in this time, it was ok.
This was a time I needed to be fully present. He deserves it.
We all do, really.
 |
| The smile is just a genetic thing, I suppose. |
The last time I saw my grandfather before the stroke was Christmas 2013. I remember sitting in a crowded basement with a ton of family members I would normally only see about twice a year. It was a very typical night with laughter, food, punch, screaming babies, annoyed in-laws, and one perturbed 21 year old who couldn't stay off his phone...at all. That was me. You see, what was important at that moment was to ignore my grandparents and figure out how to save a pretty new relationship. The only means to save it would be for me to be fully invested in the texts and potential phone calls that would come from my phone, and anyone or anything that would distract or ask about it would cause me to become angsty and, quite simply, angry. My grandma and grandpa sat back and tried to enjoy the moment, asking what I was doing and how my senior year was going. I would give a hasty reply, then sneak back to my phone. The only thing that really brought me back to reality was the only dating advice my brother has ever given me: "no matter how THAT (gestures to my phone) whole thing plays out, you'll still have tomorrow. But today THEY (gestures back to family) are here."
I noticed Fred outside my grandpa's door. Fred was a 95 year old guy in a wheel chair that, whenever he'd get bored, would scoot down the hall and park in front of people's doors so he could watch and see what was happening. If you had guests, he'd stay longer. Why? "It's better than television for me".
"How 'bout them Eagles?"
Grandpa was awake now. Maybe it was the stale air that woke him. Maybe it was the lemon sponge cake that mom just got out. I looked back to him and chuckled. He was grinning that goofy crooked smile that I knew him for. It reminded me that no matter what would happen, something was secured: my memories of him.
No matter how much the memory loss would reek havoc on his mind or the paralysis would stiffen up his right side, it can never take away the playing football in the back yard or the epic tickle fights that would ensue. Whenever I'm on the road, I always find myself buying a tastey-cake with my coffee to munch on while driving, just like he would have. It will always remind me of the times sitting at the kitchen table, eyes watering from my apparent allergy to Pennsylvania, eating a cake along with my grandpa while listening to him talk (usually sarcastically but always passionately) about his Phillies and Eagles. Only one thing would be able to really strip that from happening in the future, and that's if I would make the mistake I made a couple Christmas's ago.
There was no way I would have known that a couple months later my grandpa would be more/less taken away by a stroke. But that's just the thing. It's very easy to take the little things, the simple things, the traditions that happen each year or day for granted. To think that the staples of our lives would always be there. The sad reality is though, they won't.
But even as I left that day to return to Vienna, I was at peace. No, it isn't easy. It never is when you leave a loved one. But I have the life lessons, the memories, the crooked smile, the love for baseball that he passed on to me. The smiles he's given. That's enough to be more than thankful for. Heck, even the memories that I have because I was told about them since I was too young to remember them, such as my grandpa correcting people when they just called me "Ray" as a baby. It was a game of sorts. They'd say "Ray", and he'd add in the "mond". Sure, when I think about all of these things it may bring a tear to my eye, but its one that is born from a deep rooted love that was showered on me before I was even born.
The short film we made earlier this year that was inspired by my grandfather
Holidays are tough on many people because of lost loved ones. I can understand how we may get down, but remember the things that were! Remember the laughs, the tears, and the times that made that life so memorable. And then do the unthinkable: turn off the phone and unplug. Invest in the people and moments around you that day and time. Twitter will be there tomorrow. Someone will have a picture of turkey that you can double tap to like on Instagram on Black Friday. Give a hug to your parents. Tell your grandma about that one person you liked and almost asked out. Or subtly change the direction of conversation towards an embarrassing fact about your siblings. Whatever! The fact is to be in the moment.
Unplug and be present this Thanksgiving.
I love you, Grandpa. Happy Thanksgiving to you, my family, and to everybody! I hope that no matter where you are or who you are with, that you pause and remember all the moments and memories you have had with those people, and all the reasons you have to be thankful for them.
