I am going to attempt to put all of my thoughts, love, and memories into words to share with everyone how I feel. Here goes nothing.
Being the oldest grandchild has its advantages and disadvantages. One of the obvious advantages is being able to know Grandpa the longest of the grandchildren. He was only just shy of 49 when I was born, so I remember when he was still working for the State and I remember when he retired. He still had his government cars when I was learning how to drive, so he took me out a couple of times. I will say it was a hair raising experience that had everything to do with the vehicle and nothing to do with Grandpa or my driving. The experience went something like this:
"Now this car has a few quirks, so you have to be prepared. The brakes are a bit touchy, and the power steering doesn't exactly work. Oh, and the accelerator is a bit hard."
Off we went. And oh my. Here I am, not quite 16, pretty short and not real sure of myself behind the wheel . . . and very lacking in the arm strength department.
Grandpa: "We're just going to run a few errands. I have to drop something off at McDonnell and then we will run down to the grocery store."
Me: "Ok, we can do this."
So I start the car and try to back up. No response from the gas pedal. A BIT hard? I had to stand on the thing to get a reaction. And then the steering, ha! It was sooo heavy and darn near impossible to turn from a standstill. But we got going and went out and over to the High School. At the first stop sign, I touched the brake and the car stood on its head. Oh yeah, the "a bit touchy" brakes. I forgot. So we went along our way, herky jerky as I wrestled the steering wheel and fought with the accelerator. And through it all, Grandpa sat there calm, all but taking a nap. Never a criticism of my driving, never a negative word. Just, "You're doing fine, keep it up. You can do it." Boy did my arms hurt the next day, though.
But as I said, there are disadvantages to being the oldest too. Like when all of your cousins are much much younger than you, and you don't qualify to hang out with the adults. So you are stuck on the outside looking in, while all the little kids play. One time, I decided "to heck with it". I wanted to play too. There were a few kids in the 2-5 year old age range that were scooting down the stairs on their butts. Just scooting down the backstairs into the kitchen. Looked like a fun game. I must have been maybe 10 or 12 or so. So, here I come scooting down the stairs into the kitchen and there is Grandpa. He takes one look at me and says, "Get off those stairs, you're going to wear out the new carpet. You're way too big to play that way." Dang it! So much for fitting in.
Come to think of it, being one of the older kids, I remember when Grandpa was a bit more stern and still in parent mode, rather than Grandpa mode. Uncle Joe, after all is only 10 and a half years older than I am and was still living at home when we used to go and spend our week or two each summer in Chippewa. I remember hearing Grandpa use his "mad voice", mostly directed at Chris and John, but occasionally I would get it. Like at bath time. Now I have always hated having water on my face, running down my face. I don't know if anyone else experienced baths at Grandma and Grandpa's, but Grandma would rinse your hair by dumping a pot of water over your head. This TERRIFIED me. So I would scream and scream and cry. And then Grandpa would come in and in his very stern, "mad voice", he would say, "Now that's enough now. You don't need to make such a fuss. Goodness gracious, you are fine. That's enough!" So intimidating.
But despite hearing the stern voice, I never doubted that Grandpa loved me. That he understood me. That no matter what, I could always come to him. Talk to him about anything. We really saw eye to eye on a lot of subjects. And he taught me so much. I always trusted his advice and would ask him, even to the end, for help with anything and everything. He somehow knew the answer no matter if it was how to fix something on your car or your house, how to get a good deal at the grocery store, how to find the best cut of beef, or what to do in your marriage. He tried to teach me that it was ok to leave all your groceries on the belt and walk away if they wouldn't honor your coupon, but that was a lesson I never could bring myself to carry through.
I loved the time spent at Grandma and Grandpa's house. How I could always talk about anything, even the difficult things that happened growing up. Things I couldn't talk about anywhere else. I could talk about them with Grandma and Grandpa. I have told them both many times that they are more than grandparents to me, they are friends. I feel safer and more at home with them than I ever felt at home. Grandma obviously is still here, and I am so grateful that I still have her, my closer-than-a-grandma, my friend, to talk with and share with. But the funny thing is, they are a unit. It's like I can't think of one without thinking of the other. Even though Grandma and I many times sat and chatted alone or watched a movie that Grandpa slept through, he was always there. Loving, supporting, chiming in when appropriate. They go together in my mind. And the house is part of that package.
So many memories there. So much love and connection. So many good conversations with Grandpa, so many hugs. So many "hey there, kid"'s. Hearing him tell me, "Are you behaving?" And then answering my return query with "It gets easier every day." Asking him what color his shirt was and then honestly thinking he didn't really know. Listening to those silly jokes. Hearing his stories, and laughing with him.
After his heart surgery, the anoxia left him having to relearn things that used to be easy for him. It also seemed to subtly change aspects of his personality. Being that I could always be honest with Grandpa and talk to him about anything, I mentioned it one day. This was probably a year after the heart surgery, when he was starting to get closer to himself again. I told him how even his expression looked different to me, like the eyes/personality, something was different. And Grandpa said, "I know, sometimes I look in the mirror and think 'who is that looking back at me?' It's a weird feeling to look in a mirror and know you are looking at yourself but it's like a stranger is looking back at you."
I love that there was nothing that was taboo to talk about like that. I love that I could just come out and say that something was wrong, and he didn't get offended or change the subject, he honestly faced the topic with me. The same thing happened a few times after the Multiple Myeloma diagnosis too. We candidly talked about death and how we were both afraid and uncertain. That level of understanding is so hard to find. Where someone knows instantly the intent behind your question or comment and has no problem entering into a discussion about it.
Grandpa meant so much to me, to all of us. More than we could ever express in words. We can be happy for him that he finally has all those answers we didn't know during those last conversations. But we can be sad that we have to wait to see him again and have those great discussions.
And to Grandpa, I will try to behave. I will fly it close to the road and keep all 4 wheels on the underside of the car. And I won't hit the pole. Love you now and always. I hope now you truly are terrific!
