Saying Goodbye
When my grandmother died suddenly almost six years ago, I was devastated. Even though I got to say a technical goodbye as she lay dying, there was still so much I had to say since her passing was so unexpected. So I wrote her a letter. I read it at her funeral service, and then she was buried with it. It may seem silly to some people that I didn't just say all these things to my grandmother in one touching made-for-tv-movie-esque scene as she was on her deathbed, but I physically could not find the words to say the things I needed to say in that setting: hospital, machines, panic, grief. I needed to be removed from that reality to gather my thoughts, and it was important to me to be able to say the things I said in the way that I said them.
At my grandfather's funeral service a few weeks ago, the pastor invited family members up to the pulpit to share, but no one came. I had thought about writing something to read at his funeral, but I didn't know if I would be allowed to speak. I didn't know my grandfather's pastor well; in fact, I'd never met him until the day of the funeral, and because of my work schedule, I hadn't been involved in the planning of the funeral nor had the time to sit down, collect my thoughts, and prepare something worthy of sharing. So when the pastor invited family speakers up at the funeral, I was surprised then nervous then embarrassed and then sad: surprised because I wasn't expecting it; nervous because I felt compelled to speak but had nothing prepared; embarrassed because we (the family) were all taken aback by this; sad because no one spoke. But I do have something to say. So I'll say it now. I'm only sorry for not being ready to say this at the funeral.
Nana and Papaw were 100%, unequivocally, undeniably opposite from one another. Nana was a classic extrovert like myself while Papaw was a true introvert, a tinkerer, a shuffler. We certainly didn't share a similar personality, he and I, but we did share a strong bond. Mom always tells the story of when I became Papaw's. I was tiny, a newborn really, and my young, sleep-deprived mother sought an afternoon of refuge at her parents' home. Exhausted, she slung me into Papaw's arms. In typical mid-century father figure fashion, he looked at her bewildered. He'd never been a hands-on father, per se; he was the breadwinner, the one who pulled out of the driveway at 7:30 and back into it at 5:30. "What do you want me to do with her?" he asked my mother. "Feed her," she replied. And apparently that was that. According to Mom (and even Papaw himself), that was it; I was his, and he was mine from that day on.
Nana and Papaw spoiled Morgan and I, utterly, categorically. I don't mean that they lavished us with expensive gifts or trips or anything like that; quite the opposite really. They lavished us with affection, time, and attention. When I was a toddler, I distinctly remember coming over to their house and requesting that Papaw read me The Funnies (The Comics for you uncultured readers). THE FUNNIES. You know, the cartoon strips that aren't really designed to be read aloud, especially to a three year old? Well, he read The Funnies to me without fail for years. It was our thing. I would sit with him in his recliner, and he would describe for me frame-by-frame the content of each comic. Only now do I fully appreciate this gesture of love; I think of him often when reading Lucy the same story over and over and describing each picture in painful detail when she inevitably points to each rock, blade of grass, and leaf in the illustration of books. How tedious most men would've found it to do this day after day, but he loved it, and so did I.
Morgan and I spent a lot of time at Nana and Papaw's because we lived so close, and Mom and Dad both worked for most of our childhood. Whenever we were over and it would rain, we would open the front door, sit in the foyer, and watch the rain through the glass of the storm door. Do you know what the rain looks like when it begins to fall rapidly, and each fat droplet sort of splashes as it hits the ground? A miniature explosion of sorts? Morgan and I would become frightened sometimes when the rain fell like this, but, one day, Papaw explained to us that it was just the rain dancing. The rain didn't always dance, so this was a special kind of rain. For whatever reason, we totally bought that simple, hokey assessment of the raindrops, and it became a thing. Anytime the rain fell with such force, he would remind us that the rain was dancing. Even now when the rain falls in that specific way, I imagine him speaking to two very young, slightly scared little girls staring out the storm door.
One thing that Papaw absolutely loved to do was to drive. One thing that Papaw absolutely could not master was directions. Oh, the times we got lost on road trips; it grated on me so much, but I just couldn't get short with him. I could never do it. When I was obsessed with Kerry Collins (what up, original Panthers fans!?) as a twelve-year-old, Papaw took me to see a mini-camp practice at Wofford. Except we got lost. Horribly lost. After several hours of aimless driving through South Carolina fields in the days before GPS, we finally arrived with a paltry thirty minutes of practice left. We'd no sooner found a place to sit when practice was over. But I couldn't be mad. He'd tried so hard, and it was so precious of him to take me in the first place. I felt the same way when he drove me all the way to Charleston for a campus tour of College of Charleston. Again, we were excruciatingly late - like tour starts at 3:00, arrive in parking deck across campus at 2:58 kind of late. He was so panicked. Neither one of us knew where to go, so he stood looking at the map trying to figure out the best way to get to the admissions office. I finally flagged down a friendly looking boy with a backpack who kindly pointed us in the right direction, and we soon sheepishly strolled up to a tour group that was already well in progress. How precious was it for my seventy-something year old grandfather to do that? But he did things like that for me all the time.
Nana and Papaw insisted (and anyone who knew my grandmother knows the key word is insisted there. No body told Nana, "No.") on buying my senior prom dress, so they sent me on my way with their credit card and no spending limit. I always felt horribly guilty when my parents or grandparents (or anyone for that matter) spent a great deal of money on me, so I assured them that I would keep it well under $200. Of course they pooh-poohed me and told me to spend what I wanted because it was their gift. That's just who they were. The best. The sweetest. My best friends (Sarah, Whitney, and Liz) and I piled into one of our cars and made the trek to South Park to frolic through prom dress heaven. I found the perfect dress a few stores in; it fit like a dream, it was under budget, and I was ready to pay, but the store wouldn't take the credit card because I was a minor with someone else's card. Distraught, I whipped out my early-2000-era pink Nokia and dialed my grandparents. I put the saleswoman on the phone with my grandfather who insisted that I had permission to use the card. "Sir, I understand, but the card holder must be here to purchase the dress. We can put the dress on hold through tomorrow, and she can come back with an adult." I was completely fine with this, but my grandfather was not. He wanted me to have the dress before I left the mall that night. All my friends had gotten their dresses, and I would too, gosh darnit. Despite my protests, my elderly grandfather got into his car and drove all the way from Gastonia to Charlotte in Saturday night traffic just to buy my prom dress for me. I will never part with that dress; it's still hanging in my closet eleven years later.
I miss both of my grandparents terribly. They both loved me so fiercely, with such a pure love. I am blessed to have loved and been loved in such a manner. My relationship with Papaw was vastly different from my relationship with Nana. Nana and I were kindred spirits; Papaw and I were a complimentary pair. My tribute to Papaw may not be as grand of a gesture as my tribute to Nana, but it is heartfelt and honest, nonetheless. I will always love and remember him for the sweet presence that he was.
I closed my letter to Nana with these lines from e.e. cummings, and I'll do the same for Papaw.
At my grandfather's funeral service a few weeks ago, the pastor invited family members up to the pulpit to share, but no one came. I had thought about writing something to read at his funeral, but I didn't know if I would be allowed to speak. I didn't know my grandfather's pastor well; in fact, I'd never met him until the day of the funeral, and because of my work schedule, I hadn't been involved in the planning of the funeral nor had the time to sit down, collect my thoughts, and prepare something worthy of sharing. So when the pastor invited family speakers up at the funeral, I was surprised then nervous then embarrassed and then sad: surprised because I wasn't expecting it; nervous because I felt compelled to speak but had nothing prepared; embarrassed because we (the family) were all taken aback by this; sad because no one spoke. But I do have something to say. So I'll say it now. I'm only sorry for not being ready to say this at the funeral.
Nana and Papaw were 100%, unequivocally, undeniably opposite from one another. Nana was a classic extrovert like myself while Papaw was a true introvert, a tinkerer, a shuffler. We certainly didn't share a similar personality, he and I, but we did share a strong bond. Mom always tells the story of when I became Papaw's. I was tiny, a newborn really, and my young, sleep-deprived mother sought an afternoon of refuge at her parents' home. Exhausted, she slung me into Papaw's arms. In typical mid-century father figure fashion, he looked at her bewildered. He'd never been a hands-on father, per se; he was the breadwinner, the one who pulled out of the driveway at 7:30 and back into it at 5:30. "What do you want me to do with her?" he asked my mother. "Feed her," she replied. And apparently that was that. According to Mom (and even Papaw himself), that was it; I was his, and he was mine from that day on.
Nana and Papaw spoiled Morgan and I, utterly, categorically. I don't mean that they lavished us with expensive gifts or trips or anything like that; quite the opposite really. They lavished us with affection, time, and attention. When I was a toddler, I distinctly remember coming over to their house and requesting that Papaw read me The Funnies (The Comics for you uncultured readers). THE FUNNIES. You know, the cartoon strips that aren't really designed to be read aloud, especially to a three year old? Well, he read The Funnies to me without fail for years. It was our thing. I would sit with him in his recliner, and he would describe for me frame-by-frame the content of each comic. Only now do I fully appreciate this gesture of love; I think of him often when reading Lucy the same story over and over and describing each picture in painful detail when she inevitably points to each rock, blade of grass, and leaf in the illustration of books. How tedious most men would've found it to do this day after day, but he loved it, and so did I.
Morgan and I spent a lot of time at Nana and Papaw's because we lived so close, and Mom and Dad both worked for most of our childhood. Whenever we were over and it would rain, we would open the front door, sit in the foyer, and watch the rain through the glass of the storm door. Do you know what the rain looks like when it begins to fall rapidly, and each fat droplet sort of splashes as it hits the ground? A miniature explosion of sorts? Morgan and I would become frightened sometimes when the rain fell like this, but, one day, Papaw explained to us that it was just the rain dancing. The rain didn't always dance, so this was a special kind of rain. For whatever reason, we totally bought that simple, hokey assessment of the raindrops, and it became a thing. Anytime the rain fell with such force, he would remind us that the rain was dancing. Even now when the rain falls in that specific way, I imagine him speaking to two very young, slightly scared little girls staring out the storm door.
One thing that Papaw absolutely loved to do was to drive. One thing that Papaw absolutely could not master was directions. Oh, the times we got lost on road trips; it grated on me so much, but I just couldn't get short with him. I could never do it. When I was obsessed with Kerry Collins (what up, original Panthers fans!?) as a twelve-year-old, Papaw took me to see a mini-camp practice at Wofford. Except we got lost. Horribly lost. After several hours of aimless driving through South Carolina fields in the days before GPS, we finally arrived with a paltry thirty minutes of practice left. We'd no sooner found a place to sit when practice was over. But I couldn't be mad. He'd tried so hard, and it was so precious of him to take me in the first place. I felt the same way when he drove me all the way to Charleston for a campus tour of College of Charleston. Again, we were excruciatingly late - like tour starts at 3:00, arrive in parking deck across campus at 2:58 kind of late. He was so panicked. Neither one of us knew where to go, so he stood looking at the map trying to figure out the best way to get to the admissions office. I finally flagged down a friendly looking boy with a backpack who kindly pointed us in the right direction, and we soon sheepishly strolled up to a tour group that was already well in progress. How precious was it for my seventy-something year old grandfather to do that? But he did things like that for me all the time.
Nana and Papaw insisted (and anyone who knew my grandmother knows the key word is insisted there. No body told Nana, "No.") on buying my senior prom dress, so they sent me on my way with their credit card and no spending limit. I always felt horribly guilty when my parents or grandparents (or anyone for that matter) spent a great deal of money on me, so I assured them that I would keep it well under $200. Of course they pooh-poohed me and told me to spend what I wanted because it was their gift. That's just who they were. The best. The sweetest. My best friends (Sarah, Whitney, and Liz) and I piled into one of our cars and made the trek to South Park to frolic through prom dress heaven. I found the perfect dress a few stores in; it fit like a dream, it was under budget, and I was ready to pay, but the store wouldn't take the credit card because I was a minor with someone else's card. Distraught, I whipped out my early-2000-era pink Nokia and dialed my grandparents. I put the saleswoman on the phone with my grandfather who insisted that I had permission to use the card. "Sir, I understand, but the card holder must be here to purchase the dress. We can put the dress on hold through tomorrow, and she can come back with an adult." I was completely fine with this, but my grandfather was not. He wanted me to have the dress before I left the mall that night. All my friends had gotten their dresses, and I would too, gosh darnit. Despite my protests, my elderly grandfather got into his car and drove all the way from Gastonia to Charlotte in Saturday night traffic just to buy my prom dress for me. I will never part with that dress; it's still hanging in my closet eleven years later.
I miss both of my grandparents terribly. They both loved me so fiercely, with such a pure love. I am blessed to have loved and been loved in such a manner. My relationship with Papaw was vastly different from my relationship with Nana. Nana and I were kindred spirits; Papaw and I were a complimentary pair. My tribute to Papaw may not be as grand of a gesture as my tribute to Nana, but it is heartfelt and honest, nonetheless. I will always love and remember him for the sweet presence that he was.
I closed my letter to Nana with these lines from e.e. cummings, and I'll do the same for Papaw.
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
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