“Are we going to move into another new house?” - Aliyah, the morning after we moved into our townhouse. I think this transition wore her out.
What I’m up to
It’s been a full and hard couple of weeks. In less than two weeks:
we checked out of our Airbnb in Türkiye, said goodbye to our friends, and embarked on a long travel day(s) from Antalya to Calgary.
we started setting up our apartment while staying with family.
Aliyah had a tonic-clonic seizure, her first big one like this in over a year. We were at the YMCA.
my Grandfather (known in most recent years as “G-pa”) passed away suddenly.
What I’m grieving
He said he wanted to live to be 100. That was his plan for the longest time. And into his 70’s he was going on road trips with me and bike rides with my sister. While he retired decades ago, he was still going to regular lunches with his co-workers and he fixed up a 1950’s jukebox with his best friend from kindergarten for their 60th high school reunion.
With some people, my grandfather’s relationship was complicated. But with me, it was never complicated.
When we were little, my brother and I would spend at least a week every summer at his house with my grandmother. She helped me sew a potholder and he helped my brother build a birdhouse in the basement in his shop. In that shop, he showed me when I was older, he displayed photos of my grandmother in her 20s. Radiant and hopeful, she posed for him in the living room. She died 29 years ago and he never took off his wedding ring.
When I was in college, I lived just an hour from Grandpa and I’d spend weekends with him, do laundry at his house, play the old-school Nintendo he’d set up in my room (from this Nintendo I’d learned the phrase “Cheaters never prosper” from my uncle). I poured over his massive collection of photo albums, asking questions and hearing stories from my mom’s childhood and also from the albums of over a century ago which he inherited from his parents. We’d eat meals at the diner and took road trips with his pet bird, Angel.
On those road trips we shared this strange bond of loneliness. Myself as a young, 20-something longing for deep friendships and for marriage. He, longing for the wife of his youth and for his friendships - most of whom past on before him. While I can see now that he could have instilled hope in me of the joys to come, separating us by the generations between, he joined me in my longing and ache, sharing his openly. Binding our hearts together between rest stops of bathroom breaks and cans of Coke.
He told me that my grandmother was the one who asked him to marry. He shared about tension in his shop at Bell labs between immigrants just after the second world war. He told me of how he drove to work with a plow on the front of his truck, providing protection from bullets during the race riots in the early 1970s. He never let me drive through a certain part of the city alone, day or night.
We started loosing him slowly.
At first, he confessed to me on the phone that he had depression. That he’d had it for a while and it was taking hold of his mind and heart again and that’s why he hadn’t called. He told me not to tell my mom, but I did.
He stopped knowing what to order at our favourite restaurant. He just ordered what I did and always got a Coke, so I did too.
After I married and moved to the Philippines, I called him and he was shocked: “Aren’t you in the Philippines? How are we talking right now?” “It’s the internet, Grandpa! We’re talking over the internet!”
“You’re kidding! This is what we worked to develop at the labs! Those fiber optic cables we spent years on. They’re running under the ocean and that’s how we can talk today.” That’s when I learned my grandfather played a part in the development of the internet.
My mom continued to care for him more and more. While he lived alone, he’d come stay with my parents for weeks at a time, earning his room the title of “Grandpa’s room” where some clothes stayed throughout the year. Mom always encouraged us to call him and set up the camera so he could see us when we called.
During a visit to my parents, Grandpa and I sat at the table drinking our morning coffee and his eyes wandered out the window. “It’s the strangest thing, getting old,” he began. “I’m here sitting with you, but I’m also a teenager causing trouble with Dougie in the high school chem lab. Oh the problems we would create!”
I’d let him wander back in time, allowing him to take me back there. Sometimes we were in high school and other times he was a young boy with a dog who liked him much more than that little black dog liked his older sister.
As our young families grew, he’d sit in “G-pa’s chair” and watch. He did his word searches or let his eyes zone while watching a crime show. The look on his face said he was just content to be with family. Satisfied to watch the kids play, to hear our conversations though rarely adding to them.
He never forgot who we were. Though the dementia took his short term memory and so much else, he remained rooted in family. His mantel was covered in photo frames of all of us throughout the years. In front of his fireplace stood the cross that he constructed years ago to display at Easter. My dad said that it was Grandpa’s faith that sparked his own, and I know that faith isn’t something he forgot either.
Where I’m going
Coen and I will fly to Connecticut for G-pa’s funeral. Coen William never got to meet my grandfather, Frederick William. But he’ll be there to celebrate his life … and to meet my family for the first time.
What I’m reading
Finding Home by Estelí Meza. Conejo goes in search of his home after loosing it to a wind storm. While he doesn’t find the home he lost, the last page ends like this: “Conejo did not find his old house. But he found his way. He filled his new home with memories. A photo. A flower. A book. And plenty of music and stories.”
Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. Transition, loss, cultural identity. It seemed like a good time to finally read this one.
What I’m watching
The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (link to the trailer). It’s a film by Wes Anderson, based off the short story by Roald Dahl. Fascinating and just a lovely watch. You can find this on Netflix and I see now that there are more of its kind!
What I’m Googling
weather somerset new jersey next week
fisher price basketball hoop
indigo kids bathroom
Until next week,
cer
I loved reading what you wrote about your grandfather. Sorry to hear he passed away while you are in the middle of a huge transition already
💔
My condolences for your Grandpa but what a lovely relationship you had!!