For a long time, I had two Grandfathers. At some point in childhood, I was told I had a “Papa,” not a “Grandpa,” so I had a Grandpa and a Papa. Several years ago, it was whittled down to a Grandpa.
Grandpa Grimm died on Sunday. I was fortunate enough to see him for all of my life, the vast majority with him active. He was in his nineties before he stopped doing most of the chores on his own. He gave up his driver’s license the year my mother passed. Grandpa was the man who called me to tell me mom had passed – to find your own daughter passed away and then to call her son. That takes something.
99 years. A man well-versed in story-telling and jokes and loving life. So many stories – the time he drove a model A over his brother’s chest; the time he fell off a roof; kicked in the head by a horse; kicked in the chest by a cow; the time a snapping turtle bit his calf muscle; the deer with one horn, the ghost deer, the potato pit; the canoe race; the alligator; the other alligator – the dozens of sale barn purchases.
Here was a man who never met another he didn’t like. The kindest man I’ve ever met – a man so kind and fun, he wins all the Grandpa contests. Out of them all, he ranks top for all the inlaws.
So. I am sad. I am happy to see him reunited with his wife, to be with his daughter and son. Grandpa Moon’s last words were “Everybody’s here – Oh Boy, Oh Boy!” It’s comforting.
When Mom died – that left a hole. It has been there, gnawing and I have missed her desperately. Grandpa – this is the hardest thing for me to understand. It feels like a circle has been closed. A path has ended that began with Mom dying – Grandpa has closed it, made it easier to let Mom go as well. I can’t explain it.
I miss Mom. I miss Grandpa. Perhaps they are together again, with Grandma, with Uncle Doug. Who knows – who knows what happens.