Tivoli. She was with us when Granddaddy passed away, and she knows how hard it has been on me to witness Granddaddy's death. She also saw him pass away, but before that, she witnessed two other loved ones pass away. She knows how difficult it is to explain this feeling. Today she reached out to me, and I am thankful for that.
She also took a video of Granddaddy this past December. He was reciting a poem about a frog which he used to recite to us as kids. It's quite impressive when you consider he was almost 90 years old at the time of the video!
Things I realized today:
That Granddaddy was someone who took a deep interest in my life. He wanted to know about my day, about my dreaded chemistry class, about my job at the daycare. I will miss reporting to him about my days. About "How did Toby behave today?"
That when I sat on his couch in his den, there was going to be a visit. It's strange that the sofa is still there but his chair is gone. The sofa is just a sofa now. It's not a place to visit anymore.
That I won't hear him say, "Come here, Abby. Sit in my lap and be good." or "Come on, Abby, supper's ready." or "How's my drinking buddy today?"
That he lived his life in full. The grapevines are trimmed back, ready for summer. There is a church bulletin on his dresser, with the list of supplies to send on the African mission pulled out. His desk is littered with sticky notes of names and phone numbers. He was busy living, not worrying about death.
That it doesn't quite feel like home here anymore. It is, of course, still home. But Granddaddy was like the lid on the pot, creating a weight and a heaviness that kind of kept things in place. But now, it feels like things are floating up in an uncontrolled way. There's not the gravity around meals right now...or Sunday mornings...or a reason to slow down and have a cup of coffee. The routine is broken. I feel broken. I know things will get better in time, just waiting for it.
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