Tuesday, 26 February 2013
05:23:02 PM (GMT)
My grandpa died a week ago.
No one really knows besides my family, and now you, Stranger. Whoever you are,
reading this on your computer or iPad or whatever. Probably miles and miles away from
me, and you're the first I've told.
I hardly knew him. He babysat me when I was younger, used to give me Reese's Peanut
Butter Cups all the time and fall asleep on the couch while I ran around the house
with my younger brother. He always looked so warm and happy and relaxed, and smelled
of Old Spice cologne. He had such a beautiful singing voice. It was so low, but so
controlled, and it always told he story of Jesus.
Then, one day, Daddy took me to his apartment, and I remember stacks of boxes and
lamps and books everywhere, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Grandpa was a hoarder.
We took everything out of his house that day, while he sat in a green recliner and
watched us, through those thick, square glasses, eating cherry tomatoes. I took a few
of his things home, like a Winnie the Pooh bedside lamp and a tennis racket. I never
played tennis but I wanted it, so I guess I was a little hoarder, too.
Soon after that day, Grandpa moved far away. I took me a few years to understand why.
The Lord had summoned him; he went to Missouri, where our small church had multiple
branches and was much more popular in the community.
He came and visited in the Summer every few years, but it always made Daddy angry
because he never warned us; he would just show up on the porch one day and then take
over my room for a week. After he left, it would take months for the smell of his
cologne to wear off, and I'd find his trash in every nook and cranny.
He stopped coming at all after a few times because Daddy was so angry. So he stayed
with my Aunt if he ever visited.
He ended up finding a new wife in Missouri, after a lifetime of missing my Grandma
after their divorce when they eerie still young. He didn't even tell us-- his new
I met her once last Summer, and she was the sweetest, prettiest old lady I'd ever
That was also the last time I ever saw my Grandpa.
I miss him so much more than I'm willing to admit, and I'm so angry at my father for
not loving him more despite his mistakes.
I've never dealt with death before.
I haven't even cried about it.
I don't even believe it.
I have this poem he wrote for me, and I'm hanging it back up on my wall tonight.
Thanks for letting me rant, Stranger.