Thursday, March 27, 2014


In the year 2010 in the month of March, I lost my grandfather.

Well, I guess I didn't lose him, I mean, I know where he is. But he's not here. It's hard to believe that it's been over four years since I've heard his voice or felt his arms around my body, enveloped in a tight squeezing hug.

Sometimes I get really sad about it, and I don't know that I can figure out exactly why. I'll just find myself thinking about him and wishing that I had been given the opportunity to really get to know him. I feel robbed, is the word that most accurately describes my emotion I think.

I suppose I'm lucky, though. I do have three remaining grandparents. I also don't know what it's like to lose a parent, a pain that I can't even fathom if I try my hardest.

Actually, this was probably the first real tragedy I had experienced in my life. I remember coming back from dinner and finding my phone in my dorm room with six missed calls from my father. I was wearing a purple shirt. With a pounding heart I called him back and then subsequently collapsed onto the bed in tears, phone in hand, dad still on the line.

Parkinson's disease is cruel. It affects the motor cortex of the brain, thereby affecting their ability to walk and talk. There are a plethora of other ugly things that come along with it and the medication prescribed to help handle it, but it's a slow moving disease and unfortunately for me I don't remember the early years of the Parkinson's - before it had taken its toll on my grandpa.

Now I'm left with stories and pictures of a man I desperately wanted to get to know. He was almost always happy, with a very sweet and caring disposition. I know a lot of times people tend to glorify someone after they die, making them seem more amazing than they actually were. But I really don't believe that's the case here. And that's part of why I'm upset that I only got to know him for so short of a time period.

Nineteen years is not nearly long enough, especially when you live in two separate states. But at the same time, nineteen years is better than no years at all.

Love you, gramps.


  1. I'm so sorry that you're struggling with that. My great grandmother suffers from Alzheimer's and dementia and it's so hard to talk to her when she doesn't remember who I am or even why I'm talking to her. It's like losing her in a way.

  2. This post seriously made me tear up. I'm looking at a blurry screen right now.
    I understand the pain of wishing you knew someone better.. a grandparent, better.
    My paternal grandfather, Alan, died eight years before I was born. I believe he had brain cancer. I was robbed of the opportunity of even meeting him. My paternal grandmother died in 2006. I was ten years old. I can't say that I knew her well at all, despite her only living an hour away. My maternal grandfather, Don, died from ALS just over a year after I was born. My mom tells me stories of me playing on his hospice bed and playing with the tattoos on his arms. I, obviously, don't remember him. Neecie (Vernice), my maternal grandmother, still lives. I see her at least twice a week and am constantly reminding myself to be thankful that I know her quite well, unlike my other grandparents. She can be awful crabby, so it's hard, but I won't allow myself to take for granted this time.

    I'm sorry you heart is hurting. Hold onto the memories of the time you had. Be thankful that you knew the man and don't have to just live off of stories. What I wouldn't give to be able to meet and get to know my grandfathers...


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