Grandpa 25 years on

Today marks a quarter century to the day since my maternal Grandpa's death.

My Little Grandpa and I were very close. He was as near to a matinee idol/hero/everything as a little boy could find, and I loved him very much. On the evening of Friday September 2nd, 1983 I returned from playing in the park to find him taking some aspirin. He would later retire to bed early, citing a stomach ache. Sometime later I joined him, cuddling up next to him and exchanging good nights.

I woke up Saturday morning to my Mother's panic screaming and a cold corpse beside me.

It sounds pretty traumatic, but the death itself was far less troubling than the loss of the man himself. Bluntly, it f*ed me up for awhile and surely stands as one of the pivotal days of my life.

But, frankly, I'm weary of talking about it. It is,despite my mind's refusal to accept the fact, a full 25 years since that horrible day. I'm a grown man, and whatever demons lingered about were  exorcised when I wrote a book about Grandpa six years ago. At this point, whining about it falls under the category of 'quasi-victim/martyr pityfest', and I just can't cotton to that.

 

[I think the anniversary is all the more poignant because it comes only three days after his house was unwillingly passed from my family's hands.What eerie timing.]

But 25 years . .the hours and minutes pass so slowly, the months and years so quickly. It just seems so unbelievable, like I could turnaround and be a nine year old boy in my Grandparent's kitchen, instead of a father of four. Far more often then I'll ever admit it feels like I'm playing dress-up and I'll wake up again to ride shotgun with the man on some errand or another.

I wish I'd gone to visit his grave today, but I was watching my kids and my sister's, and truth be told it did not occur to me until nightfall.

Rest in peace Grandpa. I love you.

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The day is not solely devoted to bad memories. Today is also the 20th birthday of my cousin E. Happy Birthday man!