But last week had me reminiscing a little while. In two day's time, it will also be the anniversary of my grandfather's passing. His death had a profound effect on my grief process. Sooo in preparation for Saturday/Sunday, I'm going to write a tiny story of the event, as I haven't stopped thinking about it for a week now.
I woke up Monday January 16, with joy in my heart. Not only was it my birthday, but it was also a school holiday for Martin Luther King, Jr Day. I had a day off, and we were moving. Growing up in this dingy two-bedroom house, I was really happy to see it go. Daddy had planned on having us out by the end of the day. His minivan was seatless so he could fit more stuff in it.
I still remember the house looking both empty and dirty. We didn't pack everything, and so much was just still lying all over the house. It made the move feel less real. My goal was to do some packing today and just enjoy this event. And in the grand tradition of my life, I wasn't exactly expecting anything major for my birthday. It fell too close to Christmas anyway, so there was never enough money to give me anything.
At 9am, I get called into the kitchen. Daddy has been talking on the phone for the past 20 minutes, but I could never hear what he was saying. He asked me to sit down, and said, "I have your birthday present for you. Give me your hand."
So I pull out my hand, and he places a piece of paper on it. I read it, confused. It was a phone number.
"That's your phone number at the new house," he smiled.
And for the first time in my life, I was ecstatic. So many unbelievable opportunities. So many calls that could be made and enjoyed. I embraced him. It was a great gift. In a time before cell phone popularity, your own phone number was so chic. No fear of parents listening in on your calls, etc.
Less than an hour later, we get a phone call. Daddy came in our bedroom and just said we needed to go right now. So we all dropped what we were doing and loaded ourselves in the van. The van with no seats in it.
Daddy locked up, and as he was returning to the car, our neighbor was walking past from his morning jog. He called him over and told him his father had just died. We were headed to the nursing home he lived in.
And that's how I was told... that my grandfather has passed on my birthday.
We arrived at the nursing home, and Grandma was there. She saw me, and instantly grabbed me to cry on my shoulders. She told me some fake story that he said my nickname before he passed, but I was numb to her stories by now. Grandma had always had a flare for the dramatic, but today it would be in full overkill mode.
I was asked to look at him, but I didn't want to. So they rolled his body away and we spent 30 long minutes in the nursing home as they did everything they needed to. Grandma spent the whole time holding my hand, dragging me around everywhere. Telling all the nurses and patients about my experience.
When I was certain it was over, I found out it was far from it. Grandma opened her house for everyone to come say their condolences, and came they did. Half the people I didn't know. The other half were members of the church and distant-to-not-distance family. Every time the door would ring, I'd be pulled to the door with Grandma, explaining how it was so sad that he died on my birthday.
I was grieving, but I never had time to grieve in my own way. And it took hours before we left the house. We spent our first night in the new home, since all the furniture was there. Mom & Dad had taken some of our clothes to the new house, so the next day, it was easy enough to resume our lives. But all I remember of the day was being dragged around as a part of Grandma's story.
Around an hour after we arrived at her house, though, Grandma brought me my birthday present. It was a ring box with a gold ring and a large garnet stone in it. On the card attached, it said, "With love, From Grandpa & Grandma."
It was the first time I had time to cry all day, and I did for a moment before the first doorbell rang. And after that, I wasn't able to.
So from this day forth, I have needed space when someone passes away. It has been something that I think I will always need.
I wore his ring for nearly 20 years, until last week. One of the feet broke slightly that held the gemstone in place. I won't have it fixed, but I nearly lost the stone last week. So it's now sitting a ring box on my shelf. I will just have to remember him every day without it.
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