I Miss My Grandfather Who Passed Away
I'd Been Hesitating To Write This Story, Because The Loss Is Still A Rather Recent One.
By:
lastleafoffall
Written on July 20th, 2010
May 16th of this year I lost my grandfather.
I sit here, staring at his old electric guitar propped up in the corner of my room and feel a strange emptiness. Of all his belongings that I could have taken, that old beaten up guitar was what meant the most to me. It hasn't worked for more years than I've been alive, but I remember stories of him playing on the radio. By the time I'd been born, his arthritis was getting too bad for him to play at all.
Fishing was kind of our 'thing.' I can remember sitting with him on the bank of the river as he fished for trout. I'd be right there beside him with my little snoopy fishing pole, convinced I was really helping him. :)
There're so many memories flooding my conscience. Homemade blackberry wine, plowing the garden with draft horses, the sheer enormity of the cornfields he planted. The smell of Jack Daniels and coke....that was his drink. Slaughtering pigs when the weather was cool. How no matter whether I cook it exactly the same way, my grilled food never tastes as good as his used to. How after fighting it for 68 years...he found religion. He quit drinking, and made it a point to go to church every chance he had. He even helped build onto the church he attended when they were expanding.
Western films....John Wayne. Clint Eastwood. Gunsmoke. Bonanza. Alias Smith & Jones....Gene Autry.
Every autumn I was always there helping him cut wood so they'd have heat for the winter. I helped him put up a fence once, too. It still stands. We built something with our bare hands, and I think it was a rather transformative experience for me. (Especially after realizing how hard it was and how many other fences were on the property. )
It seems that no matter what, he and my grandmother were always there...a constant anchor in my life. A constant home to go to when I just needed to breathe for a while. The thought of her being alone and my being in a different state kills me a little.
Its just not the same walking into their house now and not finding him and the dog resting in his favorite recliner in the living room.
I miss him.
I sit here, staring at his old electric guitar propped up in the corner of my room and feel a strange emptiness. Of all his belongings that I could have taken, that old beaten up guitar was what meant the most to me. It hasn't worked for more years than I've been alive, but I remember stories of him playing on the radio. By the time I'd been born, his arthritis was getting too bad for him to play at all.
Fishing was kind of our 'thing.' I can remember sitting with him on the bank of the river as he fished for trout. I'd be right there beside him with my little snoopy fishing pole, convinced I was really helping him. :)
There're so many memories flooding my conscience. Homemade blackberry wine, plowing the garden with draft horses, the sheer enormity of the cornfields he planted. The smell of Jack Daniels and coke....that was his drink. Slaughtering pigs when the weather was cool. How no matter whether I cook it exactly the same way, my grilled food never tastes as good as his used to. How after fighting it for 68 years...he found religion. He quit drinking, and made it a point to go to church every chance he had. He even helped build onto the church he attended when they were expanding.
Western films....John Wayne. Clint Eastwood. Gunsmoke. Bonanza. Alias Smith & Jones....Gene Autry.
Every autumn I was always there helping him cut wood so they'd have heat for the winter. I helped him put up a fence once, too. It still stands. We built something with our bare hands, and I think it was a rather transformative experience for me. (Especially after realizing how hard it was and how many other fences were on the property. )
It seems that no matter what, he and my grandmother were always there...a constant anchor in my life. A constant home to go to when I just needed to breathe for a while. The thought of her being alone and my being in a different state kills me a little.
Its just not the same walking into their house now and not finding him and the dog resting in his favorite recliner in the living room.
I miss him.
By:
lastleafoffall
Age:
26-30
,
Female
