Great stories about grandparents

[miles]

I was lucky to have all four grandparents live very long lives. All were from "the Old Country," but my mother's parents still kept their very heavy accents and traditions.

At their 50th wedding anniversary party my mother asked my grandfather:

"So, Pa. How does it feel to be married fifty years?"

He leaned over to be sure my grandmother couldn't hear and said, "It feels like a hundred."

You had to be there.

 

[erosman]

practice writing...2 JUN 02

Now, a little story about me. Which one to tell you tonight? There is the stripper story with my uncle. There is the story about the roof truss collapse. There is the story about the mountain gorillas of the Rwenzoris. There is the story about when my grandmother died in the hospital, and I took my Grandfather to see her. Damn, I shouldn't have mentioned that one, because the screen is getting a little fuzzy, now.

My grandfather was born in 1909 in Illinois. He obviously grew up during tumultuous times. He was 20 years old when the Depression started. He was from a poor family, so the economic collapse wasn't really much of a change for him. He never finished school, and worked to help support his 11 sisters and 1 brother...and his parents. He was a charming man. He was a lady's man. My grandmother snagged him sometime in the early 1930s, and he had to stop riding freight trains around in pursuit of far-flung dreams. I don't know that he ever really quit hopping a rail car in his heart, though.

My grandmother was from a more respectable family, and no doubt, my grandfather's charms were put to good use in winning over his in-laws. My grandmother attended college, and taught Latin before she married my grandfather. They were like hand and sock...lol...similar in some ways, but really quite different.

My grandmother had broken her hip in an automobile accident where my eighty-five year old grandfather was ticketed for turning left into traffic. It wasn't a surprise, really, he drove like a teenager, and she was rather frail. She had been feeble for the last 10 years, and my grandfather had taken to caring for her. Daily he washed her and combed her hair. He cooked for them, and we all tried to watch that they were eating well. I don't recall ever feeling like he resented her. His religion had taught him to ignore his feelings and only cling to beliefs. His beliefs became his hallmark. The most common remark of friends, was that they loved to hear Carlyle pray. He was simple, but sincere, and his heart embraced his lot with a dignified charm. His smile was infectious, and his silly antics often proved that he was very human. He wasn't a perfect man, but his life is a window to my own heart.

They had been married some 60+ years on that October morning when I got the call that she had passed away. She and I had talked during my last visit to the hospital, and she was making progress, but still quite weak. It was an inevitable path of life's cycle, but it never comes on a good day. I made my way from work, feeling composed and almost relieved that her suffering was done. I wasn't prepared for the heaviness of grief that would play out before my eyes. The actor was a white haired gentleman, and his props were a woman's body whom he had loved and built a life around. I'll never forget the weight of his arm on mine as we made our way to the room where her body was waiting for transport to the mortuary.

He knew me well. I was the father of his only name's sake into the future, and we shared a strong, if not tense bond. My father and I on each arm led him up to my grandmother's body, and he began to shudder. My dad was overwhelmed with his mother's coldness, and we all three stood for a moment clinging to each other and to the closeness of our lives. A sheet was pulled back from her head, and you could see her hospital gown and the gaunt look of death in her features. I remember my grandfather stretching his arm to touch her face, as I held my breath. I can still feel today the longing of that reach...the hope that his eyes were deceiving, and the broken realization that this was final. He began to cry, and he stooped to bring his face close to hers. The grief is almost more than I can hold even to this day. He began to talk to her, and tell her that he loved her. His tone was almost maniacal, but his words made perfect sense. He kissed her lips with love's final goodbye, as I rubbed his back and held back the flood of my own emotions. We lingered longer than felt comfortable, but looking back now, I wished we had absorbed more of that moment. It is an incredibly rich memory that I have visited with pen and paper for the first time today.

We buried my grandmother, and my grandfather grieved for almost two years. I told my wife and children that he was soon to leave us. I could feel his resolve for life ebbing. He mustered the strength to make a final visit to his mostly widowed sisters in Michigan, where he and my grandmother had started their journey together. I watched his dark overcoat and customary hat disappear through the doors as he boarded the plane. I didn't know what to expect on his return.

That was a miracle trip. When he returned home, I met him at the airport gate, and the moment I saw his face, I knew he was alive. He talked with a renewed animation, even though his unsteady gait revealed his age. About a year and a half later, at age 89, he re-married. He was given a second life, and he lived it without regrets.

We buried him next to my grandmother on a cold January morning. I cried for the lost opportunities to see my future in his memories. I laughed for the images of his smiling disposition. He would have been 93 this Wednesday, June 5. I think for me…I will remember him with my own, far-flung journey…on some rail car...pursuing a dream.

 

[sch00lteacher]

*Bump*

I miss mine. I have a 'step-grandpa' that is still kicking, not for long. He was better than all the others.

An old honest to god cowboy. Quit ridin' the rodeo circuit when the calf threw him.

A toast. To a great man. I love you. I am going to miss you.

 

[Ladybird]

I miss my grandmother.

She came out to Australia with her parents as a young girl. Her father wanted to travel and see the country, but not with the burden of a family. So he put my grandmother and her sister into service. They were only in the early teens.

My grandmother said she was lucky, her family treated her like a family member. But her sister wasn't as lucky and was treated badly and often beaten by the family she was placed with.

Dear old Nan lived a hard life. It didn't get easy for her at any stage. She was a loving mother and grandmother. She could rock a hungry baby to sleep. She was a natural.

I miss her a lot. Love you Nan... if you were here now, you'd be a great great nan in a few days...