I woke up on Monday morning in my old room at my parent’s
house. Mounted on the wall is a picture of sailing ships. In the picture there
is a brown spot. Looking through an adult’s eyes the spot is either a rock or a
person’s head. In the old house, on Glenhaven, the picture hung in the family
room. As children my sister Michelle and
I said it was a gerbil. An odd memory to have, still it was the first thing
that popped into my head when I woke up that morning.
After that, thoughts ran rapid fire through my mind. I
wondered if Michelle was up. Normally when I stay the night at my parent’s it
means it is a holiday and she and Tom would be there. I couldn't think of what
holiday it was. I checked my phone and realized it was Monday, and Michelle was
in Louisville, and there was no holiday. Then I remembered why I was there.
This whole process took less than a minute.
Memories are funny that way. When you forget sometimes you
work very hard to remember a minor detail. Then you remember one key fact, and
it all comes back to you. Not in waves, or any kind of rush. That means it is
coming back to you in a series. For me anyways, it is as if it all appears. One
recalled item brings into existence every other fact again. Most of the time I
am pleased when this happens. That morning, I wasn’t.
I was at my parent’s house because my Grandpa Hand died. It
is surprising how hard it is to type that previous sentence, let alone read it.
I know it is a fact, but I don’t think it is. I’m not ready to. It is not
because I have any kind of regret, or unresolved issues. He knows I love him. Some people would say that since he lived well into his
80s that he lived a full life, and it is somehow okay that he isn’t here.
I, however, am selfish.
I am one of many cousins. When I was in grade school my
Grandpa would invite us all over for what he liked to call Spoil Your Dinner
Parties. There we would drink root beer floats until we burst. Grandpa always
said there was nothing sadder than the sound a straw makes when you reach the
end of a root beer float. There really is only one way to make the best root beer float. That is, fill a glass up with the cheapest vanilla ice cream you
can find and stir in A&W. I honestly don’t know why it has to be the
cheapest ice cream. It really does make a difference.
All told my Grandpa had 7 children and 31 grandchildren. All
of us are bound to have different kinds of relationships and memories with him.
Some good, others not so much. He was human. Memories are all that are really
left of him now. There are videos and pictures. Polite reminders. But looking
at those without the memory to go with it, you can’t aptly describe or
understand that moment in time and what it meant.
I’ve been going through old photos with my mom. There is one
picture we found of him with my two older sisters. They are in his backyard,
wearing their bathing suits, covering him with either shaving cream or whip
cream. Whichever it was you can almost feel the happiness radiating from that
picture. My sisters were kids. Julie was probably no older than 7 so I must
have been around there somewhere. However, I do not have any memory of that moment
in time. I don’t know why they are doing what they are doing in that picture.
Only that they did it, and had a lot of fun while it was happening. That is not
my memory to hold onto.
There are some memories that aren’t particular moments.
There are traits. Things that happened or were said and done multiple times. Grandpa
liked to whistle. There was one song in particular that he whistled often. I
had asked him what it was from or the name of the song. He said he couldn't remember. If you knew
him I am sure you know the tune I am talking about. The song might not come to
mind instantly. In fact, you might be wracking your brain for the first few
notes right now. I am sure though that if I whistled the first three notes you'd remember it all.
I think at this moment a lot of us are grasping
for memories. Things that at the moment they happened we thought were of little
importance. Now we dig down into the trenches of our minds to uncover every
detail and facial expression about each moment. It seems that even if the
moment is one month ago or twenty years ago we want to store it now and save
it.
All those times playing Michigan Rummy. When I was brought
to his house after getting sick at school. When we ate at Perkins and I picked
up a plastic duck out of the toy well. Scavenger hunts with invisible ink.
Getting in trouble for playing with cars on the treadmill. Watching King Kong
in Florida and It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World. Hiding our gag gifts in the house
after the Christmas party. Eating pie. Playing Dungeon Dice. Wheel of Fortune
and Frogger on the old computer. Learning how to tie my shoes, multiple times.
I wasn’t a quick learner. A wind chime made from AOL discs.
I don’t remember how old I was or the time of year. I was
standing in the dining room at Grandpa’s house and there was a crystal hanging
from the window bouncing rainbows all over the walls. I stuck out my hand and
thought it was so cool that I was holding a rainbow. These are the memories I
have the privilege of keeping.
I am 26 years old and in a way I am lucky. I have only had 3
people I love pass away. My Grandpa Schwendenmann, Uncle Mark, and now Grandpa
Hand. All three of them gave me great last memories to hold onto. It is
actually strange looking back how perfectly each moment encapsulates each one.
You may say I am looking into each past moment with rose colored glasses, and
you might be right. But they give me comfort.
The true last memory I have of my Grandpa Schwendenmann is
unconscious, and hooked up to a ventilator. I don’t count that really. The last
time I spoke with my Grandpa Schwendenmann was at Price Hill Chili. The image
forever burned in my brain is him looking at the first pictures of his first
great grandson. He wasn't able to ever meet my nephew, because Grandpa was very
sick. But I could see the anticipation in his eyes. He tried to tell me how
special I was, and what great things I would do. I say tried because Grandma
Schwendenmann kept talking over him trying to get me to trade purses with her.
I don’t remember if I did. Grandpa Schwendenmann always said things like that
to me, in hindsight though maybe he was saying goodbye. He rarely ever said it,
but goodbye was his last words to me.
Uncle Mark was at my graduation party. He was sitting on the
floor of my parent’s tv room showing us a silly video he made for his
sister-in-law’s birthday. A lot of laughs went on that night because of it. He
would rewind some moments and tell us to pay close attention to others. He was
proud of that video and had every right to be. It was funny, like him.
I was at the Delhi library a few weeks back. I couldn't actually tell you the day, again it didn't seem important at the time. I was
checking out my books when I felt an arm come around me. I was at the library
alone so my automatic reaction was to swing my arm. Luckily I noticed it was
Grandpa before I swung. He told me how he stopped in the library every time he
drove by because he and Sharon sometimes forget if they have anything on hold.
He asked me about my crazy future plans, and told me what he thought I ought to
do. He then told me about how if he ever saw any book us grandkid’s put on hold he would write little notes on the slips. As I turned to leave, I was in
a hurry to get somewhere, I said that I loved him. The
reason I remember that is because all he said in response was, “Okay, goodbye.”
I didn’t see my Grandpa Hand every day, or even every month.
I think that is why it is so easy to deny that he is gone. Monday I will have
to face that fact. It will be hard. But Allison Hand actually provided me with a
very comforting image. She said that she now pictures Grandma and Grandpa Hand
sitting on a park bench listening to Uncle Mark playing the guitar. I think
that would be a pretty good memory to have, someday. It isn’t mine yet. I got a
lot more living to do before then.
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