Tuesday, September 04, 2007


Today is my mother's father's birthday. He died when I was ten years old. He would have been 92 years old this year. It's hard to believe it has been so long.

I remember having crab feasts at his house. I remember my brother and I driving through the mountains with him and my grandmother.

I remember when he was in the hospital. I remember wanting to visit him so badly, but no one would let me. I remember when my parents brought my brother and I into their room. I remember dad telling us that my aunt called last night. And I remember how sad beyond sad I was when dad said, "Poppop's dead." What I don't remember is how long I cried that morning.

I also remember not crying any other time, and not being able to understand why. Not at his funeral. Not when a counselor read a children's book called "Why did Grandpa die?" to my brother and I. Not even when my brother was bawling at the end of it.

Death can be a strange thing. Sometimes we know instantly what it means, and sometimes all it takes is one moment, or a rather long moment, of release to be at peace with it. And those who leave us here still can walk with us and talk with us and tell us not to worry because we're walking in the right direction.

Happy birthday, Poppop. I still miss you.

1 comment :

Anonymous said...

Good memories are priceless of those we have loved.