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A Heartfelt Lesson on Love from My Grandfather
My grandmother was petite, plump, and gentle. With a voice reminiscent of the classic cartoons, she had a knack for indulging her little dog with endless treats and was a dedicated soap opera fan. When you shared something intriguing with her, she’d respond with an inquisitive “Oh?” instead of a simple “Really?”
My memories of her stand in stark contrast to the vibrant tales my mother shares of a spirited young woman who, during the icy Michigan winters, would stealthily transport moonshine for her father, hidden beneath a long trench coat—because who would suspect a 12-year-old girl? She even had a chance encounter with Al Capone and shook his hand!
As a teen, she strummed her guitar and sang in bars to help support her family. Later, gatherings at her and my grandfather’s Miami home became musical evenings, where we’d all lounge by the pool, captivated by their duet performances.
She was no pushover, either. Once, when her much taller son made an offhand comment, she swiftly put him in his place, reminding him who his mother was. Yet, with my grandfather, it was different. When he spoke to her harshly, she maintained a calm demeanor, and I often wondered why she didn’t stand up for herself. My grandfather was a rough-edged man, set in his ways, with a penchant for frustration and a habit of enjoying his drinks. But he wasn’t entirely without charm; I fondly recall him delighting my sister and me with the classic “Where’d my finger go?!” trick and making us giggle by popping his dentures out.
In her 60s, my grandmother kicked the smoking habit, but it was too late, as lung cancer struck a decade later. As she fought her illness, my grandfather, faced with the reality of losing her, began to grasp the depth of his love for her. He wanted to care for her, but having never done so before, he was unsure how to express it.
During her health decline, the phone became one of my grandmother’s few joys. With my grandfather often absent and not much of a communicator, the phone linked her to her loved ones, to life itself, even as illness drew her further away. It was her lifeline. However, as the treatments took their toll, she became too weak to lift the phone. This led to bouts of sadness and despair.
Then, something remarkable occurred. My tough grandfather, stepping out of his comfort zone, bought her a portable headset, allowing her to chat without straining. He was genuinely proud of this thoughtful gift, a significant departure from his usual demeanor.
Sadly, my grandmother’s health deteriorated quickly. She never got the chance to use the headset, which remained unopened. Watching my grandfather mourn her loss in the months that followed revealed a profound testament to love.
Though he never offered much in the way of advice, I learned from him the importance of expressing love and gratitude in the present moment. Sometimes, that moment slips away before you know it. The concept of “later” or “tomorrow” isn’t always a given.
Because of my grandfather’s sorrow, I feel compelled to tell my loved ones how much they mean to me, right now. It might sound morbid to ask yourself, “If this was the last time I saw someone, would they know how I feel?” But it’s a question worth considering. If I love you, I’ll make sure you know it—awkwardness be damned.
I refuse to be left lamenting over an unopened gift.
For more insights on family and relationships, check out this piece on home insemination kits, which is a great resource for those exploring parenthood. If you’re interested in pregnancy week by week, visit March of Dimes for excellent guidance.
In summary, my grandfather’s journey taught me the importance of expressing love and cherishing every moment with those we hold dear. Life can change in an instant, and it’s vital to share our feelings before it’s too late.