Tonight I am writing a diary in memory of my grandfather (tomorrow will be the 10th anniversary of his death) BUT this is a night/week for all of us to join together as a community. Loss of any living being in our lives (human, pootie, woozle, etc...) is always hard, and sometimes the holiday season brings memories and feelings to the surface. This is the place to share your feelings, grief, or loss tonight.
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
More after the jump:
The gifts are wrapped, the Christmas lights are up and twinkling in the windows, the trees are decorated, cookies have been baked and boxed and cards have been mailed. While everyone around me is celebrating the season I still find myself remembering the Christmas from ten years ago, the Christmas that I said my final goodbyes and "I love you" to the man who was my father, not biologically, but emotionally - the man who, I finally realized after 37 years, loved me unconditionally from the day I was born until the day he died.
Growing up I didn't have the happiest of families. My refuge from the madness was my maternal grandparents home. They lived only two blocks from us, so I could easily visit whenever I wanted. My happiest memories as a child were the Saturdays and Sundays I would spend with my grandfather. I would sit for hours in his basement workshop, watching him work on his latest project, watching bowling or wrestling with him. To this day I still love the smell of sawdust and cigars and I drink Canadian beer (he would also let me take sips as long as my grandmother wasn't around).
The holidays at my grandparents were the best. We would go to the attic and bring out all the decorations, lights and ornaments. Thanksgiving weekend would be spent decorating every table top, window and of course the tree. Although my grandfather would grumble about all the work, we knew that he loved being surrounded by his family.
As I grew older I did what a lot of teenagers do, I rebeled, in my case it was with a vengence. Sometimes I'm still surprised I surrvived my teen years. My relationship with my grandparents grew distant and I only saw them on holidays. That changed when I found myself, at age 24, with very little money, no job, and no where to live. My grandparents let me come to stay in their upper apartment. I won't lie, there were times when we argued, sometimes bitterly. My grandfather and I were both stubborn, independent and strong willed people. But over the years we got into a comfortable pattern, while not especially close like when I was younger, we worked together as a family.
Things changed when my grandmother died. I watched as he went into a deep depression. To get him out of the house I started taking him out for dinner every Friday night (something he did with us when we were kids). Over the next 2 and a half years it became our standing "date". I would come home from work and he would be waiting, freshly shaved and in his better clothes, ready to go out for dinner. Even though there were many times when I was exhausted and just wanted to relax, I never turned him down - it meant so much to him. During those dinners he would talk. He shared memories about his family, his brothers and he talked about how he felt about things that had happened to our family over the years. We were lucky to rebuild the special bond we had when I was a younger - I will forever be grateful for those years we had together.
Three years after my grandmother passed away we got the news. My grandfather had stomach cancer. His doctor referred him to a specialist surgeon. The recommendation was to remove the tumor, but it would be an intense surgery. My grandfather agreed, but not because he wanted to be cured - he just figured that he would not survive the surgery and he was ok with that.
We all sat with him the hour before he went in. For the first time in my life my grandfather told us all how much he loved us, and how proud he was of his family. I gave him a kiss and a hug, thinking that it would be the last time. But it wasn't the end. He made it through 14 hours in the operating room. After 2 weeks in the hospital he came home, but with a second surgery scheduled. I won't get into the details of the care he needed during his month home. Let's just say I learned not to be squeamish and helped him with his special needs and care. For him I would do anything, if it meant just having him with me one more day.
The second surgery went well, but his recovery did not. Weeks were spent in ICU. I was lucky that I worked only 5 minutes away so I visited daily at lunch and sometimes after work as well. It was obvious that the drugs he was being given and his isolation were affecting his mind. The man who loved to flirt and joke with the nurses was now cranky and nasty. Sometimes he wouldn't remember who we where, or he would tell me that nurses and doctors were teasing him, laughing at him. They decided to move him to a private room with a window, hoping that it would help and he wouldn't feel so closed in and he would have a window to let some natural light into the room.
I remember that last day, December 23rd, 1998. I went to see him at lunch. He was napping and I startled him. He looked pale and oh so tired. I talked, he listened. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. I kissed his unshaven cheek and he grabbed my hand. "I want to go" he said to me. I held his hand in return and told him he could come home as soon as he was well enough. He shook his head, frustrated... "No, no, I want to go". It took me a moment, but I realized what it was he was telling me. Fighting back the tears I told him he could go whenever he wanted.
I wasn't surprised when the phone rang later that evening. It was his surgeon. My grandfather had passed away in his sleep. I made all the phone calls, I drove to the hospital to sign the necessary paperwork. By the time I got back home I was too numb and exhausted to grieve or cry... that would come in the following days, weeks and months. I went to my jewelry box and pulled out my grandmother's engagement ring, my grandfather had given it to her on December 25th, 1938. I read the inscription for the upteenth time, "All My Love Forever". That night I put it on my right hand ring finger and haven't taken it off since.
Christmas is still a tough holiday for me, it's especially difficult this year without our beloved Hoondt to share it with. But for all the saddness and grief, I now realize that the greatest gift I have ever received or have ever given, is the gift of love.
Tonight and every night, I wish you all peace and love. My thoughts and prayers are for each and everyone of us. May we all come together in love and friendship and always remember, no matter how heavy the burden, there is someone there to help you.
I open tonight's Grieving Room with the spirit of sharing. Share your stories, your feelings, and find comfort in knowing that you are not alone this holiday season and we are here to give the gift of ourselves.
*** I will host tonight as best as I can. Because of the heavy snow here in WNY I have not been able to get back to the "city" so I don't have a broadband connection tonight, but I will be participating as much as my dial up connection allows me to.***