My Grandfather

My grandfather was the world’s biggest prankster. He was always doing something to make us laugh. Sometimes it was singing to his pet squirrel, Charlie, as he fed him. Other times it was making squealing noises when he was driving, making it sound like we were out of control. Once he put fake dog poop on the floor just to freak out his sister-in-law who hated dogs.

So when I found out that he had skin cancer and that he had less than six months to live, I felt as if someone had reached deep down inside me and pulled a plug on something vital. I refused to believe that someone with so much life in them could just disappear from my life so quickly.

At first I couldn’t accept it. There had to be a treatment. There had to be something the doctors could do. As my grandpa got sicker and weaker I realized that it wasn’t going to happen.

The last time I saw him alive he was very sick. He could barely walk. When I said bye to him that day I had a bad feeling that I wouldn’t see him again. I turned to look at him one last time but I couldn’t say anything. I got into the elevator with my family and had a sick feeling in my gut. I felt ashamed that I had no words for a man who meant so much to me. When we got to the car I realized I’d forgotten my sweater so I ran back upstairs. I picked up my sweater from the chair by the door, looked at him and told him I loved him. He raised his eyebrows and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. He didn’t. He answered me that he loved me too and I left. A second chance that I have been grateful for ever since.

A few weeks later I got a call from my cousin saying that my grandpa had died. She was crying. I’d been getting ready to go find a summer job when she called. I put the phone down, told my girlfriend and went out the door. I’d been expecting the news but was still shocked. I felt numb as I made my way down onto the street and towards the bus stop. What I should have done was stay home but I think I went into auto-pilot.

As I was crossing the road I stepped out behind a car. I didn’t notice that he was backing up until he hit me. He wasn’t going fast and it didn’t hurt much but I realized I should go home. I turned around and was only thinking about what I’d miss about my grandpa. No more watching ballgames together. No more joking around and making the dog crazy. He would never get to meet any children of mine and they wouldn’t get to meet him.

That was a long time ago, though, and I think about it differently now. I still think about him all the time. I have a picture of him and me walking on the beach throwing bread to seagulls. I’m about five years old and am wearing a red Mickey Mouse shirt. He’s beside me in shorts. We both look very happy with life.

I’ve realized that he’s still with me in my memories and in the stories my cousins and I still tell about him. And I’ve also realized that he will be a part of my daughter’s life because I’ll tell her all about him. I miss him but he’s not truly gone.