The Last Thing Grandpa Told Me
I kissed him goodbye like my mom always made me — despite my youthful disdain for the smell of old people. He hugged me, held me close and whispered softly into my ear…
“If I don’t see you again, know that I love you and always will.”
I know. Wow, right? Almost prophetic words, like he knew it was “his time” to go. What did I say? How did I respond to him? What was my last interaction with him? I rolled my eyes and gave him my patented “Ohhh, grandpa!”
I don’t want to sound like a spoiled little asshole, maybe I was. No, I’m sure I was. But the eyeroll and verbally dismissive scoff was not that. You see, grandpa ALWAYS whispered those kind of things to me whenever we parted ways. It was his morbid (though hysterical) sense of humor.
They would usually start with a version of “If I don’t see you again,…” or “Whether or not I make it…” and once even “If I die tomorrow…”! He’d go on to say something loving usually to contrast the bitter barbs with a little sweet. “You are the best part of my day,” or “Never think I’m not proud of you,” and “You’ll never be alone as long as you remember me.” After a while, you begin to take them for granted. Until you don’t.
My grandpa was never much of a character. He had no wise words of wisdom to pass down, no war stories about being the downtrodden hero, no elaborate tales of his long but fruitful courtship of grandma. He was just there, I always thought.
I realize now, though, he was preparing me for life. I got advice and guidance from my mom and dad. I got spoiled with hugs, kisses, toys and treats from grandma and old aunt Leonine. He never gave me much more than a hug and those silly whispers.
When I heard he died, my mom thought I was in denial because I smiled. I almost started laughing but bit my tongue because I sensed that was not an appropriate thing to do. I knew Grandpa knew this would happen. I could almost feel him snickering and pointing at me trying so hard to keep my cool.
I mourned him. I did. I was legitimately upset he was gone. But he had taught me to let him go, to know that death was okay to laugh at, and that life was not always so serious. And while he did all that, he also snuck in his hugs, got his kisses and told me just how much he loved me. He was just there, I thought, but always.
“Ohhh, grandpa!”
