09/16/2011

So much death this month.
My great grandmother passes away last week, my grandmothers aunt two days ago, and a man who was more of a grandfather to me than my own. The only one I truly know or even have memories of is him.

See when I was a wee little babe, a couple months old, my mother was getting ready to go back to work. And my father’s parents aren’t really the loving type ya know? I think wild wolves take better care of their children. So, my grandmother suggested a nice lady she knew. And my mother agreed that this nice lady would be take care of me. And she did. Pretty much every single work day until we moved when I was 5/6. I became a member of that family. I think I probably had all my first moments there. The only things I remember from that time of my life are there. It was my safe haven.

I remember his big calloused hands leading me into the barn so I could pet the horses without getting electrocuted by the fence. And he used to take a towel and settle it under my arms and swing me around making airplane noises. I would sit at his feet when he sat in that ugly blue-green recliner opening the mail. He had cereal every morning, a big giant bowl, and he’d pour the milk in one stream while spinning the bowl.

The house always smelled good. Someone was always baking or cooking something tasty. Fresh cookies cooling on a rack, or bread rising. They had these huge rolls of like butcher paper that they’d rip off huge sheets of for me to draw on. I’d be laying on the floor with this four foot piece of paper just doodling away. And playing school. Gods, even as a toddler I loved school. They taught me to read, to write, my numbers.

Playing in the big mud puddles in the front yard. Even today the same ruts in the earth are there. Where I splashed in the puddles, getting all dirty. And they had a dog, a shepard mix I think. She was my protector. Always guarding me, even from my parents. I remember playing in the yard and my parents pulling up in the driveway. The dog would stand in front of me growling at my parents or anyone who got too close to me for that matter. Oh, and the lab dalmation mixes that I would tumble around down the hill with for hours. The horses I fed apples to, the soft fuzzy lips tickling my palms.

We would go for long walks down that unpaved dusty dirt road. And have little campfires in the woods. They had this huge room with cowboy and indian wallpaper. Used to be where the boys slept. They had 5 kids of their own, the youngest, Sarah, about 8 or so years older than me. And this big room was storage now, but I remember that wallpaper. And the fold up cot bed that I would sleep on. The back porch where I’d help hang the laundry out to dry, and sit quietly watching the hummingbirds at the feeder.

He will be missed. But I know he’s in a better place. Whether it’s what they believe in, or not, I know he’s in peace. He was a good man, one of the best I’ve known. His last years were wrought with surgery to remove a brain tumor, and the loss of his memories, not really knowing what was going on. He was in so much pain.

But ya know… he knew who I was. When I saw them during the summer when I was in NY. Right away, he knew. I could see the flash of recognition in his eyes, the whisper of my name. He could barely remember himself, but he remembered me. The little scamp who would pester him for airplane rides. And he would oblige me, even when he was exhausted after working all day. He would bundle me up all safe, and give me airplane rides.

Rest in peace my friend. Rest in peace.