Grandparents are interesting. Growing up, they were just that... grandparents. From where I stood, they weren't real people. They were just... my grandparents! They weren't parents or friends or neighbors. They certainly weren't a COUPLE. They weren't Husband and Wife for pete's sake... Gross! When I was little, they were a just people that spoiled me rotten and treated me like I hung the moon. They gave me advice and hugs and whatever kind of cake I wanted. They snuck money in my pocket and looked away when I stole a piece of candy from the bowl on the counter. I remember them both being good story-tellers but I never really paid much attention until I was an adult. I like pictures more than stories, I always have. However, losing my first grandparent and losing one that loved stories AND pictures makes me appreciate both very much myself.
A couple of weeks ago, as we prepared to say goodbye to my grandmother, we had the chance to look through pictures. And there were plenty! I think my grandmother had pictures stashed in every crack and crevice of her house. She got rid of a lot of things over the years but never photographs. Mixed in with all the photographs were receipts for portrait sessions in the 40's! Also mixed in were love letters. In the classic overseas envelopes with the red and blue stripes along the side. Old, old letters from when my grandfather was in the war and they wrote each other weekly. I started to read a few but felt like I was eavesdropping. What I did read, though, was the "darling" and "I love you dearly" and other such ways they began and ended each letter.
What I saw in most of those pictures and letters was a love story. A love story, sadly, that I never really realized was there because... again... they were just my grandparents. That week in Rhode Island was hard. Saying goodbye to my grandfather when it was time for me to go home was heartwrenching, to say the least. I literally felt like my legs wouldn't move. That my hands wouldn't start the car and that my feet couldn't possibly carry me away to the airport. I tell you this not out of pity, but to put things into perspective -- when I left, he said to me, "I hope to see you another time or two before I'm gone." That's where he is now. He just buried his wife of 68 years and it wasn't a shock to anyone. It wasn't a surprise to any of us, even to him, but we don't have to live with the sadness of missing someone that we spent 68+ years with, the other half of your own personal love story. The truth is, I'll be lucky if I see my grandfather a handful of times again before he's gone and that is very sad to him. But it has nothing on the emptyness I expect he feels from losing his wife. Not just his new wife or a wife of 20 years, but his wife of a lifetime. He told me he first kissed her when he was 20. That was nearly 75 years ago! Most of us hope that we merely LIVE to see 75 years.
He can't remember everything these days, but he recounts stories of how they met and where their first kiss was (a blueberry patch, not far from where he lives now) like they happened earlier that morning. Because they were the more important events of his life. What he had for breakfast? Not an important life event (for most people! I can hear some of you arguing infront of your computers!). A first kiss, a first date, walking hand-in-hand with the love of your life? Watching your children and grandchildren and, if you're lucky, your great-grandchildren grow? Those are life events.
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