One last hug

It's not very simple, this thing called grief. It's especially tricky when you face much of it seemingly frequently.

My Grandfather was a quiet, reserved, military man. He had served in two branches of the armed forces before retiring from the Navy. There aren't many memories I have (especially growing up) that don't include him. He and my grandmother played integral roles in my childhood, given that my parents had to work so much because of my medical bills, etc. We went to the beach, he read me Aesop's fables from a beautifully illustrated book, and we went for walks. As I got older and began to play sports, he would pick me up for my flag football practices. We would always stop at a Wendy’s. He would order a salad, and I would have a kids' meal. He would give me the croutons from his salad, so when we got to the park, I could feed the ducks before the rest of the kids arrived because we were always early. This was our ritual for almost two years straight. I think he enjoyed that I wasn’t afraid to get dirty in the mud with the boys. I was the only girl on the team, and as I think back on it now, I think it might have made him proud that I tried. He went to every game, every recital, and even once when I received an award for writing the best D.A.R.E. essay in the county he and my grandmother were the only ones in attendance because my parents had to work.

So when I say I don’t have very many memories he’s not in, this is what I mean.

My grandfather passed a few years ago. It wasn’t how he would have wanted; he wanted to be at home, not in a hospital. I won’t go into details, but it was devastating for my father, who to this day still needs therapy because of it (and other losses). My father was in the hospital room when he passed. I remember the phone call so clearly. I had just gotten my grandmother, aunt, and sibling back to the house so my aunt could change clothes. The plan was to go right back to the hospital. The hospital was about thirty to thirty-five minutes from the house, and we had been home barely five minutes when my dad called me. The sound in his voice, his words still echo in my head on occasion. He was telling us to come back; my grandfather was leaving us.

Over the last few years, my own grappling with this loss and how it occurred has been difficult. Looking at my father, I see his struggle with yet another loss and his refusal to talk to a professional about it. Grief is different for everyone.

I invited my grandmother out to L.A. so I could spend time with her, invited my sibling to chaperone her on the flight, and had no idea what experience would transpire over the course of just two days, a conversation for a later date. By the time my grandmother left, I felt like I hadn’t done enough, and there was guilt over maybe how I responded to some of her behaviors. I wish I could use the excuse of just finding out my aunt had passed, but I just can’t find it in me to excuse anything. Nothing feels like enough. But I feel as though I tried, I truly did. Even though her other grandkids don’t want anything to do with her, I tried to give her a good memory, something in her final years she can say to her friend (well, neighbors, I guess) that her grandkids took her to California. It was overwhelming, emotional, and very stressful. Weeks later, I still felt like she was disappointed.

Then I woke from a dream one morning. I dreamt my father and I were trying to convince her it was time to move in with the family. My grandfather sat in an armchair across from us, silent and watching. I haven’t dreamt of my grandfather since he passed, so it felt surreal to see him after so long. When my grandmother finally agreed to move in with my parents, I sighed with relief and got to my feet. As I was getting ready to exit the room, I passed by my grandfather, patting him on the knee as if to say “we got this”. He spoke the only words he spoke that whole dream, “You did good. It’s okay.” He hugged me. I haven’t hugged my grandfather in so long, and it felt so real that I woke crying. I truly believe that my grandfather saw that I needed him to tell me it was okay. That he knows I’ve done what I could, and I needed to hear it. That I needed that final hug from him to feel something close to closure. It was him, no doubt in my mind.

I will forever miss my grandfather. There are so many things I wish I could share with him, many things I should have asked while he was alive. There isn’t a single memory I don’t have that he’s not in, and I will forever cherish every one of them.