Gratefulness for Grandfathers

Its 8 am on a Sunday and I have no reason to be awake so early except for an illogical nudge out of bed this morning instructing me to write a post about my grandfathers. I woke up thinking about them, the kind of men they were, the funny stories I have because of them, and a sense of gratefulness for having had both of them in my life until I became an adult.

They were both so different, both so sweet and kind in their own ways, and both taught me a lot, and I know they are both still with me. This was never more clear to me than in June last year when I woke up in tears from a dream I had where they were both there, so alive in my subconscious. I was about to finish my studies in Japan and preparing for a presentation of my thesis to the Japanese Rotarians. In my dream they were giving me their support and encouragement. I was crying because I was sad to wake up - and therefore have to let go of the real feeling of connection I had with them in the dream. Its not that they spent so much time together in life, we didn't often have gatherings with both families outside of Christmas. But I like to think of their spirits keeping each other in good company out there somewhere.

Grampy Brown
Growing up I spent a lot of time at my dad's parents house in the summer. Summer vacations were all about going to Mimi and Grampy's in Sabattus. It was a chance to get away from the crowded house in Shapleigh, get out of doing summer chores, get to play with the neighborhood kids in Sabattus - particulary with two girls adopted from Korea Holly and Angel, and spend time with my grandmother Mimi - who continues to have an immense role and impact on my life.

My grandfather Brown wasn't the most outwardly cheerful of fellows in the years that I knew him. His sour looking demeanor earned him the nickname Gumpy from my oldest brother Eric - a combination of the words grampy and grumpy. I remember him as a man of few words, but what words they were! As the patriarch of the family he was never afraid to tell his truth. Honest to a fault is a saying in my family, my cousin Angel and I are prone to it as well ;-). When something got him upset enough to say something or take action watch out! I remember during a thunderstorm one summer when I was about 10 he was so angry about some animal he could see in the dim light chewing away at his vegetable garden that he went out amidst thunder and lightening with a gun to shoot the thing. I was scared to death he'd get struck by lightening and begged him not to go, but of course he did anyway!

I also remember him charging me 25 cents per phone call when I stayed at their house. If I used the phone it was to call Holly and Angel or Patrick, the oldest of the Longchamps' kids. I soon figured out that local calls didn't cost my grandfather a cent, the point was to teach me a lesson and to encourage me to just go and walk the half mile to their houses to talk rather than be on the phone. At the end of the summer he took me out for an ice cream with my phone call quarters at the local-yokel ice cream hut in Sabattus - he was a sweetie underneath it all.

The one time he seemed to have listened to me was when he became sick with cancer. He knew he was sick and was adamant about not going to the doctor - this is a common problem in my family in my opinion. I was home from college, I think it was spring. I pleaded with him to go to the doctor, I couldn't bear the idea of him dying if the cancer could be managed. He went to the doctor, maybe it wasn't my pleading I don't know - but I was glad he did. He died of course and still did not have the cancer treated. He said he had lived his life and didn't want to die amid machines in a hospital, that he wanted to be at home.

He became very sick during the summer after my second year in college. That summer I worked triple shifts waitressing, 18 hour days, 5 days a week and spent every second of my 2 days off at my grandparents house. I wanted to spend every spare moment there so I would know that I didn't waste any opportunity to be with him and be there for my grandmother, I would never look back and wish I had done or been there more.

His funeral was unlike any other. Before the service we were all telling stories about him, like how we never once heard him say Mimi's fantastic cooking was good - it was always 'not baaad', or how he often piqued in after Mimi's dinner prayer saying 'God helps those who helps themselves' as he reached for the mashed potatoes. I never thought of my grandfather as a religious man but he was surely spiritual, and he had two ministers and a priest as his funeral ironically.

One comment I remember clearly from that day came from my unusually wise younger brother Ben. He didn't have nice dress shoes to wear to the funeral and was a bit upset. My grandmother, realizing his size was similar to my grandfather's gave Ben a pair of his shoes to wear that day. Ben put them on and said that the shoes fit but he would never be able to walk in them like Grampa.

I miss him more as I type this but I know he is with me when I need strength and encouragement, and every time I see yellow roses - the flowers he always gave to Mimi on special occaisons, and every morning when I drink my coffee I use the same cup he used for many many years and smile. I always visit his grave in Portland when I am in Maine and I can often imagine him waggering his bony finger at me when I do something wrong :-)

Grampy Pearl
I spent much less time with my mother's parents when I was a kid, but still have many tender memories about my grandfather Pearl. He was a dear, dear man and incredibly sweet. He was always trying to crack jokes to get the kids to smile and had a deep, warm, inclusive laugh that I can still clearly remember. The two things I loved about going to my mother's parent's house was the red pogo stick (that my siblings and I would fight over) and the cool golf ball putting practice set - if your putt was good enough the ball would get sucked right into the hole.

My dad's mom (Mimi) told me a golf ball-related story about me and Grampy Pearl a few years ago that was sad and funny. My mom's parents lived less than one hour from my dad's parents house and one time Mimi and Grampy Brown took me over to my mom's parents place to visit and to leave me there to stay a few days. Apparently when my Grampy Pearl was tucking me into bed I launched a golf ball at him and hit him in the head! What an awful kid! I refused to go to sleep and so Mimi and Grampy Brown had to come over again that night to pick me up and take me back to their house. My poor Grampy Pearl.

Unlike many of my generation neither of my grandfathers fought in either of the European Wars, Korea, or Vietnam. My Grampy Brown was the only son and supporting his mother and so was not sent. Grampy Pearl on the other hand had a disability that prevented him from going. As I understand the story when he was a child his mother worked at a textile mill and after school he would go and sit with her as she worked. One day while he was playing one of the machines somehow caught his hand and he lost his thumb and forefinger in the process. I tell this story because one of the most amazing things about my Grampy Pearl was how he decided to find his own way to serve his country despite his disability. He wanted to support the men who went to war and came back and spent many years and many, many hours volunteering at the US Veterans Hospital at Togus in Maine. Although I wasn't fully aware of the meaning of this when I was a kid, I know it impacted me and I know it factors into my own drive to do good work in this life.

After my grandmother Pearl passed away, Grampy lived on his own for a while at the house. At that time I was in college and did not get to see him very often, but we wrote letters. I wrote to him about my soccer games and courses he wrote to me about life in Maine, his volunteering (he was still volunteering in his '80s) and church happenings. He knew his writing was illegible and so typed his letters on a typewriter, and finished each of them with the same sweet phrase 'Love from an Old Man". I have kept those letters and although its a bit strange the white and yellow striped towel I take with me all over the world, wherever I live, was his - so I think of him often.

Although I am sad to have lost them both I know I am grateful to have had them in my life, to have such clear memories of them, and to have learned so much from each of them in the time we had.

And just like the small things I have to remind me of my grandfathers I have small things surrounding me from many of you as well; like the watch from my parents, my Tokyo graduation bracelet from Anne, the Liberian made large coaster from Meg, the small figurine of a couple made in Kenya from Nai, my sheep napkin holder from Mela, the delicate silver bracelet from Mexico from Eric, my embroidered pillowcases and graduation silver ring from Mimi, my sunflower embroidered cloth from Grammy Pearl, my Parco di Pinocchio pencil holder reminding me of good times with Karen and John in Collodi, the little chick sticker on my computer and pink Japanese-style good luck charm from Carys, my blue and red handmade scarf from Teneal, the red and yellow French scarf from Martine and Boris, a cute chocolate Easter Bunny from Morten, a delicate silver birthday bracelet from Pinar and John, the creative and adorable card with my name on it - a gift from little David, the bowl from Bretagne with my name on it from Cecile and Ian, my sole Valentine's Card this year from Faith and Felicity, a beautiful tenegui cloth from the Kikuchi family in Chofu Japan, a kind Christmas card from Wendi, my soft teddy bear from Hiro, the keychains on my cellphone from Abe-san my host mom in Japan, my journal book from Nancy.

All of these are in addition to the many photos, supportive emails, and uncountable memories from all over the planet remind me of each of you frequently....- Thank YOU! -