Going through me twitter account, me came across this blog with a "grandfather" story which me think is worth reading for us to comprehend the meaning of marriage and love. Me wonder whether such love and long lasting happiness is still around with the younger generation facing the ever challenging world nowadays...here goes the grandfather story..
"Last night I sat and read my grandfather’s obituary.
Now this may not be the best way to begin a blog post which is supposed to deal with romance but grant me some levity and, I promise, I’ll get there.
My Grandfather was 96 when he passed in his sleep last Friday. The past couple years of his life were spent in a West Virginia Nursing Home where Alzheimer’s slowly sifted his memories over and again until they dissipated into specks of what they once were. It was difficult watching his lifetime of memories disappear in a small fraction of the time it took to make them.
These were memories that stepped their way through a childhood of farm-living, to getting married. Which then led to “1 boy, 1 girl, let’s stop now” children. Not long after the kids came, the memories continued with moving his family to Ohio to find work, punching a clock for 29 years, then moving he and Grandma back to West Virginia to the same farmhouse they boarded up almost three decades earlier.
For the next thirty years, his memorable moments were made up of a more familial variety; an onslaught of grandchildren getting married and an even larger attack of great grandchildren being born. He spent his retirement years enjoying doing almost everything he could with Grandma.
Among the lines of his obit which list who preceded him in death and those still surviving in life, I couldn’t help but stare at the one that ended with: “… his wife of 66 years.”
Grandma passed suddenly five years ago. Before that day, my grandfather had barely ever been sick and was healthier and stronger than most men half his age. He was no taller than five and a half feet but when he walked into a room he somehow owned every corner of it. He was the quieter one of the two, leaving his opinions and thoughts about things to come out through subtle gestures, genuine smiles and perfectly timed shrugs.
Seeing such a strong man carry himself in a gentle way earned him the respect of everyone he met. They instantly liked him and cared what he had to say. At the dinner table and in mixed company though, Grandma had the floor. Carrying conversation with everyone, only occasionally going to Grandpa for clarification on a particular point. One of my fondest memories of them was during such a dinner.
I was all of thirteen years old and had gone to visit them with my parents and brother. Somehow the conversation landed on the subject of relationships. My Grandfather, who always sat at the head of the table with Grandma to his right, had asked her for some more green beans during her rather long soliloquy on the topic. As she walked to the stove, she continued explaining to the rest if us how she noticed that couples don’t even pay attention anymore when they talk to each other. She felt that was one of the reasons she and Grandpa lasted as long as they had because of the undivided attention they gave to one another.
Bringing the pot with her, she stood next to him and before serving, asked him, “What is the name of the young couple at church who are always bickering about something?”
Grandma, who stands a whole head taller than Grandpa, then spoons a giant amount of mashed potatoes and let’s them plop in front of him. Grandpa mixes his potatoes around with the remaining drippings on his plate before asking, “Is there any more gravy, Thelma?”
Staring off into space, she replies, “No, that’s not their name. You know who I’m talking about. They usually come late and sit in the back.”
Grandpa takes a bite of dry potatoes and with a look of contentment on his face tells her, “Ok, I’ll take some water then.”
“That’s right! The Carters! They never take the time to listen to each other. Always talking over one another. I give them 5 years max.” She then leaves and returns with a glass of iced tea for my Grandpa.
I look around the table and my family seems oblivious to the exchange that just took place. My grandfather is forking potatoes into his mouth he didn’t request and washing it down with a beverage he didn’t want. My Grandma, having returned to her seat is watching him with love in her eyes because he broke through her mental block for her. In the meantime, I’m left wondering where the hell the green beans and water went. Not being able to help myself, I burst out laughing then spend the next few minutes recounting what happened to everyone around the table until they’re laughing with me.
Seeing the irony in the situation, my grandparents just shrug it off and exchange a look I hoped to share with a partner of mine someday. A look that revealed there was more communication between them than the words spoken. They understood each other better than anyone else ever would. Their love affair continued for another 27 years before my Grandma passed away and Grandpa fell apart.
Grandma always seemed the stronger of the two. She was a few years younger than he and statistically should have outlived him. Everyone knew that even for as strong as he was, he wasn’t built to be without Grandma. We got our first glimpse of this fact when I showed up at the small white, backwoods church for Grandma’s funeral.
I hadn’t seen him since she passed a few days earlier but had been getting updates from my parents who said he was holding up pretty well. I was the last to arrive at the church that day after a 12 hour drive. He had been sitting up front and when he saw me, came down the aisle. When we reached each other, he finally lost it. Falling into my arms, I never knew love could be so fragile yet so heavy at the same time. The floodgates opened and as he gripped my suit jacket he kept asking between the tears, “What am I going to do? How am I going to go on without her?”
Pulling him straight, I turned him and helped him back to his seat, holding his hand through the rest of the service. By the time we were having food at the gathering afterwards, he had regained himself and was taking everyone’s well wishes in stride.
Leaving him that evening, I couldn’t help but worry if he would be okay sleeping by himself. My Aunt had agreed to stay in the spare bedroom but once the lights went out and the quiet set in I knew it would all catch up to him again.
Their little farm house had two bedrooms. One was large enough to keep a queen sized bed, two large dressers and enough space between them all to breath comfortably. The other bedroom was no more than 7′ x 9′ and barely fit a double bed and a very small dresser. This is the room Grandma and Grandpa chose to sleep in.
When they moved back after retirement, they instructed us to put their bed in the smaller of the two bedrooms. The only way it would fit was if we pushed one side up against the wall opposite the door. This left Grandma sleeping between the wall and Grandpa.
We tried to explain how much better it would be if they took the larger room with the larger bed but they weren’t hearing it. They said they felt more comfortable in the smaller room. They weren’t interested in having more space between them but wanted to cocoon themselves in the lack of it. I couldn’t help but think of how hollow that room must feel now that she was gone.
His deterioration began almost immediately after he was left to his own devices. He simply stopped caring about things, including himself. He talked about not being able to wait until he could be with Grandma again. He would tell funny stories of things they did or talked about. When his kids tried to get him to move back to Ohio where everyone could watch over him, he refused. Instead, he was determined to live in the house where the memories of Grandma would be freshest.
He lasted in their farmhouse for another three years before the dementia got so bad it came time to put him in an assisted living facility. We really found out how bad he had gotten now that we had witnesses to what we were unable to see when he was by himself. He spent his days roaming the halls calling my Grandma’s name and asking others if they had seen her. In later months he would not even recognize his own son and daughter but still pine for Grandma and recite moments they shared chapter and verse to anyone who would listen.
The 66 years mentioned in his obituary didn’t include the 5 since her passing. For me and everyone else who knew them, their years together are still counting. Grandpa never let go of Grandma. In the end she, and the true love they shared were the only things he was firmly holding onto. Whatever your belief in a hereafter or a thereafter, somehow their love for each other has brought them together again.
When we think of romance, we think of candles, soft music, wine and an evening or two of togetherness before going back to the grind of day to day living. My grandparents proved that romance can be more. It can be in the smallest of moments. It can be in the times apart where all you do is miss each other. It can be in the sigh you each release when you are finally together again after being apart.
Last Tuesday, in the pit of my heart, I felt that sigh they shared".
Kuala Lumpur,
Saturday, 05.19.2012
"Last night I sat and read my grandfather’s obituary.
Now this may not be the best way to begin a blog post which is supposed to deal with romance but grant me some levity and, I promise, I’ll get there.
My Grandfather was 96 when he passed in his sleep last Friday. The past couple years of his life were spent in a West Virginia Nursing Home where Alzheimer’s slowly sifted his memories over and again until they dissipated into specks of what they once were. It was difficult watching his lifetime of memories disappear in a small fraction of the time it took to make them.
These were memories that stepped their way through a childhood of farm-living, to getting married. Which then led to “1 boy, 1 girl, let’s stop now” children. Not long after the kids came, the memories continued with moving his family to Ohio to find work, punching a clock for 29 years, then moving he and Grandma back to West Virginia to the same farmhouse they boarded up almost three decades earlier.
For the next thirty years, his memorable moments were made up of a more familial variety; an onslaught of grandchildren getting married and an even larger attack of great grandchildren being born. He spent his retirement years enjoying doing almost everything he could with Grandma.
Among the lines of his obit which list who preceded him in death and those still surviving in life, I couldn’t help but stare at the one that ended with: “… his wife of 66 years.”
Grandma passed suddenly five years ago. Before that day, my grandfather had barely ever been sick and was healthier and stronger than most men half his age. He was no taller than five and a half feet but when he walked into a room he somehow owned every corner of it. He was the quieter one of the two, leaving his opinions and thoughts about things to come out through subtle gestures, genuine smiles and perfectly timed shrugs.
Seeing such a strong man carry himself in a gentle way earned him the respect of everyone he met. They instantly liked him and cared what he had to say. At the dinner table and in mixed company though, Grandma had the floor. Carrying conversation with everyone, only occasionally going to Grandpa for clarification on a particular point. One of my fondest memories of them was during such a dinner.
I was all of thirteen years old and had gone to visit them with my parents and brother. Somehow the conversation landed on the subject of relationships. My Grandfather, who always sat at the head of the table with Grandma to his right, had asked her for some more green beans during her rather long soliloquy on the topic. As she walked to the stove, she continued explaining to the rest if us how she noticed that couples don’t even pay attention anymore when they talk to each other. She felt that was one of the reasons she and Grandpa lasted as long as they had because of the undivided attention they gave to one another.
Bringing the pot with her, she stood next to him and before serving, asked him, “What is the name of the young couple at church who are always bickering about something?”
Grandma, who stands a whole head taller than Grandpa, then spoons a giant amount of mashed potatoes and let’s them plop in front of him. Grandpa mixes his potatoes around with the remaining drippings on his plate before asking, “Is there any more gravy, Thelma?”
Staring off into space, she replies, “No, that’s not their name. You know who I’m talking about. They usually come late and sit in the back.”
Grandpa takes a bite of dry potatoes and with a look of contentment on his face tells her, “Ok, I’ll take some water then.”
“That’s right! The Carters! They never take the time to listen to each other. Always talking over one another. I give them 5 years max.” She then leaves and returns with a glass of iced tea for my Grandpa.
I look around the table and my family seems oblivious to the exchange that just took place. My grandfather is forking potatoes into his mouth he didn’t request and washing it down with a beverage he didn’t want. My Grandma, having returned to her seat is watching him with love in her eyes because he broke through her mental block for her. In the meantime, I’m left wondering where the hell the green beans and water went. Not being able to help myself, I burst out laughing then spend the next few minutes recounting what happened to everyone around the table until they’re laughing with me.
Seeing the irony in the situation, my grandparents just shrug it off and exchange a look I hoped to share with a partner of mine someday. A look that revealed there was more communication between them than the words spoken. They understood each other better than anyone else ever would. Their love affair continued for another 27 years before my Grandma passed away and Grandpa fell apart.
Grandma always seemed the stronger of the two. She was a few years younger than he and statistically should have outlived him. Everyone knew that even for as strong as he was, he wasn’t built to be without Grandma. We got our first glimpse of this fact when I showed up at the small white, backwoods church for Grandma’s funeral.
I hadn’t seen him since she passed a few days earlier but had been getting updates from my parents who said he was holding up pretty well. I was the last to arrive at the church that day after a 12 hour drive. He had been sitting up front and when he saw me, came down the aisle. When we reached each other, he finally lost it. Falling into my arms, I never knew love could be so fragile yet so heavy at the same time. The floodgates opened and as he gripped my suit jacket he kept asking between the tears, “What am I going to do? How am I going to go on without her?”
Pulling him straight, I turned him and helped him back to his seat, holding his hand through the rest of the service. By the time we were having food at the gathering afterwards, he had regained himself and was taking everyone’s well wishes in stride.
Leaving him that evening, I couldn’t help but worry if he would be okay sleeping by himself. My Aunt had agreed to stay in the spare bedroom but once the lights went out and the quiet set in I knew it would all catch up to him again.
Their little farm house had two bedrooms. One was large enough to keep a queen sized bed, two large dressers and enough space between them all to breath comfortably. The other bedroom was no more than 7′ x 9′ and barely fit a double bed and a very small dresser. This is the room Grandma and Grandpa chose to sleep in.
When they moved back after retirement, they instructed us to put their bed in the smaller of the two bedrooms. The only way it would fit was if we pushed one side up against the wall opposite the door. This left Grandma sleeping between the wall and Grandpa.
We tried to explain how much better it would be if they took the larger room with the larger bed but they weren’t hearing it. They said they felt more comfortable in the smaller room. They weren’t interested in having more space between them but wanted to cocoon themselves in the lack of it. I couldn’t help but think of how hollow that room must feel now that she was gone.
His deterioration began almost immediately after he was left to his own devices. He simply stopped caring about things, including himself. He talked about not being able to wait until he could be with Grandma again. He would tell funny stories of things they did or talked about. When his kids tried to get him to move back to Ohio where everyone could watch over him, he refused. Instead, he was determined to live in the house where the memories of Grandma would be freshest.
He lasted in their farmhouse for another three years before the dementia got so bad it came time to put him in an assisted living facility. We really found out how bad he had gotten now that we had witnesses to what we were unable to see when he was by himself. He spent his days roaming the halls calling my Grandma’s name and asking others if they had seen her. In later months he would not even recognize his own son and daughter but still pine for Grandma and recite moments they shared chapter and verse to anyone who would listen.
The 66 years mentioned in his obituary didn’t include the 5 since her passing. For me and everyone else who knew them, their years together are still counting. Grandpa never let go of Grandma. In the end she, and the true love they shared were the only things he was firmly holding onto. Whatever your belief in a hereafter or a thereafter, somehow their love for each other has brought them together again.
When we think of romance, we think of candles, soft music, wine and an evening or two of togetherness before going back to the grind of day to day living. My grandparents proved that romance can be more. It can be in the smallest of moments. It can be in the times apart where all you do is miss each other. It can be in the sigh you each release when you are finally together again after being apart.
Last Tuesday, in the pit of my heart, I felt that sigh they shared".
Kuala Lumpur,
Saturday, 05.19.2012
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