I asked my Facebook friends for suggestions of something I should do that might be considered amazing or at least something you don’t do everyday. It didn’t take long before the ideas came pouring in like so many drops of hilarious rain. Some were a bit financially taxing while others were simply absurd (thanks dad.) When the reply from my little sister came in via text message it struck a chord, go visit grandpa.
My mom’s dad is 89 years old and lives only ten minutes from my house. Since my grandmother passed away and he remarried we haven’t seen each other that much. I tell myself that is mostly because of our busy life but in reality it’s just because we haven’t taken the time. Visiting a place you used to frequent on a weekly basis can be a double edged sword. All the great memories of holidays and the times you spent with those cousins you only saw a few times a year. Every Fourth of July when the fireworks would scare away the dog and they would find him two counties over. Shooting grandpa with a Nerf missile launcher and knowing that fun time was over. Hiding in the custom made doghouse that was bigger than most downtown loft apartments and better constructed.
On the other sharper side of that sword is the fleeting moments of childhood. Same carpet but the rooms seem smaller. Same field but the grass seems rougher. Same kid of yesterday but with today’s worries.
I felt like I was visiting a familiar place in the way a museum seems safe and welcoming but never seems to change.
We were greeted at the door by my step-grandmother who explained that grandpa was in the shop out back working on something. As quickly as we had walked in the house we walked out the back sliding glass door. A common point of contention between grandpa and every grandchild over the years, Keep it Shut! Just like every other day I can recall stopping by their house, Grandpa stood in the small red barn/shop surrounded by tools. Missing only the iconic beer, Miller High Life I believe. With a warm old-mannish friendly “Well what the hells going on here,” it felt like we hadn’t missed a beat. We had no reason to be there other than to say hello and maybe catch up on a few happenings. But that didn’t seem to matter, he was happy to see us.
He told us about his troubles with a mower he bought only a few years ago while pointing out that the Cub Cadet he bought in 1975 for $2500 still worked. I sparked up the topic of the enormous satellite dish still standing in his backyard. ($5000, not sure what year) he assured me it used to be the top of the line and they got every channel, even the ones that didn’t hold anything back “if you know what I mean.” As a child of the 80s and 90s I remember seeing HBO for the first time at their house. Movies at your house, the wave of the future!
We walked by the shed where the wood bees lived and still do. I played the role
of dad and explained to Preston that back in my day you had a wooden paddle to slap the bees away, that was our version of the Wii. (Bii, haha) We admired a few relics as we walked to the garden where the ground is tilled up and ready for planting. April 15th to be exact. Grandpa told us about the year he planted three dozen pepper plants at a buck twenty five each and a late freeze took them all down, not running that risk again. He told us his knees keep him from doing more because 90 years is rough on a body. With a full head of hair, most of his hearing and a keen fashion sense he looks much younger.
We made our way back inside and chatted with both Grandpa and Shirley. After a half hour I stood up and said well we better go see Tommy. Everyone followed me into the back bedroom. Filled with posters and stuffed animals, a flat screen television and a VCR for playing VHS tapes, a body lift for moving disabled people and a Garfield clock whose tail had stopped swinging years ago.
Uncle Tom is my mother’s youngest, older brother. Thirty-nine years ago in 1973 Tommy and some friends skipped school at age 15. After drinking a few beers the boys crashed their jeep into a telephone poll and ultimately left Tommy with massive brain damage. They performed surgery almost immediately but were forced to remove part of the brain leaving him unable to function on his own. He lived under the care of my grandma until the day she passed. It is unclear his level of cognition, but he does react to certain voices and makes slight movements that almost give you hope. Grandpa has always said Tommy would never be in a home and so it has been.
Tommy has a full head of hair with no gray to speak of, and soft skin untarnished by work and sunlight. I don’t know if he knew who I was but in my mind he did. I patted him on the arm and talked to him just like I always have, like a normal healthy person. Preston and Jessica stood back slightly at first but became more comfortable as the minutes passed. As you know, when muscles are unused they begin to atrophy and after nearly forty years, Uncle Tom’s muscle tone is next to nothing. His arms and legs have seized up and pulled inward making moving them nearly impossible. He doesn’t appear to be in pain, however his idea of pain and mine are likely very different.
We said goodbye to Tommy and headed toward the front door. We had a nice visit at Goodmon Circle (the sign we bought for their giant circle driveway back in the early nineties) It was exactly what I expected for having no expectations. I feel a little guilty for feeling like my heart might have gained more peace than anyone else’s as a result of our visit. Maybe we should make an effort more often. I think I might try to do at least three things a week that I don’t normally do or might be considered extraordinary. Even if I fail at trying at least I know where I stand. Happy Good Friday!
My mom’s dad is 89 years old and lives only ten minutes from my house. Since my grandmother passed away and he remarried we haven’t seen each other that much. I tell myself that is mostly because of our busy life but in reality it’s just because we haven’t taken the time. Visiting a place you used to frequent on a weekly basis can be a double edged sword. All the great memories of holidays and the times you spent with those cousins you only saw a few times a year. Every Fourth of July when the fireworks would scare away the dog and they would find him two counties over. Shooting grandpa with a Nerf missile launcher and knowing that fun time was over. Hiding in the custom made doghouse that was bigger than most downtown loft apartments and better constructed.
On the other sharper side of that sword is the fleeting moments of childhood. Same carpet but the rooms seem smaller. Same field but the grass seems rougher. Same kid of yesterday but with today’s worries.
I felt like I was visiting a familiar place in the way a museum seems safe and welcoming but never seems to change.
We were greeted at the door by my step-grandmother who explained that grandpa was in the shop out back working on something. As quickly as we had walked in the house we walked out the back sliding glass door. A common point of contention between grandpa and every grandchild over the years, Keep it Shut! Just like every other day I can recall stopping by their house, Grandpa stood in the small red barn/shop surrounded by tools. Missing only the iconic beer, Miller High Life I believe. With a warm old-mannish friendly “Well what the hells going on here,” it felt like we hadn’t missed a beat. We had no reason to be there other than to say hello and maybe catch up on a few happenings. But that didn’t seem to matter, he was happy to see us.
He told us about his troubles with a mower he bought only a few years ago while pointing out that the Cub Cadet he bought in 1975 for $2500 still worked. I sparked up the topic of the enormous satellite dish still standing in his backyard. ($5000, not sure what year) he assured me it used to be the top of the line and they got every channel, even the ones that didn’t hold anything back “if you know what I mean.” As a child of the 80s and 90s I remember seeing HBO for the first time at their house. Movies at your house, the wave of the future!
We walked by the shed where the wood bees lived and still do. I played the role
of dad and explained to Preston that back in my day you had a wooden paddle to slap the bees away, that was our version of the Wii. (Bii, haha) We admired a few relics as we walked to the garden where the ground is tilled up and ready for planting. April 15th to be exact. Grandpa told us about the year he planted three dozen pepper plants at a buck twenty five each and a late freeze took them all down, not running that risk again. He told us his knees keep him from doing more because 90 years is rough on a body. With a full head of hair, most of his hearing and a keen fashion sense he looks much younger.
We made our way back inside and chatted with both Grandpa and Shirley. After a half hour I stood up and said well we better go see Tommy. Everyone followed me into the back bedroom. Filled with posters and stuffed animals, a flat screen television and a VCR for playing VHS tapes, a body lift for moving disabled people and a Garfield clock whose tail had stopped swinging years ago.
Uncle Tom is my mother’s youngest, older brother. Thirty-nine years ago in 1973 Tommy and some friends skipped school at age 15. After drinking a few beers the boys crashed their jeep into a telephone poll and ultimately left Tommy with massive brain damage. They performed surgery almost immediately but were forced to remove part of the brain leaving him unable to function on his own. He lived under the care of my grandma until the day she passed. It is unclear his level of cognition, but he does react to certain voices and makes slight movements that almost give you hope. Grandpa has always said Tommy would never be in a home and so it has been.
Tommy has a full head of hair with no gray to speak of, and soft skin untarnished by work and sunlight. I don’t know if he knew who I was but in my mind he did. I patted him on the arm and talked to him just like I always have, like a normal healthy person. Preston and Jessica stood back slightly at first but became more comfortable as the minutes passed. As you know, when muscles are unused they begin to atrophy and after nearly forty years, Uncle Tom’s muscle tone is next to nothing. His arms and legs have seized up and pulled inward making moving them nearly impossible. He doesn’t appear to be in pain, however his idea of pain and mine are likely very different.
We said goodbye to Tommy and headed toward the front door. We had a nice visit at Goodmon Circle (the sign we bought for their giant circle driveway back in the early nineties) It was exactly what I expected for having no expectations. I feel a little guilty for feeling like my heart might have gained more peace than anyone else’s as a result of our visit. Maybe we should make an effort more often. I think I might try to do at least three things a week that I don’t normally do or might be considered extraordinary. Even if I fail at trying at least I know where I stand. Happy Good Friday!
No comments:
Post a Comment