Each Christmas Eve my siblings and I piled into our car squeezed in as tight as possible with our over sized fluffy coats, we were headed to Grandpa's! We knew that this was the place where we would crack open nuts, tease a tea cup poodle, open presents, and hear the story. Taken for granted it was always the same story. We knew the end already, actually we knew the beginning and middle as well. I can't speak for the rest of them but in all honesty I didn't care to hear the same story over and over so I would let my mind wander. I thought about what presents laid waiting for me under the tree at home. I thought about building snow men and how I was being forced to take one day off from gymnastics. Christmas was fun, but often times it was an inconvenience.
July 3rd 2012 was a very special day. It was the day that I said good-bye to my biggest fan here on earth. He has cheered me on and loved me all the way back until I can't remember anymore, and probably before that too. Watching his frail frame suck in breaths of air that wouldn't ease the harshness of his brow was hard. We sang hymns, I wasn't really sure why though, maybe to help set him at peace. Or perhaps the singing was so awful he wanted to leave. I sang for a while until I just felt sick. We went to the hall, David and I, and quickly began to play. It wasn't 5 minutes later that Daddy came out to tell me he was gone. Gone? His body is right there, I could still see his feet. Dad was right though, his spirit had gone to be with Grandma. In those 5 minutes I had forgotten the sick feeling but seeing Dad's face made it come right back. I ran away. Out the door, down the sidewalk. There was a fence in my way, higher than my head. I climbed over and ran some more. Now I was rushing through a pasture all I could see was the mountains. I knew there were highways blocking me from flying to the peaks but I kept my pace for as long as I could. I wouldn't have stopped but he made me slow down. He let me just cry.
I had planned on being sad some more when I got back home but other events gave my grandpa a swift shove to the back of my mind. Thinking about the Christmas story was what made me crave his voice. He called me "Dolly". I suspect that's the name he used for all of the grand girls if he couldn't remember our names.
I am 9 years old again, crawling into the back seat of his silver Intrepid. It always smelled like his old man smell, plus a yucky toy poodle that everyone forgot to wash. It was cold outside but being inside the car made me sweat. He wore his hat and jacket, the same ones every winter. Even though he wore thick glasses I knew he could navigate our way to gymnastics, he knew that town better than probably anyone. We slowed to a stop, I unbuckled and opened the door " Thanks! Love you Grandpa!" I closed the door.
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