Today would have been my Grandpa's 79th birthday. I haven't posted in a couple of days and had several other ideas for posts until midnight when I instantly realized today was his birthday. Grandpa died a year ago July 1st. I feel pretty lucky to say he was the first person I ever lost that really devastated me.
Growing up, Grandpa lived in the same town as us so we saw him regularly. I had two cousins older than me but they were military brats so they never lived close, making me the first grandkid Grandpa really spent time with. I was the favorite. I spent my whole life knowing I was his favorite. He made no bones about hiding it from anyone. He was a little rough around the edges, stubborn and cynical, and we got along better than anyone. I think I understood him from the time I was itty bitty. We just had that connection.
Grandpa was divorced and loved his space. He and my grandma split when my dad was 14 and he lived alone after that. He tried marriage once when I was in elementary school but I think it lasted less than a year. He was way too independant to ever sacrifice for a woman again. That being said, he let us intrude any time we wanted. He had a swimming pool (TOO COOL!) that we spent our summers at. He had an endless supply of Sprite in his fridge for us (only place I ever got soda as a kid). He let us ride pillows down his stairs (we always lived in one-story houses so stairs were the best) and let us dance in front of his projection TV (it was the biggest screen I'd ever seen outside a movie theater). Grandpa was the coolest.
Grandpa bought me my first Cabbage Patch Kid when my parents said they were overrated and overpriced. He bought me my first big boombox when being cool was more important to me than anything. He let me have sleepovers at his house when I knew I couldn't spend one more minute at home. He paid off two different cars for me, financed my first house and never quit asking if I needed help with anything.
Grandpa taught me (inadvertantly) that "shit, damn and hell" are not swear words. He gave me my first taste of alcohol hoping it would gross me out enough to sway me from ever drinking again (not so effective). The smell of cigarette smoke still gives me warm and fuzzies and reminds me of Grandpa, who smoked until he had to choose between cigarettes and breathing. He hated every boy I ever dated, most especially the one I chose to marry, and warned me about the dangers of sex (it leads to babies). Grandpa taught me that someone can believe and act very differently from you but still be an amazing person.
Right before I started high school, Grandpa sold the business. We moved to Utah and he moved to a secluded little town in Oregon. It was one of the hardest times of my life. I hated living so far from him and called him all the time. Every summer we would spend a week with him and till I die, it will be one of my all-time favorite memories. He brought me out a month before my wedding so we could have one last one-on-one and I bawled when I left...knowing our relationship would change a little bit.
My kids still talk about our vacations to Oregon. Grandpa paid to bring us out every year until my Dad insisted on footing the bill. Last year was the first year we didn't go out. He died before we could get there. Grandpa insisted on being cremated and refused any kind of funeral so my parents were the only ones who went out after he died. I struggled with that until this summer when my cousin got married and my sister, dad and I went out to the wedding. I got to see where his ashes had been spread and got to touch the time capsule my uncle made with some of his things. It's the closest thing to a gravesite that we have. I'm not sure if I'll ever get back there but I'm grateful that I finally had that closure.
Grandpa and I talked once a month until he died. He had an 800 number for me so I wouldn't have to pay but I never used it. We would laugh and joke like old friends, never like a 70 year old and a 20 year old. I'd always end the conversation with an "I love you" and he'd always say "You, too" because if he said any more than that he'd cry (and Grandpa didn't cry).
A year or two before he died he promised me he would come back and visit me when he died. He said it as a joke because he always said he wasn't sure there was a heaven or an afterlife anyway. I'd tease him that he was in for the shock of his life because Joseph Smith was going to be standing there with an autographed copy of the Book of Mormon and my Grandma (who died a few years after their divorce) would be there with a couple of missionaries waiting to pounce on him. The night he died, I laid awake all night waiting for him to come, but he still hasn't. I'm hoping it's because he's just too dang busy; although, every now and then, I pray and ask God to tell him hello. I'm hoping he's getting my messages.
General Conference Note Taker
4 months ago
