Today was Grandpa Bauer's inurnment. Phillip, I, and the girls were present. I found myself wishing I had known him somewhat better while watching the military ceremony. As I watched his grandchildren, children, friends and family celebrate his life, I felt slightly saddened. I suppose that this is a normal reaction. What came with it, however, bothered me greatly. I have been part of Phillip's family for quite some time. I feel as close to his grandparents as I do to my own and as close to his parents as I do to my own. As I stood there wishing I had known his grandfather better, I found myself feeling quite sad and angry. It brought back memories and feelings I had not recognized in myself about my own grandfathers' passings.
My father's father passed away when I was eight years old. He was my Godfather, and what memories I have of him are of a loving man who cared for his family to the best of his ability. I do remember every Sunday before sending us to church with Grandma, he's make the world's best french toast, not covered in syrup but in plain sugar. To this day, I eat my French toast with sugar instead. On Saturday mornings, I'd watch cartoons and he'd be snoozing on the couch, snoring, and my brother would change the channel to wrestling at 11... My Pop Pop would immediately awaken, "Hey turn off that wrastlin, me and my granddaughter were watchin the film funnies." But, we moved when I was barely six years old, and I remember feeling like I didn't have the right to be sad when he died, that he was my cousin's grandfather more than mine.
My mother's father passed away when I was around 12 or 13. I find it difficult to pinpoint the exact year. I called him Gramps. He died of cancer, and had suffered greatly for a number of years. His passing was welcomed by the family, and all were relieved that he was finally moving on and released from all the pain he had endured. My mother, brother, and I were in Maryland for nearly a month by the time Gramps had died. He passed away on the last day of school up there. Everyone had taken the day off of work for some reason, all feeling as though they should. My mother and her siblings took turns at his bedside all day, and at some point everyone had left the room. I was sitting on the front porch and got thirsty, his bed was situated in the living room where the Hospice nurse had orchestrated for his care. I got up to go into the kitchen to get myself something to drink. When I opened the door, I looked at my grandfather's bed and saw him asleep on his bed. As I watched, he inhaled deeply and his chest rose and fell for the last time. I said to my aunt on the porch behind me, "Grandpa stopped breathing." I was sent to the elementary school to keep the children from coming home until his body was removed. Primarily speaking of the kindergarten children. After, I went to pick up Amy with her mother. Amy and I had known each other since birth and her home became a haven to avoid the sickness in my grandparents house that summer. I was asked by Mrs. Patty not to tell Amy about my grandfather's passing, just as I had to act like there was nothing going on in front of the children when I walked up to their school earlier that day. In the van, on the way back from Amy's middle school, my silence was remarked upon by Amy, and Mrs. Patty informed her that "Mr. Skip died." Amy immediately began sobbing these heartrenching sobs. I was so jealous of her. She could cry for my grandfather. Again, I felt as though I did not have the right to.
It bothered me so much to stand there and watch as another grandfather's life was celebrated and his death was grieved and know that, once again, I knew him so little compared to those around me.
I know today's blog is somewhat less than upbeat. I do apologize for this. Thankfully, because of my Christian upbringing, though I may have these feelings on occasion, I do know that all of these men have moved on to a better place and that their lives and their deaths should be celebrated for that reason. However, it is difficult to not mourn what could have been.
On a much more positive note... As we were walking back toward the cars. Mariana was walking hand in hand with her Pong and Ping. I watched them swing her and the joy she was feeling being with them was quite evident. It warmed my heart greatly to know that she would feel a closeness with both of her grandfathers that I somewhat missed in my life.
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