My grandmother was a petite, plump woman with a gentle demeanor. Her voice squeaked like a cartoon character, and her favorite pastimes included binge-watching soap operas, preparing an array of treats for her pampered pup, and chain-smoking. Whenever I shared something exciting, her typical response was a simple, “Oh?”
In stark contrast to my grandmother’s later years were the vibrant tales my mother told of her youth. During the bitter Michigan winters, she would sneak moonshine for her father under a long trench coat, as no one would suspect a 12-year-old girl of such mischief. She even had an encounter with Al Capone, shaking his hand during her formative years.
As a teenager, she strummed the guitar and sang in local bars to help support her family. Family gatherings at her and my grandfather’s home in Miami often featured her playing guitar while my grandparents sang together by the pool.
While she was no pushover—once delivering a swift retort to her much taller son when he disrespected her—her demeanor shifted when interacting with my grandfather. Though he was rough around the edges, easily frustrated, and fond of his nightly hot meals at 6 PM, there was a softer side to him. I fondly remember him delighting my sister and me with the classic “Where’d my finger go?!” trick and making us laugh by popping out his dentures.
In her 60s, my grandmother quit smoking, but not before developing lung cancer a decade later. Faced with the impending loss of his lifelong partner, my grandfather, who had always treated her with a certain brusqueness, suddenly recognized her value. He wanted to care for her, but his inexperience in expressing affection left him at a loss.
During her battle with illness, the telephone became one of my grandmother’s few remaining joys. With my grandfather often absent and not much of a talker even when home, the phone served as her connection to loved ones and a lifeline to the world, even as she drifted closer to death. Unfortunately, as her condition worsened, she became too weak to hold the phone, leading to her feelings of despair.
Then, something remarkable occurred. My tough grandfather, taking the initiative, purchased my grandmother a portable headset, allowing her to talk without holding the phone. He beamed with pride at this thoughtful gesture, stepping far outside his comfort zone.
Sadly, my grandmother’s health declined rapidly, and she passed away before she could use the headset that had been meant to bring her comfort during her final days. Witnessing my grandfather’s heartache in the months that followed her passing revealed a profound truth about love that I had never seen before.
Though he wasn’t known for dispensing wisdom, my grandfather inadvertently taught me the importance of articulating love and appreciation in the present moment. Sometimes, “now” may vanish sooner than expected, and “later” might never come.
Out of respect for my grandfather’s grief, I feel compelled to express my feelings to those I care about. It may seem grim to ponder, “If this were the last time I saw someone, would they know how much they mean to me?” But I ask it anyway. If I love you, I’ll let you know. I refuse to be left regretting unopened gifts, like that headset that never got a chance to be used.
If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this link for helpful resources. For those considering pregnancy, this excellent resource offers valuable insights. Additionally, this exciting new portal enhances the donor egg program, proving to be an authority on the topic.
In summary, my grandfather’s journey through love and loss highlights the urgency of expressing our feelings to those we cherish. It serves as a reminder that life is fleeting and that now is the time to share our love and appreciation.