I Remember my Hero

10 Years. It's been 10 years this month that my Grampa's been gone. I can't believe time can pass so quickly. I can't believe we have lived that long without his presence, his laughter, his joie de vivre. I was talking to my mom the other day and I asked her if she knew what this month was. I had her stumped for a minute. Then I told her that about it being the anniversary and we just sat there looking at each other, not speaking. To speak would have put us both in tears, as it was I felt tears brimming under my eye lids. Then she said, "He took the sun." After 10 years I still can't believe there are moments filled with his memory that still can make me cry. Sometimes, I will hear the song we played at his funeral and cry, and then play it over again. A couple of years ago in Minnesota (where my mom was raised) we were sitting in a diner in her home town and I saw a man that looked like my Grampa's twin, he was even wearing the same hat my Grampa wore. Right there in that diner it was hard to believe I wasn't looking at my Grampa and I choked up. But I couldn't keep from glancing at him. There are times I tear up thinking that my husband never met my Grampa, never met the man who had such an impact on my life. I can't stand the thought that I can't share memories of someone I loved with the love of my life. It was my Grampa and my Dad and even my Uncle who helped form in me such a high regard for men in general and they didn't even do it on purpose. They just lived their daily lives, with love, humor and integrity.

Honestly, I don't think I knew how much my Grampa meant to me and his influence in my life, until he was gone. I just took for granted that he was there, laughing, loving, teasing being the anchor, the cornerstone of our family. I remember that day. It was a Saturday, right before Martin Luther King Monday, and I was sleeping in. My parents came in to my room together to wake me up. They had something to tell me and I knew before they spoke that my Grampa was gone. It was so surreal to receive such devestating news and then beginning the funeral planning that same afternoon. My mom was on the phone with her sister and brother and it didn't seem real. We cried and cried. I remember I wrote a poem to read at his funeral. I was sure I would be able to read it. Then I got up to the podium and I sobbed so hard I had to take breaths after almost every single word. But I had to finish, because I loved him. For a long time we couldn't fathom how life could go on with out him, how our family could go on without him. He was the axel in our family wheel. Even now, when we have family gatherings I look around and I know a piece is missing, a piece we've learned to live without. But looking at my family, I know he is still there. I see him in all of us. I was watching my uncle the other day when they visited us. He pulled a comb out of his back pocket and combed his hair back, exactly like my Grampa used to do. Exactly. Sometimes one of my cousins or sisters will do or say something and it reminds me of him. There are so many great little reminders of memories.

My Grampa was my hero. He taught me what it means to be great. Even now, when I struggle with the issue of greatness and feeling small, I remember him and what a great man he was even though he was never wealthy or famous. Every one who knew my Grampa loved him. I still run into people from time to time who knew him and they always say how special he was. He was a giver. He was truly interested in people. He talked but he also listened, with interest. He laughed and told dirty jokes. He taught me you can say whatever you want as long as you do it in good spirit with a smile. He would say things that no one else would dare to say and make people laugh while doing it. He was a people magnet. I remember when we would go to his house for a visit, there were always people sitting in his office, waiting to be worked on (He was a chiropracter), really just wanting to be around him. I hated that. He was ours and I never wanted to share him with people who weren't family. I was selfish. My Grampa was one of those rare people who made others feel better about themselves, just by being around him. I believe he did it by sharing himself. By being open and sincere. He wasn't perfect, but he was who he was. His funeral was packed. I remember people were amazed by how many other people attended. He had city leaders at his funeral. He also had a guy ride his bicycle 35 miles in a drizzle just to be there to honor him. Everyone had something wonderful to say about him and ten years later they still do. My mom still talks about her Daddy. She says it just like that, Daddy, like she was still a small girl. I still talk about my Grampa with the man I love but can never share him with. If I can be half of the person he was, then I will be happy. He was my hero. He still is.