All Meat and No Potatoes Will Go to Your Head
Posted by JimMy 15 year-old slumped back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. He aimlessly fiddled with his iTouch perched on his stomach and avoided eye contact. He wanted the last few minutes of his life to have never existed, to go back in time before we gathered the family together that afternoon, before he got the news, before he knew his world was about to change. His older brother took it differently, perhaps because he was seated next to me, but more likely he wanted to gauge my reaction. I could see his concern for me, or perhaps it might have been his realization that at some point in the future, he might be replaying this scene with his own children.
My wife and I had just told the boys that their grandfather, just a few weeks shy of 90, was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had a short time to live. They adored him for lots of reasons and I knew this loss, the last grandparent to leave, would not be taken easily. They loved his stories and laughed with him at his eccentricities. All the elements were there; he was a fellow-guy, retired Marine, three wars under his belt, and in his later years a real raconteur. They admired him to a fault and viewed his 3-war experience proudly.
He changed after my mother died and did all manner of interesting new things, including buying two bling-mobiles, big black sedans with chrome wheels, vibrating seats and low gas mileage. He discovered Internet shopping and the family enjoyed all sorts of varied gifts the UPS man regularly dropped on our porch. As a father and grandfather, he was always a generous soul, especially with his time.
This also means an end of one of our family’s newer rituals, the two or three dinners a week we shared with him. It was at those dinners over the past twenty months that he discarded the taciturn mien of my adolescence, instead delighting the boys with stories from his life interspersed with vitriolic rants about Bill O’Reilly, whom he particularly loathed but regularly watched. Always a man of routine, he arrived at 6 and invariably he would have a pie or some other goody in a plastic bag. His choice of pie said a lot about him, they were always someone else’s favorite, not his. Then a little nightly news accompanied by a glass of red wine, dinner at 6:30, departure around eight after feeding Woody. In all of this, he managed to drink an entire pot of unsweetened black coffee during the course of the evening. He loved to drop a few choice morsels under the table, feigning utter surprise that a hungry lab just happened to be lurking there. He and the boys loved to trash Fox News, and when he was in office Mr. Bush as well, and generally did so with great gusto. We all enjoyed great conversation and story-telling, ranging from daily life on Guadalcanal to American History.
When school starts and old routines return, our weekday evening meals will surely be different. But I plan to keep them lively and connected to our shared past. Every now and then I will be sure to re-tell a Grandpa Bill story or two, and maybe drop a piece of food on the floor. I know Woody would like that.
August 7th, 2009 at 2:30 pm
very sweet Jim. Thanks for sharing it.
August 7th, 2009 at 5:12 pm
Jim -
First of all, let me start by saying that I am so sorry for your loss, and the loss of the family.
I wrote the following to Trisha just this morning -
I’ll assume it was because of this last e-mail, but I had a dream about Bill last night. Carson and Dylan were at some sort of practice for a game. (baseball/soccer?) They were about 10. Dylan waved at me. Bill was with them. Josh and I sat about 100 yards back for some reason. It was the end of the practice and and Bill got up and walked towards some out-door, double doors. (I told this to Josh this morning as I woke .. and I cried. I want to cry again) As he walked towards the double doors, he turned and looked at me across the field, and he raised his cane up in the air, as if to say good-bye. I looked at Josh. I knew he was going to die very soon, but nobody else did. I ran after him as fast as I could. The next thing I knew I was in a car with him and he said, “What are you doing? You don’t have to go with me … It’s not very far.” I said, “I want to go with you.” - Yes, I’m crying again.
Again, your letter just brought me to tears at my kitchen table. I felt as if you wrote that specifically for me… as if you were talking only to me. The way in which you painted the picture of the pain in the boy’s hearts, will never leave my own.
I wanted to see the boys so badly not only because of their Grandpa’s passing, but because we are moving to Virginia at the end of this month.
Trisha told me that the ceremony will not be held until September. Josh and I are heartbroken that we cannot attend. He so wanted to wear his Dress Blues to pay his respects. I just don’t think it is possible for us to make it back so quickly.
When Greer broke the news to me about Bill’s passing, she told me about the boys busy August. I wonder where they are at this moment.
Thank you for sharing your personal moment with me … and for sharing your stories about my dear friend. I have most all the e-mails he ever sent me. Maybe some day I can share them with you. He was so funny.
All my love,
Marti
August 12th, 2009 at 8:17 am
Jim,
I’ve very sorry to hear about your father’s passing. Your story was touching. You are in my thoughts.
August 17th, 2009 at 7:55 pm
Jim:
my deepest condolences!What a life your dad had!!
al olin
October 28th, 2009 at 7:53 am
Great article on your Dad. I’m sure he enjoyed it. Sounds like a great guy and suspect more than a little has rubbed off on the boys. Hope they can keep that spirit as they traverse life.