I’m missing Grandpa.
As with any death, the week spent at home was mostly spent talking about and remembering the man that was my grandfather, my Papau. All kinds of stories were told. Lots of laughter was had as he was a man that was always smiling. In the midst of these stories, I was remembering a discussion I had with Papau this past September. Without vocalizing that story, I learned another that recently happened between my mother, my grandma and my grandpa.
The topic was adoption.
My grandma was the first one to whom I mentioned adoption. I stayed with them after the surgery on my kidney as my parents were away in Las Vegas. (You know, because I can’t have an emergency when those who need to help me are available. As further evidence, my husband was working when the call came that my grandfather died. I digress.) I asked her about it since I had just been told I would be on bed rest, unable to work for the duration of my pregnancy. I was only 18 weeks pregnant. I panicked. She said the typical things like it would be noble and everything would work out.
The discussion that was had recently went back to that very first discussion. My grandfather, who got to see the Munchkin last May, said, “She never asked me.”
He’s right. I didn’t.
He went on to say that he would have probably told me not to place. That’s neither here nor there. I can’t change the past. The point of this post is that I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my grandpa loved the Munchkin, too. He let me talk about her where other family members, without malice, will often change the subject. He asked after her, after her parents. He always loved when I showed him a new picture. And when he saw her this past May, he talked for conversations after conversations about how beautiful she was/is every single time I would call. For months. He loved her. He loved me.
And I am glad that I am able to know that in light of his loss.
I miss him. His love was so wonderful. And I know that. I hope that someday I’m able to share that love he had for her properly so that the Munchkin knows as well. I hope she’ll know. I know but I hope she’ll know.
, Abigail Thomas, 2008) before Dawn’s agent approached her/us about pairing up. It’s always been my goal to write a book but I had been struggling with the topic, subject, genre and other associated issues. Everyone has always assumed I would be writing a memoir and so I spent a large chunk of time researching memoir writing. One of the things that I took away from that book was that a memoir wasn’t and/or didn’t have to be an entire life story. Just a glimpse, one story or a few stories that made up a bigger story.