I was just in washington for my bio grandma’s funeral. I barely knew her. It was more of a loss of what could’ve been than what was.
But this week my grandpa died. Not unexpected, but still a shock.
He was not perfect, but he was what was and I knew he loved me.
Here’s some words about him:
82 years old this week. He made it to his 60th anniversary a few weeks ago as well. He attended his last reunion straight out of the hospital and it may have been his best one yet. He played cornhole, bullied my aunt into cooking his famous clam chowder, and rode his scooter around like he was 64 again and stole someone else’s. He started these weeklong family campouts something like a million years ago where we all get together somewhere in Oregon and play cards, cook amazing food, and just spend time with one another. I don’t know how many reunions he’s been to, but of course he was at every one that I was able to be at: organizing, barking at kids and cooking clam chowder his way: bacon grease and butter. He made the best salmon, too, glazed in brown sugar and baked to perfection. He loved to cook for people and he loved to eat good food. I’ll forever see him at my grandma’s dining room table: throwing down cards, his kids sitting around him. that loud lenardson laughter roaring so big that we all had to learn to yell to be heard. what an honor it was to finally sit at the adult table and play cards with them all of these past few years. for sure, he wasn’t perfect: this gruff old navy veteran who apparently used to love to dance. but i’m so thankful for the years I got to know him and for the family he’s left behind, for all of those who were able to sit around a table together with him and toss our quarters in one last time. he called me last week: “thank you, i’m glad you made it and i love you.” and I didn’t realize it then, but i’m really so thankful for that last goodbye.
No comments:
Post a Comment