Family Album:
Grandfather
Since
my grandfather's death, I have felt closer to nature. It was appropriate
that he die in winter, for his life was attuned to the seasons. His
death has also made me feel more human. I have temporarily stopped the
rat race of my life, to take time to feel loss, and express the pain
of the inevitable death of us all.
The other day I sat on a cold bleacher in the empty Syracuse stadium, and thought of him dying in that solitary room at Goodman Gardens. I am grateful for having been able to see him there, before he passed away. Although he was in a coma, I think he knew I was there.
As I held his hand, I talked about the times we spent together hiking in the Adirondacks, about how he thought my sister and I would never make it because we were "city slickers" and he was a "Vermont farm boy". How surprised he was when we hiked the eight mile mountain straight up without stopping. Yes, he looked at us differently then, at the top of the mountain.
As if in recognition of our accomplishment, he chopped down two birch trees to make a seat for us; for a toilet, because we were girls . . . now queens of the mountain top.
How I loved to sit there and swing my feet and listen to the brook and smell the bacon he was cooking.
I never told my grandfather, but I loved to walk a trail with him, because birds seemed to come alive from within the trees. He would pause in his walk, listen, and whistle a bird call.
And they would come.
They always did.
For he was a man of nature, a country boy at heart, he'd say.
I never agreed with him politically or ideologically, but I always thought he was a great grandfather. And I told him that as I held his hand. He helped me just by being there, always. His generosity was the way it used to be: his door was always open, unlocked, and I was always welcome, without explanations or much notice at all. Whenever I wanted to visit, he would say, "it will be good to see you, what time will your train get in?"
I read to him a favorite poem, a poem about death, and the dying of the light. He hoped it would be in the arms of nature - I wish that it had been.
"So when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who draws the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."This winter he is in my thoughts. May he rest in peace.
Copyright 2008 Wendy Smith Cinemagic Productions
10 Manhattan Sq. Dr. #12d Rochester NY 14607 (585) 546-3063
wendy@wendysmith.com