mommy monologues: Gravity

In life, we have constants, that one person who is always there...sometimes quietly in the background, sometimes cheering us on loudly. That one person who pulls, or pushes us in the right direction. That one person who you look towards for strength, support, advice...or just that silence. You know, the silence that is so calming, so relaxing...so full of love.

In my life, I have a large group of these "constants" ... my parents, siblings, grandparents, and friends.

This past Monday night, I lost one of the most constant in my life.

For almost 32 years, my grandpa was my buddy, my neighbor, my hero. He will always be my hero...and a nation's hero. I can proudly say, that this man passed peacefully, the way an old soldier deserves to. With dignity, with peace, with comfort...in his sleep. And you can guarantee he was dreaming of his loving wife, his partner for over 67 years. The woman he vowed to love, till death do them part. And he did, with all his might. They were an amazing team, raising a family of four children, struggling through life, the victories, the losses, the injustices, the celebrations. They lived long, they lived healthy, they lived true.

They vowed to do everything together, and that they did. They are the finest example of love. The finest example of marriage. The finest example of friendship, strength, and devotion.

I grew up in the same yard as grandma and grandpa, and I truely feel every child should be that close to their grandparents. My sister and I would walk down the little driveway leading directly from our house to theirs. We would go in for visits and have juice, grapefruit...and I always made sure to sneak a handful of peppermints. They were my favourite, and grandpa's too...he even had a little container that he kept in his car for those drives in to town every Friday. Sometimes our walks down would turn in to day long visits, and lead in to sleepovers, where they would pull out the bed on the settee in the living room, just so we could fall asleep while they watched tv. In the mornings, we would wake up when they did, and the table would already be set for four. Each place had a plate with a bowl on top, fork, knife, spoon, and a glass for orange juice. Special K was the cereal, and grapefruit with sugar was the fruit. I will never forget those times.

Life was so good. So simple. Grandpa looked after his love as best he could. He made a life for her in Canada, and she is so proud of him for it.

My grandparents met on a blind date and have been together ever since. Young love, a war bride from England and a Canadian Soldier. We literally would not be here right now, if it wasn't for them.

I gush with pride. My heart is aching to see my pops again. He was at every music festival, every Christmas concert, every 4-H Expo I was involved in. He was a constant, like gravity, he grounded me when I needed to be, he straightened me out when I went of track, he told me countless stories of WWII, he taught me how to play crib, he held my babies, he laughed with them and always sang Amazing Grace to them. He has no idea how important he was to me, and how highly I spoke of him to others. He was my hero. My friend. He was my Pops, and I am so happy that he helped make me who I am today.

He was an honorable man. He was a truthful man. He was a gentleman. He had such a great sense of humour. All the way until the day before he passed.

He had been in the hospital for a week and one day before he passed. And my sister and I made every effort we could to see him, to either take grandma there, or back home. The day he went in to emergency, I went in to visit him. The second I walked in he should his head, wearing his little smirk on his face, and said "You're the last person I wanna see!" and he gave a good chuckle. I laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he bullied me away with his arm as usual. He was such a good guy, always joking and teasing. He asked how I was and how the boys were. He loved seeing his great grandkids.

He and I had this little thing we have done for years, where we make a fist and stick out the knuckle of our middle fingers as far as we could, and we'd knock the together...he used to do it hard to me, and it would hurt! But I would always make out like it didn't. Every time I visited him this past week, we did that. Because that's what we did. Even the day before he passed, I stood by his bed, stuck out my knuckle and said "Wanna give me a shot old boy?" and he said, "I'll give ya one last go." It was a hard one, and I really acted hurt, his eyes looked as though they felt bad, and he said "Did I hurt you?" I laughed and said no, and asked if he was hurt, his reply, as he shook his head was, "Nope, you can't hurt me!" He was beaming, had that little spark in his eyes. Even though he was 12 days shy of his 91st birthday, he was young at heart. That's what kept him going. He was an incredibly healthy man until the night he passed. Just a few things over the last year that slowed him down.

After a long life of hard work, he really deserves his rest. I know that he will be here, watching over me, the way he'd watch my sister and I play in our yard on hot summer days. From a distance...

I love you Pops. You were a good man, and there aren't many like you around. I'm sad to see you go, but I promise to look after Grandma the way you did. She deserves to be looked after.

Rest peacefully. At ease.