Farewell to a King

My dearest Grandpa-

It was late Friday evening in Milan, Italy when we got the call. [Don's brother] in Maryland had managed to track us down via Skype and with [his] Mom on speaker phone from Utah we had a Transcontinental-International phone call. I thought it would tickle you to know that this call was actually made through the computer. For a man who spent years laying cables and checking miles and miles of phone line, I figured the idea of this wireless phone call would make you smile.

But it wouldn't be possible to share that with you. The news from the across the pond was that you were slipping from us.

We scrambled to dial out to the U.S. to reach you in the home, hoping that we might get the chance, with a telephone held to your ear, to say a last I love you and tell you goodbye.

But you were already gone.

Quietly, silently, peacefully.

Gone.

Immediately the tears poured and I let them come, unhindered, undirected, uninhibited. I cried alone. I cried with my husband. I cried with siblings across the sea. In truth, I haven't stopped crying since the news came in. And it's fair to say that the emotions accompanying the waterfall have been as diverse and innumerable as the tears themselves. I cry in grief, in joy, in peace, in celebration and in sorrow. Most of all, I cry for the missing of you Grandpa.

I cry remembering you.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not an actual flesh and blood granddaughter, because I have never felt anything but unconditionally loved and adored from the moment I stepped into your Mesa home more than 20 years ago. As I have reflected often over the years since first meeting you, and Grandma, I know I am deeply blessed to have had your influence and your love in my life. My relationship with you has been everything a granddaughter ever dreams a friendship with Grandparents could be. Ours was a reality which because of circumstance and illness, I wasn't so fortunate to have with my own grandparents. But I had you.

I had you to talk with for hours on end after Grandma's sudden passing 10 years ago. Our weekly dates for lunch, or a quiet walk, or holding hands on the living room couch are priceless treasures to me.

I had you to teach me that jalapenos are meant to be snacked on like candy, eaten straight from the jar. And that any meal could be improved by adding a side of pepperoncini. I am certain that my pregnancy craving of a hot dog smothered in jalapenos has a direct link to your training of my taste buds.

I had you to challenge me to wonder about where I came from. Your standard question when meeting new friends was "Who are your people?" and it sent me on journeys through journals and family records to understand who I was by understanding who had preceded me.

I had you to share a little "spanish food" such as refried beans, mexican rice, enchiladas or salsa and chips from your favorite El Charro a few blocks from your house. And we could share an order of tamales hand-made and delivered by one of the women in the neighborhood.

I had you to teach me about the nuances of The Lawrence Welk Show broadcast every Saturday evening from the local PBS station.

I had you to "halvers" the last piece of toast, or the last scoop of scrambled eggs, or the last slice of pizza with me.

I had you to smile with as each of my three babies arrived and I placed them into your large and loving hands for the first of myriad kisses and squeezes which would follow. Soon they would know a great-grandpa who loved them intensely and unconditionally.

I had all of this and so much more. As fast as my thoughts spin now through the memories, I know there will be many yet to surface that I can hold in my heart. And with each blessed recollection, I know there will be tears.
Tears of honor, of happiness, and of longing.

I cannot stop them falling Grandpa, and I cannot imagine when it will feel okay to wake up in a world without you. But I want you to know that I love you deeply. I love you fiercely. I love you without end.

Your darling,
Jenny