Grandy and Poppy

In 2001, my grandpa was hit by a drunk driver while riding his bike in central Florida. He was training for a ride across Montana to support AIDS research. For the rest of his life, he was bed-bound due to the severe brain injuries caused by the accident. When I was growing up, I would go over to my grandparents’ house all the time. They lived just around the block from our house; it took about five minutes to run over there. I’d run past the “No Trespassing” signs and take a shortcut through our neighbor’s yard to cut the time in half.  I loved going over to their house. It was a beautiful peachy color and it was covered in beautiful flowers. My grandma was an eclectic woman. She always had something going on and always had a story to tell. She kept the fridge and pantry stocked, knowing that it enticed me. I’d take my friends over there after school to play Monopoly with her because of how entertaining she was. I’d push her buttons and egg her on. I’d tell inappropriate jokes and she was a good sport. I always inevitably went bankrupt and the games ended with her owning every property. I know I  got her nerves, but she just liked the company. 

Her life forever changed that day in 2001.  She went from being an English teacher at a boarding school to becoming a full-time caretaker. My grandpa was the love of her life and she was always so devoted to him. After her father passed away in September of 2001, they moved to upstate New York from Florida so she could be closer to her ailing mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. She took care of her mother till she passed away in 2013. The death of her mother wasn’t easy for my grandma, but she was strong through it all. She started volunteering at our local SPCA in her free time because she loved being around the animals. It was small, but it made her happy. She was worried about leaving my grandpa alone all day, so she would ask me to come over and sit with him. She’d pay me twenty dollars an hour, load up movies for me to watch, and buy me lunch from the pizza spot across the street. Looking back at it, I shouldn’t have taken the payment. It should’ve been enough for me that I got to spend time with him. I was greedy and acted like it was an annoyance, but I was actually really happy to do it.

In 2020, right in the middle of the pandemic, my grandpa broke his hip while transferring to a new bed. His overall condition worsened over the coming months and the inevitable was coming. I knew that I was lucky to have met him, let alone have him in my life for the fifteen years I had been alive. The day he passed away, I remember standing in the kitchen knowing what was about to happen. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew it was soon. I heard the car pull into the driveway and my mom walked up our back steps into the mudroom. She initially looked exhausted, but she turned, saw us, and began to sob. She cried out “Poppy is dead.” My sisters and I ran to hug her, all crying. We got in the car and it was the longest three minutes of my life. My dad was already there with my grandma. They were sitting next to his bed holding his hand. We all gathered around and said our goodbyes. My grandma was bent over lying her head on his chest saying, “He’s breathing! He’s breathing! He’s still with us! He’s alive!” I’ll never forget the crack of my dad’s voice when he told her that her husband, his dad, my grandpa was gone. My grandma had asked me to watch him the day before passed, but I was too busy skateboarding with my friends. I’ll always regret saying no to her. 

 When he died, you could see it in my grandma’s eyes: she was never the same person again. A part of her left with him, and it was her heart. I would still go visit her as much as I could. One time I was skateboarding with my friends at four o’clock in the morning and stopped by her house to say hello. I knew she’d still be up because, just like me, she was a night owl. I later found out that the noise of our wheels crackling down the pavement outside her house woke her up. She needed my company more than ever. My grandpa never came over for Thanksgiving because he was stuck in his bed, but we would always go over after dinner and bring him leftovers. He loved the turkey skin. The first Thanksgiving after he passed, my grandma came over like any other year, but she left very early. I didn’t think of it at the moment, but I know now why. She wanted to be alone with him, but she couldn’t be. The first Christmas without my grandpa, she came over early and stayed at our house all day. She sat at the dining room table while we played a game that we had gotten as a gift. She sat quietly and didn’t say anything. She was heartbroken and in pain, but I didn’t see that at the time. The first Thanksgiving and Christmas without my grandpa were also my last with my grandma. 

In early January of 2021, I was going on a lot of runs with my dad. It was a part of my New Year’s resolution to get in better shape. I loved running with my dad. He was going through a hard time and the runs gave us a good time to talk. My dad is a very happy person, but this was the first time I remember hearing him talk to me about his feelings. My grandma was starting to feel ill and was admitted to the hospital. I was worried and brought it up on a run. My dad told me it was routine and she would leave the hospital soon. It wasn’t a lie; she left after a day or two. There was a sense of relief until she was readmitted to the hospital a couple of days later. It was the same feeling as when my grandpa died. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t know when it was going to happen. Again, my mom walked up our back steps into the mudroom and asked if I wanted to come say goodbye. I was alone this time and started walking through our backyard to the hospital. I ran into my sister in the hospital’s parking lot. She was crying and warned me of what was coming. My parents met me in the lobby and took me to her hospital room. She wasn’t terribly responsive, but I climbed into the hospital bed and hugged her. I told her how much she meant to me and that I loved her. The last thing she said to me was that she loved me too and that I was her favorite grandson. I was her only grandson. Leaving that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. I felt like I was leaving her forever. She passed later that day. 

I grew up in a family where we were always encouraged to share our feelings. I knew that I could always talk to my parents about what was going on, but I didn’t really know what to do with my emotions beyond talking. I took them and placed them on a shelf in the back of my head. It was my way of not having to deal with it at the moment. I didn’t know that the storage system would one day become overflowing and turn into an emotional catastrophe. My grandparents’s deaths were the biggest boxes in that room. I’ve never been the same since they passed. I think about them every day and I look up to them like heroes. They taught me so much about life and love. My grandma taught me that although you might be thrown screwballs in life, there is always a way to find happiness. She taught me to never give up on the ones you love. My grandpa taught me that terrible things can happen to you that aren’t your fault, but to find a way to keep on living. I miss them everyday, but I am so grateful to have had them.