September 2021 (written February 2022)

Oof. September was difficult. It's where I got off track with blogging because if I blogged about it then it made it real, and I just couldn't let that be true. At the beginning of September, my sweet, 75-year-old, still-working-full-time, grandpa was fine to everyone's knowledge. He had just gone tubing down the river to celebrate my aunt's birthday and all was well. But then, my mom called me a few days into September and told me that he had Covid and was being taken to the ER. My grandma and aunt also had Covid, but they were a couple days behind him and were going to try and get antibody treatment. The next 2 and a half weeks were a roller coaster of "his numbers are improving", "well that treatment didn't have quite the response we were hoping for so we're going to sedate him", and "he's responding well to the medication". I got to text back and forth with him a little before he was sedated. I got to read one more "I love you" from him, but I certainly didn't think it was going to be the last. I'm sure I should have been able to see the signs, I should have realized he wasn't going to just bounce back, but I didn't. I didn't want it to be true. I'm optimistic by nature, so I just didn't see it coming. I was sitting in church on Sunday the 19th when I got a call from my sister. That was incredibly unusual so I immediately went outside to call her back. She told me the doctors were guessing he had about 24 hours left. We had all been holding onto so much hope. The texts right before this were all focusing on the numbers that were improving-any positive thing to be found in the situation. But it just wasn't going to happen that way. My mom Face Timed me from the hospital later (them getting to visit him at all was a huge blessing). Even though he was sedated, I got to tell him I love him while my mom held the phone up and my aunt rubbed his head. I spent the rest of the day and the next day crying on and off and trying to make my mind believe this reality. While I was driving my kids home from music class, my phone started chiming continuously with new texts and I knew immediately that he was gone. I made it home with blurry vision and curled up in my "hiding spot" on the floor next to my bed and just cried. My sweet kids tried to comfort me, but mostly they gave me space and tried to be quiet. 

Someone knocked on the door. My kids responded like they usually do (running around and screaming and asking if they can open it) so I got up assuming it was a package. Instead, my friend just happened to be stopping by with some zucchini bread-something she has never done before and yet did within an hour of my grandpa passing. She hugged me and let me cry all over her. Andrew came home shortly after and our friend took the kids on a walk so we could just cry together. I hate knowing how quickly he's going to fade from my young kids' memories. I hate thinking about my grandma being without him for the first time since she was 15. I hate that he only got 75 years. I hate that I've lived far away for my whole adult life and didn't get to visit enough. I hate Covid and the propaganda that discouraged him from getting vaccinated sooner. (He had been planning to get vaccinated soon). I hate it all. I was so angry and I cried so much. But eventually, thankfully, the optimist in me finally kicked back in and I, when I had had plenty of space to feel mad and to mourn all that was lost, I found some things to be grateful for. I'm grateful that Andrew and the kids and I took the time to visit him last April. I'm grateful that his funeral was a catalyst for so much of my family to come together and visit, including cousins and great aunts/uncles that I haven't seen in years and years. I'm grateful that missing him and worrying about my grandma inspired us to spend a very long Thanksgiving break in Texas. I'm grateful for all the people who loved me by showing up to check on me, clean my house, offering to feed us, bringing fruit and cookies, or texting kind thoughts. I'm grateful for the weekend I spent with my sister and brother-in-law while we traveled all over Texas to Grandpa's funeral and burial. It was so healing to finally be with people who knew what I was feeling. People who really understood just how unfair this all was and didn't say things like, "at least he had a long life" or "sorry, were y'all close?" During the funeral, we cried and squeezed each others' hands and wished that we didn't have this reason to all be together while also being grateful that here we were all together. 

My grandpa was the kind of person who showed up. For everything. He drove trucks all over the states and, no matter where we lived, he'd find a way to make our house somehow "along his route" so that he could stop by and see us. At one of our houses in Indiana, we lived right on a highway and had a giant window in the living room that looked out to the street. I remember sitting there with my little brother making bets on which way  he would be coming from and asking my mom over and over again how many more minutes until grandpa would be there. I remember how cool it was to ride in his truck because there was a bed and TV inside. A bed and a TV! Inside the truck! I remember him letting me steer while we drove which was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He teased us all the time. He helped us not take things too seriously. He loved cheesecake, and we play fought over it at every birthday. (when that joke first started, I was a tiny bit worried that I wasn't going to get to eat my birthday cheesecake because he'd written his name on it and told me it was "grandpa's cheesecake"). He let my little boys run circles around him and wrestle with him even though he was exhausted. He loved on my babies and called me on my birthday every year. He gave the best, most giant hugs that you just got lost in. His almost continuous belly laugh would warm your soul and force a smile on your face. He was such a happy person to be around.

It still feels incredibly unfair that my grandpa passed away so young and so quickly. My heart still aches for my grandma and my mom and her sister. And I guess it probably always will. But it doesn't hurt quite as much as it did at first and I'm figuring out how to keep going and honor his life through the way that I choose to live mine. I love you, grandpa. I always will. I hope I'm making you proud.