today my grandfather died.
im shocked. cause last time i saw him- was during the michael jackson verdict.
he couldn't talk good, but he knew exactly what was going on...and better yet, sarcastic things to say about it.
he cracked about 8 or 9 jokes about the whole situation, it started with him asking me "do you think he'll get off?" and i replied "oh hell nah, i mean- he did it, he's not going free..."
he replied seconds later with "they freed willy..." referring to the killer whale and its stupid movie. i never laughed harder. gramps was sick, but he wasn't out of it.
that was two days ago.
i loved him so much, and i hope he knew it, and if he didn't, he knows now cause he's watching over me. i remember every moment we spent together and there were so many. i remember getting irritated when he'd ask me where my shoes were if i walked around in my stocking feet, or how he'd try incessantly to teach me algebra. i remember his favorite place to lean/rest, his back to the kitchen sink, arms folded, observant, in the background, the madness of my childhood spread around him - he would just shrug and deal....
he reminded me of a black clint eastwood- he was light skinned, but his salt and pepper hair was full, his beard and mustache close. he had that clint squint and he loved all of clint's movies...so i identified the two forever. we'd watch dirty harry and the good the bad the ugly.
he had his retirement uniform, he wore an army jacket, ben davis pants and work boots - even if he didn't work. i criticized him when he wore hats with random sayings like "I got lei'd in hawaii..." i often beg my dad to please, dont ever start wearing hats that dont mean anything or have some idiotic, tasteless double entendre. he wore a key ring on a chain that snapped when he replaced his keys, it to him exactly a minute to climb my grandparents stair case. as he got older, he'd rest on the middle step, i come over to the staircase and he sass "whatchu want punk?" in his deep, southern Arkansas accent.
he didn't need much, just his football, baseball, basketball games on cable, his Pall Malls, his pageboy cap or beanie and 2 back to back episodes of walker texas ranger.
no one would tell me how sick he was, cause supposedly i'm a fragile infant 400 miles from the epicenter of my former life in san francisco. but that's besides the point. i made it to sf to see him just in time.
i called my dad to tell him we had another earthquake today. the third in so cal this week. he loves to hear about that crap. he answered, his voice was solemn, quiet and nervous.
i lost it when he told me. i only got to spend 30 minutes with my grandfather and most of it was spent watching wacko jacko beat that case. and having him criticize my jacket i said reminded me of his - i said "its like yours- that's what's hip now gramps" and he replied "nah...mine's prettier."
i'll never forget that, i will never, ever, ever, forget him. he was just very cool and when he'd tell me stories about the war (Korean and WW2) somehow, he made the saddest tales so interesting and funny. war's only funny if he was talking about it.
he didn't like that bullshit hospice he'd spent only 2 weeks in...being fed mush for food, not trusting the help or responding to their requests. he wasn't a chump. he wasn't a mark, he was a soldier.
i can't believe he's gone, i thought he'd be around at least till he was 100, he just seemed like an oak tree to me, stoic, strong, not really fazed by much.
most dont know we weren't blood relatives, he was my father's stepdad. my dad was at that hospice everyday feeding him, taking care of him as grandpa did when he met my dad at 3 years old back in the 50's. it didn't matter he wasn't related to me by blood, but he is my blood. he was the baddest grandfather i knew and i will always an forever love him.
r.i.p, dude.
love always,
your granddaughter.
