My grandmother was a petite, plump woman with a gentle demeanor. Her voice had a high-pitched quality reminiscent of a cartoon character, and her favorite pastimes included indulging in soap operas, preparing a feast for her little dog, and chain-smoking. When something piqued her interest, she would respond with a curious “Oh?” rather than the typical “Really?”
The memories I hold of my grandmother sharply contrast with the vibrant tales my mother shares about her youthful years. She was once a spirited girl who, during the bitterly cold winters of Michigan, would cleverly smuggle moonshine under her long trench coat for her father. No one would suspect a 12-year-old girl of such mischief. She even had the chance to shake hands with Al Capone.
In her teenage years, she played guitar and sang at local bars to support her family. Family gatherings at her and my grandfather’s Miami home were filled with music, as we’d sit poolside while she strummed her guitar and sang alongside my grandfather.
She was a force to be reckoned with. I still remember the time her much-taller son made a disrespectful remark, and she swiftly put him in his place. Yet, there was a different dynamic with my grandfather. When he spoke to her harshly, she maintained a calm composure, leaving me puzzled as to why she didn’t stand up to him. My grandfather was a tough, opinionated man, quick to frustration, who enjoyed his drinks and expected dinner on the table promptly at 6. However, he had his softer moments, like teaching my sister and me the classic “Where’d my finger go?!” trick and making us laugh by popping out his dentures.
After decades of being somewhat abrasive, my grandfather faced the reality of losing my grandmother when she developed lung cancer—an illness that stemmed from years of smoking. Despite his rough exterior, he began to recognize the depth of his love for her. Struggling to care for someone for the first time in his life, he found it challenging to express his feelings.
During her battle with illness, the telephone became one of my grandmother’s few joys. With my grandfather frequently absent and not much of a communicator, the phone connected her to her loved ones, to life, even as illness pulled her away from it. Unfortunately, as her strength waned due to treatment, she could no longer hold the phone to her ear, leading to a deep sense of isolation.
Then, something remarkable occurred. In a rare act of tenderness, my grandfather bought her a portable headset so she could continue her conversations. He beamed with pride at his thoughtful gesture, stepping far beyond his comfort zone.
Sadly, my grandmother’s condition worsened quickly, and she never had the chance to use the headset. She passed away without ever getting to experience the gift my grandfather had chosen for her.
Witnessing my grandfather’s grief in the months that followed her death was a heartbreaking testament to the love they shared. He was never one to dispense advice, yet he taught me a valuable lesson about expressing love and appreciation in the present moment. The reality is that sometimes “now” can slip away before we even realize it. The promises of “later” and “tomorrow” can vanish without warning.
Because of the profound loss my grandfather experienced, I feel compelled to let my loved ones know how much they mean to me now. It may seem morbid to consider, but I often ask myself, “If this were the last time I saw someone, would they know my feelings?” I’m not afraid to show my affection, even if it makes us both a bit uncomfortable. I never want to find myself regretting unspoken words, or staring at unopened gifts that carry unexpressed love.
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In summary, my grandfather may not have been the most expressive person, but his journey through love and loss taught me the importance of making the most of every moment with those we cherish. Life is fleeting, and love should never go unspoken.
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