It's hard to fully grasp the concept of
death. Someday you will die. Someday you will be
forgotten. Someday isn't very far away.
I've known quite a few
kids who've died, quite a few adults, and know many who seem to be heading towards death by the end of this year. It's not a comforting thought that at any moment you could be killed.
April wasn't a good month for me. Two close people in my life died. One of them was my
grandfather, who had practically raised me. I never knew my
father growing up, and so my grandpa pretty much took the role of father figure - I called him
papa.
He was a tough old
irish guy who grew up in
Newark, New Jersey. He had a quick temper (once he yelled at me for an hour and a half because he thought I ate his
chocolate malt balls when they were really behind the cereal in the cupboard), was incredibly
smart (attempted to teach me
morse code and how to assemble radios when I was 9), and was never short of a good story.
For the past couple of weeks I've been trying to think of something to write about him - a
eulogy of sorts to present at his
memorial. He said he didn't want a
funeral, but my mother decided to give him an irish memorial instead. The fact of the matter is, I don't know how to give his life any justice in words, or convey my feelings for him. I have so many memories of him, but I keep pushing them away for fear of letting my gaurd down and getting
too emotional. I suppose I shouldn't be worrying about being emotional when something like this happens, but I've been trying to be
strong for my
family.
He was very smart, like I said before. I think he's the one that got me so interested in books and writing. He introduced me to
Hunter Thomson's writing (
Generation of Swine was the first book he showed me), which I believed, and still believe, to be brilliant.
I've been trying to get out to places in
nature, think about him, and try to put into words my thoughts and feelings. My grandfather loved nature. I sat for hours on the rocky
cliffs overlooking the
ocean 'til the sun went down and the
tide was rising, and I was starting to feel the spray of the
ocean waves hitting my feet. I drove through a windy road in the
forest and sat under a tree with a notebook writing until the
mosquito's started to come out.
As I'm writing, I'm starting to think - maybe you don't have to be forgotten. I think that death does not phase me, it's the sheer thought of my entire life ending in
nothing as I am forgotten throughout the years that follow - people pushing my life,
personality and everything about me into a far corner of their mind, until they die and I die with them. Maybe the best thing you can do for a person when they die is think about them often and share stories about them with other people - maybe that's the best way to give someone's life the justice that it deserves.
I've resolved to think often of him, and maybe write of what I will do to remember him, recollect
memories, and the such in his Eulogy. I guess that's what you're supposed to do, though - isn't it?
My grandfather was cremated with his
english breakfast tea that he loved and drank every day. When my family and I were cleaning out his house, we found boxes and boxes, cupboards full, plastic bags entirely full.... with tea. I don't think I've ever seen so much tea in my entire life. Any kind of
tea you could possibly think of, he had ten boxes! I think it's things like that that make our personality, and are even worth remembering later on. I'll never forget all the tea, which is why every day I start up with a hot cup of english breakfast tea. I'll never forget.