I should have written this post last week.
I should have written this post last Tuesday on the actual anniversary.
But I didn’t. Even though I had it in my head and I wondered if I would find a way to make sense of the words and images that were swirling around in my brain and actually get them out into in a Word Doc.
Then yesterday Kim honored me on her post about 7 archival links. How perfect, to think about the past and to dig into the archives for a post about my grandfather.
So we’ll begin here, with the post I wrote a year ago that explains my grandfather and the circumstances of his death. It’s a funny thing, death. It’s funny how sometimes its arrival sticks to your mind more than others, like when people die too young or in some violent, unexpected way.
(My grandmother passed on New Year’s Eve but on New Year’s I do not think of her. Perhaps because she slipped into the next world so peacefully, like a sigh, and didn’t leave anything behind.)
I think my grandfather left something behind. I think I have taken it inside.
That archival post, you see, talks about how bull-headed and stubborn my grandfather was. He did things his way. There was no other way. This might not have made him the most likeable person, or someone easy to understand. This means he did a lot of things that were really inexcusable. But it also means he survived things like losing both of his parents and living in an orphanage during the Great Depression.
This year I did some things I wouldn’t have believed if you told me a year ago that I would be doing them. And I think my grandfather leaving something behind for me, a little piece of himself, may have had something to do with it.
I don't have champagne to toast him with, or a crystal flute, but I do have this Boleslawiec mug adorned with Peacock feathers. I think my Grandpa would have liked this better anyhow.
