Today my Grandpa Selby would have been 100 years old. Even 25 years after he died, when I was just shy of 10 years old, I still feel a profound sadness that he left this world too soon. My Grandma told me once while she was living in a retirement community that he would never have wanted to be one of those little old men who couldn’t do things for themselves. I can’t argue with that, but a selfish piece of me still wishes I had him a little longer, and I know that his children and grandchildren feel the same way.
My grandparents’ home was my playground. I explored every corner of it – the way back of my Uncle Dave’s old closet where there were still tin toy soldiers tucked away, the step on the stairs that I knew creaked, the stacks of old beer cans Uncle Dave had collected in his room (I once kicked them over in the middle of the night while I was sleeping), the best hiding place underneath the buffet that now sits in my own home, the mulberry tree in the back yard, and even all over the creepy Michigan basement and its random contents in which nothing was ever thrown away because it might be useful one day.
My brother and I attended preschool across the street from their house and we would come back from a morning of school to a fun meal that had been constructed into a scene, like our house, complete with our dog and cat, meticulously constructed by Grandpa. He had a huge garden at our home, going back to his roots growing up on the farm. We would all ‘help’, and I remember planting potatoes and then the excitement of digging them up. At the time, I was his only grand daughter, which may have afforded me a few… uhhhh… liberties. OK, I was spoiled.
I have only two memories of the day he died. It was Superbowl Sunday, I am told by my Aunt Janet.I have no recollection of being told. I remember my dad coming down to the living room in a tan and brown sweater and tan pants with his bag on the way to the airport because Grandpa had had a heart attack. Later that day, after he had passed away, I remember lying on ‘my’ couch in the basement and looking across the room at my brother on ‘his’ couch. I didn’t really know what it meant. But, I knew everyone was sad.
My dad found out in an airport on the way to Texas. Years later when my Grandpa Powers was nearing the end of his life I had a similar experience when I was in the airport in Washington, D.C., not knowing if I would make it home in time. I felt alone. Dad shared with me that he knew the feeling of being in an airport, crowed with people, on one of the saddest, most emotional days of his life, with no one to talk to. No one around him knowing. I understood, at last, how he must have felt that day.
Life continued with my Grandma, my little buddy. She and I were very close, and I will forever be grateful for the time I had with her. I know she missed my Grandpa, but I didn’t really get it until I was about 17, a junior in High School. I stopped over to her house after my weekend shift at McDonalds, which wasn’t unusual. As I walked into the dining room, I noticed something that stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t noticed it for more than 7 years. The Captain’s chair, or Grandpa’s chair, was sitting up against the wall… not at the head of the table. Had it been like this all these years? I knew the answer was yes, because its proper inhabitant wasn’t there to occupy it. That was the day I realized just how much she missed her spouse of 50 years. I never asked her about it. I wish I had.
She and I talked a lot about Grandpa over the years. One day, I was asking about his time in the Army and she and I sat in front of her desk, her grandfather’s desk, and she pulled out all of his Army commendations and medals and told me what she knew about them. She told me that every night while coming up the stairs to bed, he would pause on the landing in the middle of the staircase. On the wall hung pictures of his family. She never asked him why he paused there nightly… because she knew.
This was a man that grew up in a generation that didn’t really share their feelings. But, it was never a secret how he felt about his family. His children and grandchildren were treasures to him. I wish he could have met my cousins that came after he was gone. He would be consumed with joy knowing he has great grandchildren, even one who continues to carry his name.
I was sad the day my Grandma left us, almost 2 years ago, I am glad I was able to be with her when she passed away. I still miss her daily. But, I also felt happy that day. She had spent 23 years of her life without her husband, with never a consideration of marrying another. She wore her wedding ring until nearly the end, when there was fear that she might lose it, as she had advanced dementia.
These people influenced my life profoundly. They taught me to love your family deeply and forever, no matter our differences. There is no greater lesson in life than that.
My grandparent’s dining set now belongs to me. It spent many years in my parent’s garage while I was awaiting a home for it to live in. But, I couldn’t let go of 40 years of family memories, laughter and sorrow that we, as a family shared around it. I sat in my Grandpa’s chair as I wrote this. Last Easter, I tried to explain to my nephew that that chair belonged to his grandpa’s dad. He didn’t get it, but one day he will.
