My name was almost Merford. That's what you get when you mix Clifford and Merrill, the names of my grandfathers, together. Whether (almost) a namesake or through other means, grandparents tend to leave their mark. That Grandpa Cliff did in spite of our very infrequent interactions has always been a bit of a mystery to me.
I wanted to know him better. The distance between Florida (where he lived) and Arizona is significant, and on average we had visits from Grandpa once every 2 years. I remember meeting him just shy of a handful times my entire life. And yet I can recall quite vividly the almost euphoric moments contemplating his arrival. They were probably even beyond what a child would experience near Christmas.
That I was a Miami Dolphins fan was entirely due to him. I liked Dan Marino and still remember watching him play live for half a quarter against the Cardinals in a pre-season game. As evidence that my appreciation of the Dolphins and of football in general is due to him, my interest greatly waned after my grandfather's death in 1999 (it didn't help that Dan the Man retired too). Every Dolphins sweatshirt and poster, and especially the jacket I wore every single day it was cold enough to get away with through Middle School were all through his influence. Yet the varieties of paraphernalia were purchased by my parents. It just seemed to matter to me that the Dolphins mattered to him.
Towards the end of his life he suffered from dementia. As things grew steadily worse we discussed sending me out to visit him during the Summer of 2000. I still don't know what we would have talked about or what he would have said to me. He was cared for during his last days by a lady friend whom I've never talked to and don't know. I'm glad they were there for each other. I sometimes think I would have liked to have been her. You can see from the pictures we have of him that he seemed to be a jovial sort of man. He often was sporting a "sheepish grin" I think he called it and there was no end to our amusement at watching him wiggle his ears.
I remember that he loved prune juice and recall seeing a jug of it on the top shelf of the fridge whenever he came to visit. Half drunk bottles were a reminder of the time he'd spent with us, but before long the container would make it to the trash, still half drunk (though maybe half drinkable would be the optimist's view).
I confess that this little impromptu ritual has been a mixed blessing for me. I am grateful to have known him. I have a strange nostalgia for him in memories of my childhood. And yet I know almost nothing about him. It's an odd kind of sadness, one that pushes me to get to know the people around me a bit better. Of all of the hopes I entertain and project onto the here-after, one of the clearest is that he and I will have that chance to get to know each other a bit better, to see as we are seen. Maybe then I'll get the chance to thank him for being my grandfather.
We decided against prune juice as a food offering. Instead we skipped the food offering and played "Rhapsody in Blue" by Gershwin, his favorite song, while we lit his candles and ate dinner. We thought this music would help him feel welcome.
To both of Jen's grandmothers, and to Grandpa Cliff, we say, You are always, always welcome in our home and hearts. You won't be forgotten.
I wanted to know him better. The distance between Florida (where he lived) and Arizona is significant, and on average we had visits from Grandpa once every 2 years. I remember meeting him just shy of a handful times my entire life. And yet I can recall quite vividly the almost euphoric moments contemplating his arrival. They were probably even beyond what a child would experience near Christmas.
That I was a Miami Dolphins fan was entirely due to him. I liked Dan Marino and still remember watching him play live for half a quarter against the Cardinals in a pre-season game. As evidence that my appreciation of the Dolphins and of football in general is due to him, my interest greatly waned after my grandfather's death in 1999 (it didn't help that Dan the Man retired too). Every Dolphins sweatshirt and poster, and especially the jacket I wore every single day it was cold enough to get away with through Middle School were all through his influence. Yet the varieties of paraphernalia were purchased by my parents. It just seemed to matter to me that the Dolphins mattered to him.
Towards the end of his life he suffered from dementia. As things grew steadily worse we discussed sending me out to visit him during the Summer of 2000. I still don't know what we would have talked about or what he would have said to me. He was cared for during his last days by a lady friend whom I've never talked to and don't know. I'm glad they were there for each other. I sometimes think I would have liked to have been her. You can see from the pictures we have of him that he seemed to be a jovial sort of man. He often was sporting a "sheepish grin" I think he called it and there was no end to our amusement at watching him wiggle his ears.
I remember that he loved prune juice and recall seeing a jug of it on the top shelf of the fridge whenever he came to visit. Half drunk bottles were a reminder of the time he'd spent with us, but before long the container would make it to the trash, still half drunk (though maybe half drinkable would be the optimist's view).
I confess that this little impromptu ritual has been a mixed blessing for me. I am grateful to have known him. I have a strange nostalgia for him in memories of my childhood. And yet I know almost nothing about him. It's an odd kind of sadness, one that pushes me to get to know the people around me a bit better. Of all of the hopes I entertain and project onto the here-after, one of the clearest is that he and I will have that chance to get to know each other a bit better, to see as we are seen. Maybe then I'll get the chance to thank him for being my grandfather.
We decided against prune juice as a food offering. Instead we skipped the food offering and played "Rhapsody in Blue" by Gershwin, his favorite song, while we lit his candles and ate dinner. We thought this music would help him feel welcome.
To both of Jen's grandmothers, and to Grandpa Cliff, we say, You are always, always welcome in our home and hearts. You won't be forgotten.
1 comment:
This is a neat idea! I'm sure it makes them happy to know you are setting aside time to focus specially on each of them.
I made a picture family tree going back to Edward and my Grandparents. I love looking at it, and feel like (a few of them in particular) are praying for me and rooting for me and lovingly keeping tabs on me. It is very comforting.
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