It Takes Three

My grandfather died last week. My brother was with him and has been making many of the arrangements, alongside my aunt. I’ve been providing moral support from afar for my brother. My other brother has also gone to Lexington to help out. I’m going to bring Porter and Harlan with me to the funeral (leaving tomorrow). It will be nice to all be together. Seamus and Gilbert have school. I probably wouldn’t have brought them anyway, because they’ve met my grandfather, and I’d rather leave their memories of him as they are.

When my other grandfather died, I was home from college before my semester abroad, so I hadn’t gone back to campus yet. I remember getting the call at the office, and all of us going to my grandmother’s house to be there with her and celebrate his life. There were margaritas, laughter, a cat, and three generations. I think because my dad’s mother died so long ago, it feels like there isn’t as much need to support a survivor (with perhaps the exception of my brother). In this case, it seems like a moment for part of the family to come together and remember why they are a family.

My Grandmother Evelyn and me, 1980-81

“That’s me Grandfather” (I always think of the line from the Beatles Movie, Hard Day’s Night)

A few times, my parents had to be out of town, and my grandfather stayed with us while we were in high school. That went about as you’d imagine. I attempted to repent my actions the next day by going to church with my grandfather; we did go to church, but then I was in the truck for the rest of the day, while we went “one more place.” When I got back home, I knew I’d paid.

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