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An Open Letter to my Grandfather

Our Ed, Our Grandfather

By Savannah AichemPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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Well I never called you grandpa, I called you Ed, we all called you Ed and when I was little I always felt like the most special girl in the world because I had something no one else did, I had my very own Ed. I had someone who was like a grandfather to me, but I was allowed to call you Ed and that just added to your charm. It's taken me a little while since you've died to be able to even think about you without crying, but I'm giving myself some credit on that since it's still only been a few months. So now I'm here writing this letter because I think it's something you'd encourage me to do, to write through my grief because you always encouraged me to write and to do anything even mildly educational, so here it goes.

I want to say thank you, thank you for every long talk you had with me about school and for always being interested in my ideas and my opinions. I miss that more than anything about you, the world is too big and too loud, and you were big and loud but you listened. You understood from having a daughter of your own that because the world is too big and too loud that to a young girl having a place to DISCUSS what she thought made a difference. You made a difference to me, you gave me the confidence to use my voice, to learn my facts, and speak my truth. You gave me the encouragement I needed to not let the world drown out my ideas, and the push I needed to go back to college (well you, grandma, and my parents). I feel so guilty that I didn't bring around those last papers from school that you wanted to see, I know you wouldn't blame me, you would say I was busy and it's alright but I know how happy it would've made you to talk to me about my ideas in psychology and all my classes really, and it made me happier than you ever knew to talk to you about all of my ideas for changing the world.

I also want to thank you for making my grandmother and my family so happy, so full of laughter. I can't remember many times that I entered Grandma's house and there wasn't laughter when you were there. You had that smirk that made people laugh just by looking at it, well that coupled with your bad jokes always did the trick. I miss that too, the way Grandma's eyes used to light up when you did something funny, and the way Brandon would smile whenever you went for a drive. I've tried to pick up the bad joke mantle for you, but I just don't think it works as well as it did when you told them. I miss the way Stacie would scold you for doing something silly, because you would always laugh and so would she. You inspired so much laughter, happiness, and fun everywhere you went, and it breaks my heart to see that missing now. I think that's where the biggest hole is now, not in the empty place where you used to sit or the spot where your car used to be parked in the driveway, but you're missing in our laughter. Thank you for those times, for the times where laughing was more prominent than breathing, and for the times when our smiles were brighter than the shine on your forehead (that joke is for you, I know you're laughing at it in Heaven).

There's one more thing I want to thank you for, thank you for being a part of our family. Thank you for being our grandfather, thank you for being Grandma's fiancée/husband/everything, and thank you for being our Ed. Thank you for being Grandma's and Brandon's "Edweirdo," and Stacie's dad. I know you're happy and safe where you are, that you aren't sick or hurting anymore, and I'm thankful for that too. You hated staying still, I think that's why you and Grandma loved each other so much. We will watch out for Grandma, Stacie, and Brandon. I know you'd worry about that, but we've got them. You had us, and we're all so grateful to have had you too.

I guess that's everything, thank you for being such a big part of my life, of all of our lives. I know we will see you again. Oh one last thing, Brandon's taking good care of your motorcycle, he loves it as much as you did. Love you Ed, see you soon, Ride in Paradise.

grief
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About the Creator

Savannah Aichem

"What doesn't kill us gives us something new to write about." -Julie Wright

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