Grandpa's Gift

Grandpa's funeral is Saturday. Not a drop of Grandpa's blood runs through this family, but you can find his heart all over the place. All of us, his grandchildren, know that he is Grandma's third husband, but that really doesn't matter a bit. He's been our Grandpa since the day we were born.

It seems too soon to talk of what used to be. That veil between life and death is still blowing in the breeze. In a room full of friends and family, I sit and quietly take in more information about Grandpa than I ever knew when he was alive, and it's only been an hour into the first viewing. A lifetime I wasn't a part of takes shape and people I don't know are heralding the exploits of a younger man. I never thought of Grandpa as young. Funny thing is, I never thought about his life before me...maybe that was selfish.

My eyes close. I let images of Grandpa float to the surface. The tissue in my hand is already tattered and tear-soaked. A part of me tries to maintain control over my emotions. Death is a part of life...Grandpa lived to a ripe old age...blah, blah, blah. It doesn't matter. 'The heart wants what the heart wants.' I want my Grandpa.

In my family, Grandpa was the rock. The pathway to his favorite chair was well worn from all the footsteps that sought him out over the years. We depended on him. Whether he lived two miles away or twenty, he carted us to doctor and dentist appointments, soccer games, golf practice, and school. Our worn and weary parents loved the man. He gave them a respite from parenting.

Grandpa had a sweet tooth. It drove my Grandma crazy. She was always prattling on about eating healthy and would give Grandpa the 'old stink eye' when he was whipping up strawberry malts. It was a family tradition that Grandpa would bring a Bill Knapp's Chocolate Cake to every birthday celebration. He loved that cake and so did we. If it didn't arrive promptly, we panicked - Did Grandpa get in an accident? Was Grandpa getting Alzheimer's? Did the cake factory blow up??? Right up to my last birthday, I got my cake.

I'm tired now. I finally work up the guts to go see Grandpa for the last time. I heard several people say how 'good he looks.' I walk up to the casket and look down. Dead people do not look good. Grandpa's eyes are shut. There is no twinkle and sadness overwhelms me. For the first time, I really think the dead must live on somewhere. They can't just be gone. I leave for home with a headache brought on from too much thinking, too much feeling. The funeral is in two days, and there will be more to come.

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Grandpa would have liked his funeral. The preacher made quick work of his part and the people that really knew Grandpa got everyone crying and laughing, sometimes at the same time. As I head to the potluck lunch, I am thankful it is only a few blocks away. I am starving. It's the first time in days I actually feel hungry. There are a lot of good cooks in my family and I am looking forward to a decent spread. I just didn't have it in me to make a fancy dish so I went to one of the few stores that still carry Bill Knapp's Chocolate Cake. I figure it will be my own little tribute to Grandpa.

The hall is bustling with activity as I arrive. I work my way through the crowd to the food tables. My jaw drops! I panic! I look up and see my Mom, my Aunt, and most of my cousins. The table is full of Bill Knapp's Chocolate Cakes! Mom says, "and that would be number twelve!" My Mother starts to chuckle, then my Aunt, and, one by one, we laugh - not a snickering laugh, but one that shakes everything loose. All of our tension, sadness, and stress went billowing out of that hall on the wings of laughter.

My Mother interrupts my fit of laughter with, "Honey, would you like a slice of chocolate cake?"

It was in that moment, I made peace with Grandpa's death. When I close my eyes, I can still see the twinkle in his.