Lessons from my grandfather

As a child, I was lucky. My grandparents raised me so I got to experience things that not all children were lucky enough to. I fell in love with artists like Pink Floyd and Bob Dylan, I learned how to sew, I learned how to start and more importantly maintain a fire. However, the most important lesson that they taught me – I think without even realizing it, was how to be present in each and every moment. My grandfather did not speak much, he spoke, but my brain has a difficult time remembering the words he used to spill out over the television. It was not until he passed away that I truly understood what he had been saying for all those years.

Poppy, as we all lovingly called him, passed away unexpectedly at the young age of sixty-three. I remember the days following his death quite vividly, but what I remember most are the words he never had the chance to say out loud.

Growing up we were taught that if there is no ice on the ground, be outside – and if there’s rain or snow falling from the sky, play in the mud, or grab the sleds and hit the hill across the street. I consider myself lucky for growing up with my grandparents but call me lucky twice because I got to grow up right down the hill from my best friend. And while our friendship is still so warm in my heart, her driveway lined up perfectly with my driveway which made for the BEST sleigh riding hill, assuming no one was driving up or down the main road that sat in between.

My grandparents were big on us children being outside and having a pool and acres of property right in our backyard definitely helped out. I learned to always make a whirlpool before exiting the swimming pool, I learned to run slow when preparing for a dive (and trust me, I know, a “slow run,” how am I supposed to…okay Poppy, I will run slow). I learned how to make a jump on a four-wheeler and I also learned how to retrieve help when your brother runs into the tree at the bottom of the street. I learned to use sticks from the trees around you for roasting marshmallows because the sticks from the store are expensive and burn easily – and a little tree sap never hurt anybody.

I was never good at making jokes, I would try, hard, but I could never seem to make anyone laugh, when I was intentionally trying to. My grandfather had this deep, belly laugh, the one you imagine Santa Clause having. His laugh used to echo through the house, it was so distinct that simply the sound of him laughing would, at the very least, make you smile, if not laugh hysterically beside him. That is one of the things I miss most about my grandfather. Not only the sound of his laugh, but that fact that no matter how lame, he always laughed at my jokes.

I do not know the rules of life, I do not know what makes someone successful and what makes someone lose all their money. I do not know how to trade on the stock market and I only know how to properly write out a check because my grandmother always wrote them for my school trips and dance classes. I do not know exactly what my purpose is, or when I will realize it, but I do know that it is important to love and it is important to laugh. I know that it is important to run slow and sled fast. I know how to perfectly roast a marshmallow and I know how to bail on your quad when it is looking like you are not going to make the flip.

My grandfather did not get a chance at last words. He did not have time before his passing to prepare himself, and he did not have time before his passing to prepare us for what we were heading towards. He spoke lightly, walked slowly, and laughed heavily. In no words at all he has taught me the most important things of life. Stay young at heart, stay truthful to your roots, and always laugh at someone else’s joke, even if you are the only one laughing.