Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Lee, Parents and Grandfather

My sister Lee had a different relationship with our parents than I did. I think it may be because we used to drop in when my parents lived close by and also had them stay at our house so often after they retired. We grew to know them as people and not just as parents. It also gave us the opportunity to talk with them about their lives and their insights, which became more defined as they aged.

My dad had a difficult father. His family was full of very strong women and the women had great disdain for their father. But, there must have been some feelings for his father as every afternoon his mom would take a bath and changed her clothes to greet him in the evening. Along with all the browbeating and the economic depression of the day, dad's three sisters constantly belittled him. They finally broke him.

His father began to drink and gamble and really not work. Money was scarce. It became difficult to find the money to feed five children. Throughout his life, my dad also saw his father as a weak, sad, and absent person. It wasn’t until a few years before my dad’s death that he really began to understand his father. He changed because of the circumstances and the constant degrading by the family. Dad looked forward to seeing his father again to tell him that he understood. Dad got it.

In a recent conversation with Lee, she repeated the story of the drunk, useless grandfather. I corrected her. This is only one example of conversations with her that she really didn’t have the full facts. This past weekend, we talked a lot and had great conversations about long dead relatives. She remembers some things so much better and I do since she was older. We were able to fill in some blanks.

As for my grandfather, he died alone on a freeway, miles from anywhere. They think he was trying to get our house and may have suffered a stroke, became confused, stopped the car and started walking. A car hit and killed him.

I remember him. I remember the smell of him yet I was still very young - just 3-years old - when he died. I always trust children’s instincts and I remember nothing about him except a soft gentle soul who had a lovely smile and kind eyes. He always took the time to talk to me. I felt truly loved by him.

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