For the ones who can't be there
Normally, I start my blogs with a quote. Nothing too terribly fancy, but to help set the tone.
Today, that seems a bit tricky.
See, today marks the anniversary of my grandfather's death and a particularly hard one for my mom.
She was a daddy's girl to the core. An only child, the apple of his eye and his little light. I imagine he called her his princess along the way, I'm not sure. By the time I came along, she was just "Lise" (pronounced lease) — the way he shortened Lisa.
But him? He was a rockstar in my world. Both of my grandfathers were. (And my dad continues to be!) They were farmers, manly men. Christian men. They were strong and they were stubborn. They were handsome. They were proud. And they were proud of me. They loved me fiercely and I loved them.
I've been lucky in my life. Until I was a freshman in college, I had all four of my grandparents with me. There were some scares and close calls — cancer, farm accidents and more — along the way, but it wasn't until 2007 that I lost my first grandparent.
It had been a hard battle for my papaw. When I was nearing the end of my junior year he had an incident with a bull. He lost a lot of blood and was left fighting for his life. More than 50 stitches went into his head, from ear-to-ear.
It was scary. I was on a band trip when I got the news. It was just a day trip — we had been somewhere in the county playing. As soon as I got back to school, I found my cousin and told her. We practically grew up together and some part of me needed to tell her.
He survived. He was feisty like that.
It wasn't until two years later that he finally left us to go be with God. It was after rounds of hospital visits, and some time at Cardinal Hill, at various nursing home facilities and therapy centers.
For the record, going to all of those facilities was his choice. We never chose for him. We tried to get him to come live with us, actually, but he didn't think that was best. And he seemed to thrive in those places. He made friends, had Bible studies and met all kinds of new people. He was very social in that way.
But, on Christmas Day 2006, we rushed him to the hospital because he had very severe difficulty breathing. He never came home again. A few weeks later, he was gone.
Talk about shaking to the core. That was a tough time. I had missed the first week of school and had returned for the second and third weeks. It was the third week — Sunday night.
I didn't cry much at the funeral. I'm not sure why, maybe I was all cried out by the time the funeral came.
And, a few short months later, it all began again. I found out just after papaw's funeral that my grandpa had cancer and had opted to not get treatments.
It wasn't his first bout with the disease. He had been sick for some time, we just didn't know exactly what was wrong. Maybe he was trying to keep it quiet, maybe he didn't know, I'm not sure. I just know he hadn't been himself for a little while.
For the next several months we watched as he withered away. Helpless, for we couldn't take the horrible disease from him. Nor would he have let us, I'm sure.
He never said much about the pain. Maybe that was just to me, the baby of the family. Maybe he was trying to protect me, I'm not sure.
It's funny how I remember their deaths based on moments at school.
For grandpa, it was the day after Labor Day. I was in the library working on schoolwork. We knew the time was close — I almost didn't return to school that week. I had already emailed my professors to let them know I might be leaving at a moment's notice.
My dad called and my heart dropped.
It wasn't "the call," but it may as well have been. It was the "you should probably pack up and leave, because he probably won't make it through the night" call. So I did.
On the way back to my dorm, my brother called. He said the words. I didn't hear them. I was distracted in the moment by a bicyclist and missed those fateful words. I packed my luggage and drove the entire way to the Peek homestead without knowing.
When I got there, I saw the bed and put it together.
That day, the tears refused to come. It was like I couldn't cry. It wasn't until the funeral that I did. And I couldn't stop. I just lost it.
Life is fleeting. Even when you expect it, you never truly expect it.
For me, while I'll appreciate those who are there, I'll be extremely saddened by those who aren't. Like my two wonderful grandfathers. And many many others. Men who have shown me who gentlemen should be.
They weren't perfect. But they were mine.
Those men, coupled with my beautiful grandmothers, have taught me so much about life, God and myself. I'm so much a blending of their personalities and traits. Both my grandfathers had the clearest blue eyes, something they passed along to me. All of us Peeks have wrinkly ears, which were passed through grandpa. The love of God, which I witnessed in their lives, along with the love of others. They taught me to take care of my friends and neighbors and strangers, because it's the right thing to do.
When my wedding day arrives, there will be two men missing. Two giant absences. Two men that have shaped and impacted my life in so many ways and yet didn't get to see some of the biggest parts.
I know they will resign with me in spirit. But, just for one day, the selfish me would sure love to have them in person.
Today, that seems a bit tricky.
See, today marks the anniversary of my grandfather's death and a particularly hard one for my mom.
 |
| My handsome Papaw. He was a lifelong farmer. He loved being outside and working with his hands. His early adult years were spent in education — he was a principal in the local schools. |
But him? He was a rockstar in my world. Both of my grandfathers were. (And my dad continues to be!) They were farmers, manly men. Christian men. They were strong and they were stubborn. They were handsome. They were proud. And they were proud of me. They loved me fiercely and I loved them.
I've been lucky in my life. Until I was a freshman in college, I had all four of my grandparents with me. There were some scares and close calls — cancer, farm accidents and more — along the way, but it wasn't until 2007 that I lost my first grandparent.
It had been a hard battle for my papaw. When I was nearing the end of my junior year he had an incident with a bull. He lost a lot of blood and was left fighting for his life. More than 50 stitches went into his head, from ear-to-ear.
It was scary. I was on a band trip when I got the news. It was just a day trip — we had been somewhere in the county playing. As soon as I got back to school, I found my cousin and told her. We practically grew up together and some part of me needed to tell her.
He survived. He was feisty like that.
 |
| My papaw and mamaw — such a happy photo. One of my favorites of the two of them. |
For the record, going to all of those facilities was his choice. We never chose for him. We tried to get him to come live with us, actually, but he didn't think that was best. And he seemed to thrive in those places. He made friends, had Bible studies and met all kinds of new people. He was very social in that way.
But, on Christmas Day 2006, we rushed him to the hospital because he had very severe difficulty breathing. He never came home again. A few weeks later, he was gone.
Talk about shaking to the core. That was a tough time. I had missed the first week of school and had returned for the second and third weeks. It was the third week — Sunday night.
I didn't cry much at the funeral. I'm not sure why, maybe I was all cried out by the time the funeral came.
And, a few short months later, it all began again. I found out just after papaw's funeral that my grandpa had cancer and had opted to not get treatments.
It wasn't his first bout with the disease. He had been sick for some time, we just didn't know exactly what was wrong. Maybe he was trying to keep it quiet, maybe he didn't know, I'm not sure. I just know he hadn't been himself for a little while.
 |
| My handsome grandpa. He was quiet, but always strong. Another lifelong farmer, grandpa was a veteran of WWII and a former bus driver. |
He never said much about the pain. Maybe that was just to me, the baby of the family. Maybe he was trying to protect me, I'm not sure.
It's funny how I remember their deaths based on moments at school.
For grandpa, it was the day after Labor Day. I was in the library working on schoolwork. We knew the time was close — I almost didn't return to school that week. I had already emailed my professors to let them know I might be leaving at a moment's notice.
My dad called and my heart dropped.
It wasn't "the call," but it may as well have been. It was the "you should probably pack up and leave, because he probably won't make it through the night" call. So I did.
On the way back to my dorm, my brother called. He said the words. I didn't hear them. I was distracted in the moment by a bicyclist and missed those fateful words. I packed my luggage and drove the entire way to the Peek homestead without knowing.
When I got there, I saw the bed and put it together.
That day, the tears refused to come. It was like I couldn't cry. It wasn't until the funeral that I did. And I couldn't stop. I just lost it.
Life is fleeting. Even when you expect it, you never truly expect it.
 |
| Aren't they such a beautiful couple? This is one my favorites of the two of them — the photo doesn't do them justice. |
They weren't perfect. But they were mine.
Those men, coupled with my beautiful grandmothers, have taught me so much about life, God and myself. I'm so much a blending of their personalities and traits. Both my grandfathers had the clearest blue eyes, something they passed along to me. All of us Peeks have wrinkly ears, which were passed through grandpa. The love of God, which I witnessed in their lives, along with the love of others. They taught me to take care of my friends and neighbors and strangers, because it's the right thing to do.
When my wedding day arrives, there will be two men missing. Two giant absences. Two men that have shaped and impacted my life in so many ways and yet didn't get to see some of the biggest parts.
I know they will resign with me in spirit. But, just for one day, the selfish me would sure love to have them in person.
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