January 29

 

 

Let's Pretend Stream of Conciousness Doesn't Suck, Ok?

 

I admit, my almost favorite days are the days I spend with my Grandmother. Remember, I used to say "my grandparents",?

Everything is so different now. When we speak of Angelo, we speak in increments; every day that he is alive is a good day. We speak of his past. His many accomplishments, the legacy he has left in my heart. It's all I think about. When I visit, I am almost always the only person visiting.

There are words, I'm sure, to describe the way I feel when I walk into his room. When for that moment, for those hours, I am the only thing he remembers. There are words, yes, but I can not give them to you in a way you'd understand. Imagine, if you can, a man-child. The man, he has been with you from the very beginning. The man--your idea of what a man should be. Loving, beloved, angry, tough. The man. The only male in your life. The man. Diapered. Betrayed by his own mind. Truly, there is no one to blame. Remember back a couple years ago? The surgeon's office: "A menengeoma: utterly operable. The best tumor anyone can have!"

Remember the dinner the night before your surgery? It was your 82nd birthday and you proposed the toast, after a day out: "I hope I come back".

All I have ready to say now is this:

 

Dear Grampa:

How do I thank you for a life? How can I possibly single out the parts of me that are from you? I know you don't remember how you were after surgery, so I know you don't know that that's how you haunt me in my dreams. I know you know remember it, but no matter what, I can't ever forget how brave you were to agree to surgery. And I know you agreed to it because of you love from Gramma and the life you wanted to have here in Connecticut and I'm sorry that you never really got to have that life. About 10 year ago, you and I were crabbing out on Long Island. I was maybe 20 or 21 and we'd been there for hours. I went off to the bathroom and I cam back and you were talking to some people who came to watch. You were talking to them because that's the kind of man you were--and are--you are always the kind of man who speaks to people to put them at ease, but I walked back and I heard you talking to these strangers, and I will never forget what you were saying. It was: "Oh, that's my granddaughter. She and I do everything together. She's the reason for my life." And when I walked up, after brushing away the tears, you pretended like nothing had happened, like you hadn't just said this life changing thing to a stranger. It reminded me of what you wrote in my 7th grade graduation album. What you wrote was:

"To My Favorite Granddaughter:

Best wishes on graduation + also learning to paddle a rubber boat + swimming with snakes in water with no fear. Love you always and any troubles if you grow up may they be little ones.

From Bop BOPPA, Angelo T-----, Dana's Grandpa"

 

And you ended it with a heart with our names together.

 

Grampa, what I want to tell you is that I should have had a damaged life. I should feel a million ways that I do not feel and they're all because of you. You were not an easy man. You were a hard father, a hard husband. I know you are the reason my grandmother never drove. I also know that there will never be another man like you.

I look at your old photographs differently than I used to. I see you now as a young man, captured on film. You were cocky. It's obvious you were no stranger to throwing a punch. You were a man used to scrabbling for what you needed, to provide for your family.

Ugh, everything I say is muddled. Everything I want is too much to ask. In my life, Grampa, there have been very few people proud of me no matter what. There have been very few people I trust. I think you'd want it that way.

I don't know how to tell you that you are someone I've always been willing to throw a punch for. I mean, how do you tell someone you love more than anything else that you're taking over for them? At wedding--I'm sure you don't remember now. It was not even a year after your surgery and money and things and ideas were a problem for you. Gramma made you sign the card. Do you remember how you walked up to the table with it? And someone brushed you aside? You have no idea, and that's fine. The day before the wedding at the party at my aunt's house, I'm sure you don't recall, but you were overwhelmed. People were talking to you as though you were still the person they remembered. As though you were still the Angelo of 1965. Nick gathered you up in his arms and said "Come on Grampa, let's go sit somewhere else" and he lead you into the livingroom, to a soft sofa.

It seems that the memories I have of you are recent. Sad. That's never the case in my mind. I'm not sure why I'm writing them. How could I ever thank or credit my life? I can't. And you know, Grampa, that if I thought it would make a damn difference, I'd be there with you now and all the time. I'd be there when you wake up and don't know where you are. I'd be there for your medicine thinking that the woman giving it to you is Gramma. I'd be there for all your meals and for everything you ever needed.

Maybe it shows that I'm a bad person, but when S. was here I wanted you to be awful. I wanted you to be on your worst behavior. I wanted you to rant and not know us. I wanted her to see just a fraction of what it's like to have half of the most important people in life torn away. You know why mostly? Because I just don't think she belives me.

And though this sounds like a goodbye letter, it's not. And though I'm sure it sounds like I'm ready to say goodbye, I'm not. Grampa. Angelo. I love you so much there's no way to come back from it. And now I've done it. I've made myself cry.

This is the worst letter ever. I know you understand.

--Dane.

 

Hear this song.

 

the last time - um - mail? soon!!!