My Grandpa Dale died two days after Luke was born.
I wish I knew how to even talk about that well. I’m still too sad and angry.
Not angry that he’s gone, because he lived a good life and loved and was loved and was tired of being sick and as much as I miss him it really is okay. I’m angry that I couldn’t be at his funeral. That hardly anyone could be there because of this stupid pandemic. He deserves to be celebrated better. We needed to be together for that.
And we weren’t. And I hate it.
He’s my first grandparent to pass away. I knew half of my great-grands and was old enough when they died to remember them well. This is different. And there’s always been the looming possibility of losing any of them, but there was always the expectation that I could hug my parents and cry with them and hear the eulogy in person instead of watching it from my dining room via Facebook.
I’m grateful that was even an option but dang it, that’s not how it’s supposed to be.
Anyway, since it’s Memorial Day, and he’s one of the very few family members I have who served in the armed forces, I’m taking a minute to remember him.
This is one of the last pictures of him and my grandma with my kids. We drove up for the family Christmas party, spent one night, then came back home. I’m so glad we didn’t miss it. I wish he could’ve met Luke in real life instead of just over FaceTime.
I wish a lot of things.
Leave a Reply