Remembering my grandpa.
My grandpa died when I was twelve.
I didn’t realize it at the time, how much his death would affect me. When you’re twelve you don’t really think about those things. But as I get older, I can appreciate the man that he was. Hardworking and honest. A man who would take me to the corner store and let me pick out his beer. And the way he would politely suggest a different beer from the one I chose (Red Dog, always.)
My grandfather was not a funeral director, but he practically lived in the funeral home. Answering the phones and working calling hours, he was a staple in my family’s business. I wonder what it would have been like to work with him. I wonder if he would have sworn at me in Polish as I swore at him in English for prematurely turning off lights in the funeral home.
We live our lives by the choices that we make, but we often overlook how the people in our hearts affect those choices. This Father’s Day I’m remembering a man who holds a dear place in my heart. A man who reminds me daily to be hardworking and honest. A man I would like to think would be proud of the woman his granddaughter has become.
Just because a person is in the ground doesn’t mean that they are forgotten. Death doesn’t change the impact that a person has on your life.