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Dear Journal,
My first real taste of death wasn't a pleasant experience, although I handled it pretty good. No, no one died but I had a very interesting conversation with my grandfather today.
The three of us were sitting on the couch in my living room. Grammpa was sitting to the left, than Uncle Dusty and me to the right. Grammpa began speaking about his diabetes. He remarked, even though he required insulin and a respirator for oxygen in his seventies, he didn't fear his choice, 'When it happens, it happens," by refusing to change his diet and exercise.
The words I remember from Grammpa, "We all go eventually, Dusty. That's life. You focus on your own life and don't be so concerned about mine."
Grammpa reached, and gripped Uncle Dusty's thigh and continued in a quieter tone, "Remember the good times, and when I leave, I will leave for good."
I remember staring at Uncle Dusty and watching tears drip down his cheeks. Grammpa expression was solemn and soon after he finished his speech, be twiddled his thumbs and gawked straight ahead.
The speech was depressing but he's my grandfather. Surely, he has at least ten more years to spend with me. I mean, Grammpa is only seventy; and besides relying on an oxygen tank, he is still fairly mobile, as long as he doesn't climb a flight of stairs.
Besides, I'm seventeen and in two more years, I'll graduate and Grammpa, Gramma and my family will watch me grab my diploma.
Not sure what else to say, except feeling a little sad but I'm sure Grammpa will be fine. He's always showed he had a strong spirit. Ever since I was a kid, I've never seen Grammpa cry; he's as tough as iron.
Your friend,
Jess
November; 1999
Dear Journal,
Today we had the funeral ceremony for Grammpa. I never knew how large my family was but almost everyone came, all crowded around the gravestone. The gravestone wasn't vertical but instead it was flat on the ground.
It read, 'Glad you stopped by,' followed by a shamrock under the inscription. Under the shamrock it said:
Robert Buckler - Died Jan. 23, 2000
Grammpa's last wishes were not to be buried. So, we spread his ashes on his marker. He also wished to not have a formal funeral with a priest. He wanted us to celebrate his life and not mourn his loss, but my family held a ceremony in June anyway.
We kept to his wishes and no one dressed in formal attire; any black clothing or 'dressy' pants and shoes. Instead, the majority of the family wore shorts and T-shirts to allow some minor comfort from the intense heat that day.
The ceremony began by reading an Irish poem and almost everyone read it aloud, except me and my younger cousin Michael. It proved difficult to read the poem because within about three sentences my four uncles and aunts, my mom, dad; all thirty members cried, except me.
I remember peering into my Uncle Dusty's face as he tried to speak, without the tears choking his speech. My mom sobbed for the loss of her Dad, as all my uncles and aunts did.
My cousin, David wore sunglasses. I suspect it was his way to shield his sorrow. Even my Uncle Rob, who seldom shows sensitivity, was crying for Grammpa.
The echoes of moaning and shrill yells flooded my eardrums, but I shared little emotion among my family. I had lost my best friend and there was no repeal for my loss. Instead, I knelt on my knees and stared at the white ashes thinking…
These ashes were all that remained of my grandfather. I tried picturing that each white particle represented a hand, a foot, maybe one of his ears. But all I was looking at were ashes.
My cousin, Michael knelt on my right side and hugged my shoulder. He was about seven at the time, but I was grateful having him next to me. With his right finger, he drew a heart under the shamrock and asked if I would draw a picture too.
Shrugging, I reluctantly drew a smaller heart next to Michael's'.
Before the ceremony came to a close, my Uncle Kevin; Michael's Dad, asked if anyone wished to say something about Grammpa. The majority of my family expressed their good-byes and some type of memory that reminded them of my grandfather. We took turns according to age; oldest to youngest. Out of my four cousins on my Mom's side, I'm the oldest. After all my uncles, aunts and my mom and dad spoke their mind, it was my turn.
I remember a silence passed. Quite a few people were still crying and awaited my response. The feeling; it's hard to describe in actual words. A close friend of mine had been torn from my sight. I guess I still felt denial and more so empty at the time. I could feel tears starting to emerge, but my eyes remained dry. I tried to speak, but no words came out.
I shrugged again, and mentioned to the spectators, I had nothing to say; not even my last farewell.
Someone remarked how well I was accepting his death, and if I was OK. I said nothing to question my confusion. Every time, I looked at Grammpa's ashes, I half expected he would be walking down the field, or tap my shoulder and scold all of us for making such a fuss.
It never happened, and I sat, staring at the gravestone and occasionally observing the face's of my family. Everyone cried, all except me.
Your friend,
Jess
June; 2000
Dear Journal,
I'm sorry I haven't written in a few years. For a while I didn't feel the need to write in you everyday. I graduated from high school at nineteen and my mom, dad and three sisters were there.
It was fun. I'm out of school and I don't have to worry about homework anymore. Life is great! I missed writing in you, so I'll try to do it more often. That's all for today.
You friend,
Jess
June; 2001
Dear Journal,
I've been kept busy at my job and what with fishing and other activities; writing is the last thing on my mind. So, it's been another year since my last entry and today something weird happened.
I was sitting on a river bank alone, fishing. My line got snagged in a tree. I yanked and pulled the line but the tree branch was too thick, and it never broke. I was forced to cut my line and retie another hook. So, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Grammpa's Barlow knife.
He gave it to me as a gift when I was twelve and I usually carried it wherever I went. Even after his death, the weight of the knife never bothered me. So, why of all days, did I start thinking about him today?
Five years, and I'm thinking about his memory. Why?
I remember I cut the line with the knife and immediately sat on the stones, thinking. A long time passed, and I began to feel the same emptiness, like there was a hole in the center of my chest and the world could peer through it. It marked the first real time my body showed emotion. I sat, immersed in my thoughts, thinking about the family gathering and everyone saying good-bye. I had lost my chance to say farewell to Grammpa.
I envisioned he was standing behind me, probably smacking my head with an invisible newspaper for being so heartless and uncaring. I remember fiddling with the knife; twisting it through my fingers and stroking the sides of it.
I felt my throat become dry and my chest ached every time I inhaled a new breath. The tears were coming, but instead of letting the emotion engulf me, I swallowed and mentally pushed sadness, guilt and depression aside. Instead, I took comfort and allowed denial to firmly plant its roots again in my brain and retied a hook.
Your friend,
Jess
2005
Dear Journal,
Yeah, I know. I only write in you if something is bothering me. Looking through past entries, I noticed it's been almost eleven months since I last wrote something. Well, I see that writing in a journal is pointless, if I don't stick with it.
My job at the pet store has been very demanding and the little free time I have, I'm biking or fishing. So, there is little time to actually sit and scribble in you anymore. In fact, this will be my last entry.
I'm twenty-four and I've moved on to more interesting activities.
However, I thought about Grammpa again today. It's one of those things, where it happens for no reason. I was in my living room, sitting on the couch with Gramma. We talked about how long she and Grammpa lived in Maine and the South Shore; Hull, Massachusetts. We also talked about the little quirks Grammpa had and how it used to drive us nuts, such as perfectionism. If a shoe slightly slanted in my closet, he would holler for me to straighten it out. If I fought with my sisters, he'd roll a newspaper and shake it in my face; a warning that I would get a swat if I didn't set an example, since I was the oldest.
The conversation was interesting and I enjoyed it, until a flash of a familiar face presented itself above Gramma's head. A new memory popped into my brain and I remembered the countless hours I used to spend with Grammpa, listening to stories of his childhood; his mistakes and triumphs. I remembered how fond he was of the book; The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer and how he always reminded me the characters were exact copies of himself as a boy. Our conversations were about life's lessons, history and memories of the past.
My friend was taken from me, and at once the denial I carried for so many years washed away. I finally felt intense sadness, so much that my hands reacted by shaking.
Six years I buried my loss and never allowed tears to erupt. I couldn't accept Grammpa was gone and I truly lost one of my closest friends.
Many emotions rose deep from inside, and I faced them all - sadness, guilt, depression, anger and confusion. The five emotions combined; it crippled this internal stone wall I built and I finally cried for my grandfather.
My last regret is I never found the strength to speak at his 'funeral' and though I can always return to the gravestone and say my good-bye, it will never be the same. I believe I will carry that burden for many years and it will be a constant reminder – Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Your friend,
Jess
Jun, 30, 2006
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I'm sure I'll be asked why I decided to write this story. Of all things, why this? I consider this as a test from a writing standpoint. By crossing this barrier, I know I can write about a personal experience and follow through to the end. Was this easy to write? Not by a long shot. It was very hard to control memories flooding at full speed. However, this is a writing site, so enjoy.
