grandpa’s shirt

When we were up at home for my grandfather’s funeral, I asked my grandma for one of his shirts.  He was the polyester pants, wifebeater, and button up type of dresser.  Grandma gave me a flannel red and blue plaid shirt, which wasn’t at all what I had in mind.  Now I can’t remember what I did have in mind, but I didn’t argue at the time.  This shirt had been laundered and was hanging in their closet, ready for him to wear.  My mom, who had been given her aunt’s clothes when she died and was a little freaked out at being expected to wear them (she was quite young at the time), wondered if I was sure about asking for his clothing.

My friend’s grandfather died today.  It was easy to go into sympathy mode and forget where I was when mine did the same.

Tonight, CB said something that made me laugh and say “you just sounded exactly like my dad”.  He said, “It’s genetic.  You marry someone that reminds you of your father” and I said “or exactly opposite.”  He asked, “So am I just like your father?” and I said “no, you remind me more of my grandpa” and he said “I take that as very high praise.”

Y’all, I miss my grandpa so much.  I’m thinking about my friend and what she must be going through and how people aren’t near as sympathetic when someone older dies and how isolating it is to grieve a grandparent when some people only bother grieving the freak accidents of young people.

I just dug out Grandpa’s shirt and put it on.  In honor of Tara’s grandpa and grandpas everywhere, I love all of you.  Granted, my grandpa would most certainly not approve of me drinking wine and smoking cigarettes, but I’m wearing his shirt while I do it anyway.  I’m his regardless.