Opinion
Column 4 – Part 1
It’s finally said and done.
The wedding has come and gone and I wholly agree with the popular opinion that it was an amazing day. I can’t truly how enamored I am and now that it is a memory, I only want it back.
I am sorry for those of you who missed it. But you are in luck. I am going to chronologically walk you through the most timeless moments of the day as well as the honeymoon. So sit back as I give you some G rated visuals. You can fill in any holes I leave with the usuals. The “I do’s”, white dresses, black tuxes, and hordes of crying people.
Warning: If you are reading this and are under the age of 13, the following article uses strong words such as naa-ked, nookie, and sex. Parents, these would be fun terms to try to explain to the little goobers, so lets not. Now is your chance to usher your little ones to the primary colored play room to watch those Christian vegetables that talk and wear mustaches. Silly greens.
I know I promised last week that I would give some insight into why people don’t like me, that one is still coming my friends.
Number One: Crying Men
That is right. Not once but twice. I bawled until my collar was damp at both the rehearsal and the big day.
When I needed to calm down I scanned the first pew looking for the strength, the pillar, the stronghold in our family, my father. Holy crap! He had that snot-down-the-upper-lip-thang going on and it was about that time that I wished I would have bought stock in Kleenex. I couldn’t see his eyes his glasses were so fogged up. Seriously, get that man a face squeegee.
I looked at both of the mothers and then my fiancée and they are the ONLY ones in the whole stinkin’ church not crying. What the heck! Might as well have taken Sarah, slapped a dog in one hand and a beer in the other, put some grease on her cheeks and programmed her to say a couple of catchy phrases such as “Did the Wanhh bus arrive?” or “My little sister cried less during her tongue tumor removal!” Once and for all I knew who wore the pink Victoria’s in this relationship. I spent most of Friday night debating if a size six meant I could only fit one enormous butt cheek or two into the wedding dress.
Number Two: High pressure water never go out of style
I envisioned, on this very website, a flurry of wet greetings to relatives I had never met. Hordes of screaming women in fancy dresses reenacting mad cow disease as Sarah and I just laughed and sprayed them all with increasing amounts of water.
Alas, I was too caught up in what the good Lutherans would think to see it through. It took a five year old friend of mine to realize, “Hey, I’m a jerk. This is totally something I would do.”
Shout out to my tiny brother Joel, a young, thirty inch tall scallion that I babysat this past summer was kind enough to provide the proper tools to live out my dream.
It innocently started outside the church, with our photographer recreating the image that I made on the website. I playfully sprayed light mist at my bride’s wedding dress, tilting my head with my evil smirk, but no real preconceived intentions. My playful volley of water was returned with a giggle and a crisp stream to my face.
Sometimes Sarah doesn’t think before she acts. She forgot that she was inside of the largest human handkerchief and I have freakishly long legs. Long quick strides, dash and roll will always fool even the best woman. I returned her timid mist with directs blows to the upper face, chest, veil and dress. “Yes!” I pumped my first triumphantly, once I was out of sight of course. Although a moment to cherish, this would have warranted a week on the couch, and since my legs start at my nose, that would have made for some long uncomfortable nights.
Number Three: Hey, Jeff, try some of Jerry’s “water”
If you have known anything about me in the last six to nine months, it is that I have been stricken with a longing for my seemingly lost college life. I have had short reminders of it at home. However, drinking a 24 oz. Smirnoff and watching 40 days and 40 nights on the couch in my parent’s basement is hardly equal to sorority girls, keg stealing, and three o’clock pizza runs. Hell, everything closes down in Grand Haven at 10 pm on a Friday night.
I slipped away from my new bride to go and sit with my old friends for a minute with my new friends, Mr. Cheesecake, and Mr. Nameless brand beer in a clear plastic cup. I apologized to all of my Ann Arbor friends, “I just wanted to say, sorry for being the first A-hole to go down the nuptials road.”
Immediately Chip Cullen, my art school friend that I met way back in orientation, said in his dirty Mexican voice, “Eh! Try some of my punch.”
I knew Chip, and I knew in his opinion that anything he drinks, from milk to Canada dry, is miles better with Vodka. I was hardly surprised when the red liquid in his glass was sixty percent Absolute.
Then my other friend Jerry Davidson, who I met mid freshman year, said, “Eh! Wanna try some of my water?” I had also forgotten that Jerry’s drink of choice were glasses of Vodka, topped off with an eighth an inch of sweet and sour. I took a healthy scorching mouthful, downed my beer, and jammed my whole slice of soft, moist cheesecake in my piehole, and smiled. It was good to remember. I felt like Dustin Hoffman’s Peter Pan when he remembered his past via a thimble. My thimble was booze and my lost boys were my friends. Pictures ensued, and that was the 5 minute making of a colorful memory.
Number Four: Beer Butt
Since I only heard about this story, I am taking the creative responsibility of retelling it with the maximum amount of embellishment. The dance floor at Terra Verde was like any typical college party dance floor. It was an off-white linoleum floor and beer was being served, so the ground had a certain slickness to it.
I was doing my share of running and coasting, and I was not the only one. My surprisingly social sister got the same idea. She ran, slid, and hip checked my best man precisely at the same time he returned the favor. Our sweet and innocent maid of honor, young Brenda Chapman saw this and thought “Hey, if the big kids are bumping butts, so can I.” So she attempted the same. But Justin was drinking like a fish, and he didn’t remember doing this to my sister less than five minutes ago. He said, “I saw her coming, and I wasn’t sure what to do, she seemed like she was slipping so I just stood firm and put out my chest.”
Brenda hit him like a wall and fell on her arse. Remembering the floor was wet with all kinds of fun stuff, Brenda said, “Yeah! Let’s make beer
angels as she flailed her arms and legs about.” Everyone on the dance floor spread out and made a circle around her and threw their hands in the air, “Go Brenda, it’s yo birthday, were gonna sip Bacardi…” Ok, so maybe it didn’t happen just like that. But she did fall like a brick, and girls in dresses falling down sure is funny. My sister said it wasn’t the only time, that throughout the night she would spontaneously fall over, sometimes in mid conversation. That silly Brenda, she’s always good for a laugh.
Column 3 – Part 2
Same old song and dance
I now assume this story is pretty common. Two kids who think their feelings are above reality go off to school and try to survive a long distance relationship. But what they don’t understand that people grow in college, most of the time into different people.
I had to break up with a girl one time, but it was two and half year shorter relationship.
No, in fact, the girl that was broken up with in this story, well, it was me. I just told the story from the other point of view to really show you what I went through.
The after effects
My world was torn apart after that day. I said all those nasty things. I begged to be taken back. In the end, I didn’t know where to go or who to turn to.
I still had all of my friends, I hadn’t made the mistake of pushing them aside during for my relationship. But I found that they could not help me, and neither could their words.
The pain grew, exponentially, with no end in sight.
I felt alone. I wanted to talk to someone who had the exact same thing happen to them and see to what the future held. I wanted to see where this nightmare would end and, more importantly, when. I had nothing. I had built all my interests around this girl. Everything I did was to be with her, and for her. I became even more bitter and started to think of ending my own life.
I had loved her and had pictured being with her forever. That is how serious I thought I was with her.
Much later on
You will be happy to know that things got better. I started to date six months later. In retrospect that seems really soon, but at the time, it felt like the most excruciating six months of my life.
For some people, being in a long term relationship with someone feels weird. For me, not having someone felt wrong. I came to realize that I depended on her too much, and now I had to do something about it.
I made a ton of plans. I leaned on my friends heavily. I tried new things, things I never had the desire to do before. But, stupidly, it was all so I could meet someone else, and put off finding out who I was without her.
That first relationship I had after the first six months, ended in three weeks. It couldn’t have lasted, all I did was compare the new girl to the old one. I had another relationship that lasted about three real months and then summer came and it became another long distance relationship. I had not the balls to inflict the same wounds on another person, but eventually, I did.
Getting my bearings back
It was a year later, I was still very angry, but my self confidence was almost back. It also was the summer from hell. I was living in Grand Haven and working over 70 hours a week. I was exhausted, but I was feeling free. I was experimenting. I went for a new look. I got a tattoo, and an earring. Anything to forget who I used to be. I got a job downtown at the ice cream shop to meet more girls.
All the while looking for something that I couldn’t grasp. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted a long term relationship again. I just had this feeling that I would never be able to totally forget the old girlfriend. I couldn’t do that when every where I looked I saw memories of her. I thought I needed to get back to school. But what it turned out to be was someone a million times more wonderful to help me the final distance out of my dark tunnel.
Enter Sarah Chapman.
Sarah is the most amazing person you will ever meet. There are two people I can tell you that I am still friends with from seventh grade, and she’s one of them. When I met her in seventh grade, I immediately was a little taken with her because I was still relatively new to Grand Haven, and I knew what it felt like to move to a new place. Plus, she was a cutie.
We stayed friends through high school. I was in that long term relationship but Sarah never really dated anyone seriously. She had a couple of short relationships that didn’t fit. She was kind of weird, and never seemed interested in boys to begin with.
Back to the summertime. We started to talk about what might happen if we went out on a date. I had always liked Sarah, but felt we were too
extremely opposite to ever work. But I thought I’d take my chances, and we kissed for the first time.
Sarah is the most giving and patient person you will ever meet. She is intoxicating. If you talk to her for five minutes, you will want to take her home to Mom, bake her some cookies, and braid her hair.
She was there for me
Sarah was the girl that listened to all my struggles that I was still having a couple years later with this breakup. She knows every painful detail. I am sure she didn’t want to know so much, it probably hurt her at times, but she supported me through it all.
Slowly, the wound began to heal, and the pain subsided. It took a year being in a relationship with her to totally forget that I was ever in another long term relationship.
Our history together allowed us to skip the awkward stages. I found that her passive attitude did not translate to our relationship, or to me. She made me aware of her strong feelings very early on and gave me love when I had none to return. She made me feel needed, and wanted. I had found that thing I was looking for and in 9 months I knew that we would be going the long haul.
What I learned
I became a different person in some ways, but I am still the same in a lot of ways. I am more aware of my shortcomings. I prayed during that time for someone, for someone who would look past my imperfections and see me for my strong qualities. I was convinced the other girl rejected my qualities for what they were. Not that she rejected them because she was mature enough to know that in the long run our differences would cause some serious problems.
God gave me Sarah, and fulfilled my prayers beyond my wildest dreams. She loved me for all my faults. Her take charge attitude about her feelings for me was what made our relationship work.
She poured her love into me, hoping eventually that she would get it back. I thought I took a risk. But it was really her taking a chance. There were no guarantees I would ever see past my pain,and fully return her love.
I was right, we are really different. We are so different that it causes a lot of problems in how we invest our respective time. But she is the one.
She gave me the opportunity to fall in love again, and remember that it was worth something. Her belief in love and what it can be saved me. I think she might know this, but not to the extent that I feel it.
I owe you everything and if I didn’t tell you before, or if I didn’t tell you enough, I am telling you now. I love you, and can’t wait for May 10th. You are truly a dream come true.
~final
Column 3 – Part 1
A completely different place.
Almost three years ago I was on a completely different path in my life. I was in a serious relationship, but not with Sarah Chapman. It was one of those high school things that went into college.
She was such a great gal in so many ways, and I thought she was my first love, but when times were bad, they were the worst. In these times, there were some evident differences that I started to realize were insurmountable. I always had that nagging feeling that we weren’t right for each other, but I often forgot, because it was easier to forget than to actually do something about it. Finally, I did make the heart wrenching decision to break things off instead of starting another year of college with that feeling.
There is never a good time
We were getting together the first weekend after she moved into her new apartment. Overjoyed to see me, she showered me with a flurry of kisses and hugs as soon as I arrived. Our excitement of her first year off campus and not having been together for over a week overwhelmed the day, and then it was gone.
Day two, she woke me up with a kiss and a smile. We had breakfast together, and later went out to the pool during a warm stretch of the day. We got out later on, opened the door to her apartment, and her roommates immediately rushed us off on a hunt for sweets. The consensus was ice cream, on a distant part of campus. The great fun we were having laughing and talking made the long walk seemed like a stroll to the mailbox. Before I had known it the second day had come and went, and I grew more uneasy.
We need to talk
The third day I woke up to her making me a farmers breakfast and that was an indicator that only I was in control of the day. I made up my mind to do something about it the next moment I got her alone.
We sat in front of the TV playing Nintendo 64. We were playing Mario Cart, if that is what she was doing. I was beating the hell out of her. I finished, put down my controller and waited for her to catch up. She kept going off the path because Bowser and friends were abnormally brutal.
I watched her throw a small smirk at me as I struggled to hide my nerves. I was sick to my stomach, I had a headache and I knew, she wouldn’t understand.
As I got caught up in my thoughts, she had finished and jumped up to the kitchen to make some popcorn. I sat there and waited, turned off the 64 and watched some TV. She came back in, plopped down on the thatch couch next to me, and planted a “I love being here with you” peck on my cheek. I turned to her and asked, “Can we go talk in private?”
You dropped the bomb on me, baby.
We went back to her room and we sat opposite each other. I used all my strength to not break down, and as I thought of the first thing to speak, I nervously rubbed my perspiring hands. She picked up on my wayward glances, popped a couple of kernels into her mouth, threw her hair back and with a small giggle said “What? Are you going to break up with me or something?”
Her next giggling mouthful of popcorn was cut short when I said, “yes”.
She looked at me in disbelief, her cheek bulged mid chew.
She kind of giggled uncomfortably, swallowed and asked. “Are you serious?”
My eyes started to tear up. I lifted my eyes separate of my head as I mustered a nod, and a faint breath, “Yes,” and quickly looked away.
“No… you’re not…no, no you can’t.” The bag of popcorn sounded like a dropped textbook as the kernels rolled under the bed.
“You’re not breaking up with me, your not.” Her voice choked on her tears. I knew what she was feeling, suffocation, your throat dries right up and swallowing feels like cement.
She started to cry more heavily.
“You’re not serious?” “Is it something I did?
I shook my head no.
“Then what? We have always worked things out, if something’s wrong, we’ll just work it out. We have to.”
Her longing eyes stared into mine looking for hope. “I love you”, she said. I felt helpless as I started to watch her drown in her own shock.
Little did I know it would only get worse.
The three stages of the breakup
No one had ever broken up with me before but after the night was over I realized there are three stages.
Stage one is intense denial. Questions. Trying to find the verbal bandage to hem the near fatal wound that has just been dealt to you.
The second is anger and lashing out. You start to blame the instigator. Blame them for all the things they didn’t do. How it isn’t fair. How could you? After all that I have done? What about that thing I did for you on that one date? How could you do this to me? You are such an (expletive). How can you do this to me so suddenly? Who is going to want to date you? I hate you. I hate you.
The final stage is apologies, one after another. Apologies for all the nasty things you just said ten minutes previous about the other person, now realizing why they might want to break up with you. All the while your brain is in search for the real reason.
Can’t see the obvious
It can’t be the reason given. It must be something else they’re not telling you. It’s a test, that’s all it is. If I figure out what is wrong and apologize, things will be fine. You apologize for everything. You beg. You plead. Just give me one more chance. I can change. I want to fix things. I don’t want to lose you.
I cried through most of the night, more than I thought physically possible. My ride came to pick me up and just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, I had to leave her a mess there at school. I didn’t feel relieved, not for a long time.
She wanted to see me a couple of times after that, looking for some hope to get back together. That it still was just a dream. She was a mess, trying to convince me how she has changed, and if we would just get back together, things would be different. All she did was re-assert our differences and after a couple of months I didn’t have anything left to talk to her about. Things became weird, and then this girl that was always around, was gone.
Column 2 – Part 2
My upbringing
I was raised in Christian family. A family where my parents love each other, and are committed to God and the promise they made to him and each other almost twenty five years ago.They never scream at each other, in fact, the still have fleeting moments of cute lovey talk.
Never once do I think about another college friend of mine whose father was an unfaithful priest. This friend was always putting on a happy front, but was very closed off and vehemently avoided conflict. The affair happened when he was 8 or 9, but he still got bitter tears in his eyes as he related the story to me. His parent’s conflict tore him apart.
My parents building blocks
My parents put the children first in their lives. My father is an extremely hard working man, who takes care of all of us with his love and his career.
My mother is always nagging us to pick up this, or pay that bill, or have you made reservations for your honeymoon yet. She does this because she is always thinking about us, not because she enjoys it.
They dedicated their lives to teaching my sister and I responsibility, to live a Godly life, all the while giving us the best opportunities to do so.
They have literally given me a lifetime of opportunities. So many that I can be choosy. I don’t have to worry about my one lucky break passing me by. They will be there to support me no matter what until another one comes along.
My complaining falls on deaf ears
I am a hypocrite. When I bitch and moan about something bad in my life, it is all relative. Because of my parents, I have never even known what “bad” is, or really how bad things can be.
The only reason I was even able to pay for some of my college was because I was living at home and I didn’t have to spend it on surviving. My money was never spent on surviving because my parents spent time with us to help us make good decisions. This might seem weird, but it is true when I say they gave me the opportunity to spend it on my schooling. Now they give me time so I all I have to worry about is making money for my wedding and for my future wife. On top of that, they are giving me money for the wedding.
What is my reaction?
Thanking them by conventional means doesn’t even make sense to me.
So do I thank them everyday?
No. I haven’t even thanked them in a couple months.
I feel that eventually the thank you’s will lose their impact. A lifetime of opportunity does not equal daily thanks. So I made up my mind a long time ago that I wouldn’t.
Instead I have chosen to grab a hold of every opportunity that is given to me with two strong hands and shake it for all its worth.
Everyday I go to work and become more successful. Everyday I come home and improve artistically. And everyday I become more of a man as I move
forward with my fiancée and our life together.
I have all of these things because of them. I am a living tribute to them and everything that I am is because of them. I figure their pride in me and what they have helped me become might be more appropriate.
Some still might say that a daily thank you still goes a long way.
So this is my thank you for today, and it only counts for one.
Thank you, mom and dad.
~final
Column 2 – Part 1
Mom quote for the week:
“Are you going to tuck that in?” in reference to my shirt as I was running behind one day for work.
“Nope. It doesn’t matter; the pants are coming off when I get there anyway.”
Warning: This column is not intended for children 13 years or younger.
How did I determine that age? I guessed. Besides, shouldn’t you be doing something, anything more fun than this?
My Usual Day
My day starts at 6:20, and as soon as I open my eyes, I take for granted all that I have.
Work starts at 8:00 in the morning. My job usually has some elements of sales as wellas designing any new graphic material or web content.
I whip through the graphic programs like Rosie O’Donnell after a Ho-ho. I know all the shortcuts, I know all the quick keys. Tasks that take me 2 minutes would take my friends double as long and my parents 3 hours or more.
It comes very natural to me, and I don’t ever give it a second thought.
I am a computer junkie
I come home, and I sit at my computer more, usually for a good portion of the remaining night. Sometimes I draw an image I have found from the internet. My drawing skills are superior to most, and are borderline mind boggling to others.
For almost two years I have committed to drawing an hour a night. Why would someone do that you ask? It is because I can, and because I have to.
In that hour not once do I think about my peers who aren’t in college. The ones that don’t have an hour to spare. They made a decision that led down a path of ten hour shifts six days a week, multiple children with or without another parent, and mounting debts.
I have top of the line resources
Sometimes I intend to take my drawings to a higher level of finish. I will photograph the different elements of the composition I have in mind with my digital camera, instead of wasting precious time searching on the internet for something close.
Then, I usually draw out that thought, ink it, and scan it into my computer using a high end graphics program. I have a pretty awesome computer, not top of the line anymore, but still way above average. My scanner does the job. Not many of my friends have one of these either. And I do have Photoshop, the tool the best artists use.
Then I will color that image on the computer. For this task I use my Wacom tablet, which is basically a pressure sensitive tablet with a mechanical pencil that I can use to draw on the computer. All of these are the tools the best artists use, and the best tools cost the best, or the most, money.
Producing this work of art is not an overnight process by any means. I take my time, though, because I can and because I feel like I have to.
Another friend of mine from high school is only now attending school. He is attending Baker, a great school, but it is no University of Michigan. He has to work all day to support himself to go to school. If he loses his job, he loses credit, simple as that.
Wedding Planning
After I have done my art for the night, I see my fiancée so we can continue to plan our wedding. We might invite hundreds of people, but we are always trying to save money. In the end, the wedding will cost over ten grand. I don’t once think what another friend of mine would do to his credit card debt with that money.
I stay up late, and I work real hard, because I choose to. I don’t have to work any harder; I have a job and a degree, but to sit idle, seems like a waste.
Column 1 – Part 2
My Grandpa after the fact
The few times I saw him after the funeral my grandpa was a mess, but not like you would think. He was just weird, and I felt guilty for wishing him to be the way he used to because things were different.
For the first time ever it wasn’t always enjoyable to be around him, and shame on me, he wasn’t there for my entertainment.
I didn’t really feel much pain over death, to say truthfully, I always felt like there wasn’t anything anyone could do, so why fret over it too much. Grandma was a great woman, and had lived a great life, and that is how I will remember it, but pain never found a crack to seep into.
The following summer
The winter semester came and went and then summer came. It was hard to believe it had been that long since my grandma was gone, but college goes by quick, and it is hard to notice much of anything more than 16 credit hours.
My summer job was landscaping. I made great money but I paid the price of my first outside summer job in dehydration and allergic reaction to anything green. Then as I toiled in the hot sun over paver bricks, already miserable from the work and the weather, I got called inside by my employer. I was working for my friend’s mom and, let me tell you, she was on MY hit list. I would have given anything to have not received the message from her.
I got a call from my parents, seems Grandpa had a heart attack, but he was alright. It was kind of funny how typical it was, I never pictured it to be anything but, a strange call during an already terrible day making it even worse.
Something was going on that night, and I figured since he was alright, that I could just see him later. But Sarah and I did go and see him, I think there was a possibility that, without her there, that I wouldn’t have.
He looked fine, a little more naked than I would have preferred, but you know, good for an old guy. I had drawn him a picture and told him it was time to start running, ha ha. Funny guy I am.
I am more thankful that I went to see him that night. I was one of the few people, because of how close I was (location,) that got to see him. The next day Grandpa was gone, a blood clot in the night put him in a coma in which he would not recover. I have yet to.
When my grandma passed away, that was a sprained ankle to the painted picture I had for my wedding. I thought it would be a little weird, Grandpa hanging by himself, maybe crying a little, but it would still be cool to walk back to him, shake his hand with a smile and hug. But when my grandpa passed away, that was like a broken leg. I couldn’t picture my wedding without him. And I still can’t really.
How I miss them
Sarah and I were talking about her shower not too long ago and how Linda had shared her wedding experiences with her. How she told grandpa “Don’t tell me I’m pretty, don’t tell me I look nice…” and the whole gooshy thing goes on for hours. But I was reminded that grandpa wasn’t going to be there.
I teared up for him a little, just once of the half a dozen times I have since he left, and the two and half days I wept to the point of nausea right after the fact. I miss my grandpa and would give anything to have him here for the wedding. It was my first taste of what death could be, and in two years my three grandparents had passed away, so it became more like a swallow. The one thing about Grandpa was that his advice always felt like it was coming from a friend and not an authoritative figure. I always felt so much like him, and that I would be just like him at that age.
His words
These were two of the things he said that have stuck with me in particular. The first was that I could treat my girlfriend better. I always thought he saw his shortcomings in me and even though he couldn’t really prevent his own, he could try to correct them through me. Kind of like that was his job. The second thing that stuck with me was what he told Sarah the Easter before he left.
“We expect big things of him.”
I was the firstborn of the grand kids, and I never take that for granted. I got the most of my grandparents and felt a little obligated to set the bar.
So I wanted to take this time to say to him, I miss you Grandpa, so damn much. I have so many faults, but I am going to dedicate my life to Sarah and trying to overcome them. And we will be great, together. So to some extent, I would like to dedicate this site to you. To let you know, that I still hope to be just like you when I am old and that, you did your job well.
~final
Column 1 – Part 1
If you are reading this page, then email my mom. She said, (now picture your mother, I think most everyone has a mother…I hope.) “Who wants to read your opinion? Oh, yeah, give me a break.” That’s right, who does? Do I care, Nope, and …double nope. But I want to say some things before my “big day”.
Welcome to the first installment of what I am going to call “Dipping a toe in my mouth” as seems to be my everyday life. This column will be bi-weekly being posted every Saturday with my thoughts on life during the week.
Warning: If you are a family member of mine and you are reading this, do so with caution. I poke fun in my dialogue, but you should all know that I love you very much and wouldn’t say anything to intentionally hurt you. All in the name of storytelling.
My Grandparents and my wedding
I had many thoughts come late high school, and even early college, about marriage. The thoughts weren’t about anyone in particular, just about what it would be like.
Now, this might seem really morbid, but I wondered which of my grandparents would make it to my wedding. At the time I thought, well, if I went by age, my grandma on my dad’s side would be at the largest risk, but she was really resilient throughout life. (I never did figure that out, once you give birth to my dad, that would be enough for me, seriously.) But not to stray too much, I also thought, “Well my mom’s parents are not even in their late sixties yet, so they are sitting real good.” I really wanted them both to be there. My Grandpa in particular because he was a such a big influence on my life as I was growing up. He made it a point to be involved in everything I did, and spoil me at every turn, with just a dash of reprimand. So, I not only loved him but respected him as well.
The Grandparents 50th
It was the summer of my grandparent’s 50th anniversary, and the family got together in Grand Haven to celebrate. The Ray family was always really close in age, and I always loved that about us. There weren’t any extreme age gaps, and it seemed like the stereotypical ages for the right titles, sixty-six year old grandfather, thirty three year old aunt, mid forty year old parents, etc, etc. We had had some activities earlier in the day and then we met for a nice dinner right on the lake at Bil Mar.
The interaction was typical. My mother had three sisters, my poor poor Grandpa. Janet, Pat, and Linda, no particular order. The family was like a interactive story and the sisters each had a part. Janet would tell it, provide the sound effects and any necessary visual effects. Pat would reign the story in, always throwing in an “Oh my Gosh” and making that noise with her mouth. You know the one. That “tsk” noise that sounds like a backwards tongue thwap that is more of a personal guilt reliever when you find something funny, but you really shouldn’t. Example, My little cousin says, “Why does grandma smell like old cheese?” and you think, that is just too darn cute to not snicker, but I don’t want to encourage the little bugger. Anyway, then my Aunt Linda is there on the sidelines looking for a pause in the story to organize a game of “family” volleyball. I don’t think she’s ever played volleyball, but we don’t know that until ten minutes into the game. So, never a dull moment. Add my Grandparents, who were always a little blunt, and I spent most of the time listening and concentrating on not blowing soggy bits of green beans out my nose.
We had dinner, we had wine, we had conversation, and the family was together, for this special occasion as the sun set apricot on our happiness. Mmmm, apricots.
The collective present from the family was a years worth of work in a mammoth book. It was a creative memories book with photos from all of my grandparents old friends, signed with a memory of an event they had shared together. My grandma got teary eyed, and so did grandpa, which was becoming more common place for him in the past few years. I remember her telling us how beautiful it was and she had her handkerchief as she dabbed at her damp eyes. She grasped my Grandpa’s hand and I wondered why they were still standing.
As stiff and brutal as an event could be, my grandma held her strength as she delivered the news that her cancer had returned. The initial reaction was shock from all of the sisters as she went on to tell them that she had been keeping it from them for a little while as to not worry them. Then there was crying, and I kind of sat there not really knowing what to think, my first real glimpse into the end, of something mortal. My lack of emotion I attributed to the fact that I just didn’t know, I figured it would be awhile still. But at the same time, how do you know that in six months the cancer will have consumed your grandmother completely? It is almost too fast to ever believe it is real.
