Friday, September 16, 2005
The Shrub Becomes a Tree Again
On Friday, September 9th… I was consuming a Rajun’ Cajun veggie burger at The Vortex in Midtown with my buddy, Chris, when my cell phone rang. It was my sister, informing me that my grandfather had passed away. He had been off life support for a little over eight hours before he took his final breath.
On September 9th, 2004… exactly one year ago… I had three grandparents, two parents and one long-term girlfriend. Today… one grandparent, one parent and I am living single 1800 miles from home.
I don’t know when I started to realize the importance of family. I think I learned too late. It has definitely been within the last two years. I am 31 years old, and for 29 years, I got caught up in more than my share of superficial, materialistic and otherwise irrelevant matters. I don’t know that I said I love you enough to the right people and I know I did say I love you too many times to the wrong people.
When my father passed, it was the first death I had experienced of someone close to me. In many ways, my dad was one of my best friends. I recall so fondly the times when he, Kristy (my long-term girlfriend), Michael (his young son) and I would be tripping around San Diego getting into adventures like going to the beach, putting the back yard together or picking out Saltillo tiles from Tecate for our floor. His passing, although tragic, was peaceful for me… I certainly miss him and certainly think about him often (more so than I ever thought I would)… but I got to spend my entire 31 years of life with him, more than any of his other children did and will ever get to do. I had my time with him and was appreciative of that.
My grandfather, however, is a bit different. I don’t know that I had spoke to him in much more than an email during the past six years. My grandma and grandpa came from a different generation and maybe that generation expected more personal gratitude than our generation… and if that is it, that shouldn’t be too much to ask… but my immaturity did not allow me to see past their badgering and demands for that gratitude. Now I realize that it truly was simply gratitude they were seeking. They helped pay for each one of us (my brother and sister) to go to school at Arizona State and all they wanted was gratitude. Their way of asking for it left a bit to be desired, but the message was simple the same. Unfortunately, now that my grandfather has passed, I will never get to share that gratitude with him.
So do I live with the regret? Or is there something that I can do to absolve myself of this guilt? I mentioned Michael, my father’s youngest son… an eight year old red head who loves skateboarding and guns… a boy I have known since he was just a puffy lipped baby. A kid who valued every moment that he spent with me, even though some of those times I was self-consumed with an argument about Kristy over something stupid. When my father passed, his mother made it very difficult for the rest of the family to accept her… she was already very tough to deal with and her actions, mostly selfish in nature, compounded to the point where no one wanted anything to do with her… inadvertently that included Michael. My brother, Jonathan adopted his wife’s son, Cody. Cody and Michael are the same age. At my sister’s wedding and countless other times, the two of them played until all hours… because of the falling out, Cody hasn’t seen or talked to Michael in almost a year. None of the family members have had any contact with him or his mother. I wrote one email months after leaving San Diego for Georgia to inform him that I had moved. As much as me or anyone in my family thought that we had learned about my father’s passing and family… we were all missing a vital piece of this, yet none of us were reaching out beyond ourselves.
As I said, my grandfather died on Friday night, September 9th… I had a friend in town. It was supposed to be a glorious football weekend, first week of the NFL season and we were also going to an Auburn University game. We continued on for the sake of distraction and entertainment. I dropped him off at the airport on Sunday night. Sunday night being September 11th… September 11th being an obvious date… but also being Michael’s birthday. As I drove back to my house, I called him on the phone. I spoke to him for almost 20 minutes about what he was up to and how his birthday party went. I told him that I was going to come see him on my upcoming visit to San Diego.
These days, as the long, strong branches of our family tree starts to fall off… it takes more work and cultivating to grow the shrubbery that remains into something like the tree it replaces… I think I am really now starting to understand the importance of family.
On September 9th, 2004… exactly one year ago… I had three grandparents, two parents and one long-term girlfriend. Today… one grandparent, one parent and I am living single 1800 miles from home.
I don’t know when I started to realize the importance of family. I think I learned too late. It has definitely been within the last two years. I am 31 years old, and for 29 years, I got caught up in more than my share of superficial, materialistic and otherwise irrelevant matters. I don’t know that I said I love you enough to the right people and I know I did say I love you too many times to the wrong people.
When my father passed, it was the first death I had experienced of someone close to me. In many ways, my dad was one of my best friends. I recall so fondly the times when he, Kristy (my long-term girlfriend), Michael (his young son) and I would be tripping around San Diego getting into adventures like going to the beach, putting the back yard together or picking out Saltillo tiles from Tecate for our floor. His passing, although tragic, was peaceful for me… I certainly miss him and certainly think about him often (more so than I ever thought I would)… but I got to spend my entire 31 years of life with him, more than any of his other children did and will ever get to do. I had my time with him and was appreciative of that.
My grandfather, however, is a bit different. I don’t know that I had spoke to him in much more than an email during the past six years. My grandma and grandpa came from a different generation and maybe that generation expected more personal gratitude than our generation… and if that is it, that shouldn’t be too much to ask… but my immaturity did not allow me to see past their badgering and demands for that gratitude. Now I realize that it truly was simply gratitude they were seeking. They helped pay for each one of us (my brother and sister) to go to school at Arizona State and all they wanted was gratitude. Their way of asking for it left a bit to be desired, but the message was simple the same. Unfortunately, now that my grandfather has passed, I will never get to share that gratitude with him.
So do I live with the regret? Or is there something that I can do to absolve myself of this guilt? I mentioned Michael, my father’s youngest son… an eight year old red head who loves skateboarding and guns… a boy I have known since he was just a puffy lipped baby. A kid who valued every moment that he spent with me, even though some of those times I was self-consumed with an argument about Kristy over something stupid. When my father passed, his mother made it very difficult for the rest of the family to accept her… she was already very tough to deal with and her actions, mostly selfish in nature, compounded to the point where no one wanted anything to do with her… inadvertently that included Michael. My brother, Jonathan adopted his wife’s son, Cody. Cody and Michael are the same age. At my sister’s wedding and countless other times, the two of them played until all hours… because of the falling out, Cody hasn’t seen or talked to Michael in almost a year. None of the family members have had any contact with him or his mother. I wrote one email months after leaving San Diego for Georgia to inform him that I had moved. As much as me or anyone in my family thought that we had learned about my father’s passing and family… we were all missing a vital piece of this, yet none of us were reaching out beyond ourselves.
As I said, my grandfather died on Friday night, September 9th… I had a friend in town. It was supposed to be a glorious football weekend, first week of the NFL season and we were also going to an Auburn University game. We continued on for the sake of distraction and entertainment. I dropped him off at the airport on Sunday night. Sunday night being September 11th… September 11th being an obvious date… but also being Michael’s birthday. As I drove back to my house, I called him on the phone. I spoke to him for almost 20 minutes about what he was up to and how his birthday party went. I told him that I was going to come see him on my upcoming visit to San Diego.
These days, as the long, strong branches of our family tree starts to fall off… it takes more work and cultivating to grow the shrubbery that remains into something like the tree it replaces… I think I am really now starting to understand the importance of family.
