Grandpas and Grandsons

Growing up, I never had a living grandfather. I never saw what it was like for grandchildren to interact with their grandfathers except perhaps from afar. Both of my grandpas died young and never even met their grandchildren. As a mother now myself, I now understand the pangs of hurt that must have occasionally ripped through the hearts of both of my parents. I understand now because my father died when my son, his firstborn grandchild, was just 10 months old. The pain comes and goes, but some days it is palpable, hanging in the air like a heavy mist. Thursday was one of those days as I watched my son interact with my wonderful father-in-law. As we await Call or another full-time job, we are living with my in-laws, so Thomas has received the blessing of a lot of quality time with his grandparents. On Thursday, Chris' father arrived home early from work. Thomas looked up at him and asked, "Are you going to work in the basement?"

"Well," my father-in-law answered, "I'm going to do yard work."

Thomas' face lit up, with his little grin going ear to ear and his eyes squinching up in excitement. He then put on his serious man voice, which drops a few pitches from his regular voice, and includes head nodding: "I need to do my yard work, too. Grandpa. Yard work is never done." This was said with much authority. I looked over at my father-in-law and saw his special smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. It is a smile reserved for times when he finds Thomas to be particularly adorable and hilarious, and is trying not to laugh. His mouth stays shut, but the corners turn up ever so slightly, and then he works his mouth back and forth, trying to hide the smile and the laughter threatening to come out with it. My father-in-law is usually pretty quiet and easy-going, so this special expression is not something that shows up all the time.

"Would you like to help me, Thomas," he asked. At Thomas' explosive yes, he instructed him to put on his shoes and coat. I readied Thomas for his "yard work" and then went into the kitchen to begin working on dinner.

A few minutes later, I heard the door slam, the sound of little feet running, and then the sound of the door slamming again. Puzzled, I went to look out the window to see why Thomas had run in and then right back out. Grandpa has a stash of baseball caps in the garage. He had put on a Huskers ball cap, so Thomas ran inside and grabbed his Huskers ball cap, the one Grandpa had given him for Christmas. He wanted to be just like Grandpa. As the afternoon went on, I would catch glimpses of them. There would stride Grandpa, wearing his cap and carrying his branch cutters, as well as a kneeler. A few feet behind, Thomas would come into view, striding purposefully and carrying "his" kneeler. He followed Grandpa to and fro for almost two hours straight. It made my heart melt. They were so adorable and I am so thankful for such a wonderful father-in-law, whom I don't hestitate to call Dad, and such a wonderful Grandpa.

Then, before I knew it, the tears came and I was sobbing into Chris' shoulder while I was supposed to be slicing tomatoes. For every minute of adorable, loving, grandpa grandson bonding between Thomas and Grandpa Mark, there is a minute of adorable, loving, grandpa grandson bonding that will never happen between Thomas and my dad, Grandpa Rick. Three years and some days it is still so palpable. So fresh. So painful. Thomas does something new and my heart constricts My dad will never know about that. Thomas and Grandpa Mark do their "yard work" and I sob to my husband, "He'll never follow my Dad around that way." Thomas cheers for the Steelers and wears his uniform and I think, "My Dad would have loved this."

After all, the first thing my Dad did when he knew we were pregnant was go out and buy a newborn Steelers outfit of onsie, booties, and cap. "It doesn't matter if the baby is a boy or a girl." The joy in his voice when we told him we were expecting Thomas, even over the phone, was so tangible I knew exactly the expression that must have been on his face, the one where he would smile knowingly with his lips stretched across his teeth and his eyes slanting sideways at you. From the moment my Dad knew we were going to have a baby, it seemed his love for that child was so fierce you could feel it.

He was there for Thomas' birth. Originally, I was going to have my dad wait outside, but I am so glad now that I had him in the room with me up until they took me for an emergency c-section. As soon as the c-section was over, I started asking for someone to go and find my parents. Finally, my husband went while they weighed and measured Thomas. My parents were so excited. They stayed for several days, so of course we put the onsie on Thomas as soon as we could. Here is a picture of my Dad with Thomas in the NICU (he had low blood sugar at birth).

 

 

The computer in the Ronald McDonald House at the hospital wouldn't work, so my Dad sent this picture to my internship church. When we went back to church, the picture of my Dad and Thomas was plastered at the entrances to the school, the church, and the house which held the parish staff offices. Everyone was in love with my Dad and the expression on his face. When he went back to Illinois, my Dad put this picture up in his store window and displayed it there proudly for months. Whenever he would talk about Thomas, he would emphatically add "God love him!" to the end of every sentence. For the 10 months of Thomas' life that my Dad was living, he loved him with every ounce of love he could muster. He loved him enough for a lifetime.

 

Now, we wear our Steelers gear in honor of my Dad, and watch Grandpa Rick movies on his death date and his birthday. We eat Meckler Dip. We talk about how Grandpa Rick will be resurrected on the Last Day, and we look through a scrapbook album of my son and Grandpa Rick together. We have our special memories, memories that we have worked to inculcate in Thomas.

 

My son has been blessed with two really great grandpas. And there is nothing like the bond between a grandpa and a grandson.