One this day of thanks, I share one of my personal stories of my grandparents.I tuck these precious memories away for special Holidays both to help me remember them, as well as to make losing them less painful.
“Goodbye is the hardest thing to say to someone who means the world to you, especially when goodbye isn’t what you want.” ~ Anonymous
How do you say goodbye to those who meant the world to you and gave you the childhood you otherwise wouldn’t have had? Slowly.
My grandparents were my lifeline. They gave me hope, when I had none. They gave me unconditional love that I didn’t receive in my own house. They gave me strength, pearls of wisdom I still hold dear, and the stability I so craved when I was young. Most importantly, they gave me the strength and courage to become who I wanted to be. They were truly my angels on earth.
Bearing this in mind, you can imagine how difficult it was when they passed on. Granted, they both lived long, productive lives but that doesn’t take the pain of losing them. Grandma died of Alzheimer’s and Grandpa passed on two years later due to complications of a stroke. Without them, tiny pieces of my heart went with them that I didn’t know how to repair. And it took me quite a while to visit their grave.
Grandma had slowed down quite a bit before she passed but we always had our afternoon tea together. I’d go over to her house every afternoon for tea and biscuits and to hear all of her amazing adventures from her youth, even on the days when she couldn’t organize her thoughts. Grandpa was still active until the day of his stroke. Our ‘thing’ was watching birds.
“Look at that one, Tammer,” he said one afternoon. “That’s a bluebird. They say those birds are signs of good luck and often have the spirit of a loved one who has gone on but still looking out for you.”
“Really?” I asked. “How do you know?”
“Oh, Grandpa has ways of just knowing certain things.”
“Well, who is that? Someone watching out for you?”
Grandpa was quiet for a while, then smiled. “Yes, I believe so. He comes to see me every day.”
“Will you be a bluebird for me too?”
He looked down at me, his blue eyes glowing in the sunlight. “Grandpa will always be watching.”
I scrunched my face up into a frown. “But how will I know it’s you?”
“You’ll know, darlin’. You’ll just feel it.”
I didn’t really understand at the time what he meant but when the time came for me to leave Winnipeg and move to Edmonton for a job opportunity, I decided it was time for me to visit my grandparents. To finally say goodbye.
It took three tries before I could get near where they rested.
The first time, I only made it to the gates and had to leave. The second time, I went into the Information Booth at the front of the cemetery to get a map to where my grandparents’ grave was then, I left again. Finally, a couple of weeks after that second attempt, I’d taken a couple of days off around my 30th birthday and decided visiting my grandparents was one of the things I was going to do. I had to.
I stopped off at a flower shop to buy a purple lily and a holder. I went right up the gravel road to where they rested. I clutched the wrapped flowers in my fist, took a few deep breaths, then slowly got out of the vehicle. I tiptoed through the luscious spongy green grass, apologizing to my grandparents’ eternal neighbors, as I tromped across them. To me there’s something eerie and disrespectful about marching across people’s graves.
I crept on until I came to a massive headstone right in the middle of a short, crooked row. A golf ball-sized lump lodged in my throat. I wanted to run but my feet rooted and stood their ground. But I heard my Grandma’s voice: “Don’t let fear feed on you. Use it as a source of strength to keep you moving forward.”
The headstone was larger than I thought it would be. The outside of the stone was gray, with shiny flecks that sparkled in the sun. The middle of the stone was polished black, shiny like marble, with their name etched across in thick, bold letters: BATTY. At the base were two nameplates where my grandparents’ full names were delicately engraved: George Wilfred Batty and Lillian Mae Worth.
Someone had planted pansies between their nameplates. A light breeze swept through, tickling the branches of the sturdy Elm tree behind me as it danced in time with the pansies. I knelt down to be at eye-level with the headstone. Then I traced all the beautifully crafted letters with my fingertips.
I spoke in a squeaky whisper. “I’m sorry it took so long to come. I’m sure you’ve been kept updated about what’s been going on. And even if Uncle Craig didn’t tell you everything, I’m sure Grandma sent Grandpa out to make sure.”
I laughed weakly. When my fingers ran out of letters, I fidgeted with the grass under my knees. The golf ball swelled into a tennis ball.
“I was so angry with both of you for leaving me alone. I never got to say goodbye…or to thank you…”
It took every ounce of strength I had not to leave. Letting all of the feelings rise up and be felt was the hardest thing I would ever do and I knew if I could make it through that moment, anything else I did would be okay. That I’d be okay.
“Thank you for giving me my childhood…for being there when I needed you…for letting me be a kid. Thank you…for saving me. Without your presence, I would never have had the strength to come this far.”
Warm streams trickled down my cheeks and the breeze gently tossed my hair back over my shoulders, like Grandma used to do whenever she wanted to see my face.
“I can’t promise you I’ll never mess up again. But just like Grandma said, I’ll ‘take what I need and I’ll let the rest go.’ I’ll never derail again. At least I’ll try not to.”
I shoved a plastic flower holder in the middle of the dancing pansies and put the oversized, purple lily inside it.
“I won’t be back for a long time, but I know now what Grandpa meant in the hospital. You’ll always be with me.”
I touched my head, my heart then the headstone the same way Grandpa said goodbye to me. As I made my way back to the vehicle, the aching emptiness I’d clung to for so long was finally filled with contentment, love and happiness. I looked back one last time at the headstone and was surprised to see two glorious blue birds perched on top of it. Blue birds are rare in that area.
They stared at me and I didn’t think it was strange at all that they turned around and watched me drive away. When I drove around the corner and out of sight, two blue streaks shot up over the trees, circled, then flew off.
I've never seen a bluebird. I understand they are in danger.
Your story is very well written and emotional. I'm not emotional about death. I was present when my maternal grandfather died of a stroke and my paternal grandmother, of Alzheimer's. But I was away when my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather both died of cancer. I was fortunate to have them in my life until I was in college. I didn't mourn their deaths because in every case, it relieved their suffering from these terrible life ending conditions.
They are all buried in the same cemetery, but their graves are hard to find because there are no upright monuments. Just ground-level plates. When my paternal grandfather died I was in San Francisco and dating a nurse from Saskatoon. She was very troubled and had been raised by her grandmother after her parents divorced. She left me and returned to Saskatoon, marrying a schoolteacher there.
