My beloved grandfather passed away the other night. He and I had a relationship like no other—something difficult to put into words. He was the gentle hand in my life from the time I was a rambunctious little girl. He loved that I was ornery. I instinctively knew that he liked me—grandparents have an automatic love their grandchildren, but Poppop and I genuinely liked each other from the beginning.
As his health failed, I spent time feeding and caring for him. His extreme thirst warranted the use of a sponge to give him water as I stroked his throat to prompt him to swallow. In those last moments, I thought of the cycle of care-giving. I thought of this man who fed me as a young child, bought me doughnuts early in the morning each time I slept over and taught me the simple things in life. He taught me how to tend to a tomato garden, to predict the weather by observing the squirrels, to listen to a baseball game on the radio and to create a winning poker hand. And as I got older, he modeled how to be kind to the bees, that less is often more and that soft words can be the loudest. And sometimes, when I was really listening, he taught me to shrug my shoulders and not take life too seriously.
Someday soon I will care for my own child. I regret that he/she will never know Poppop. But I hope to teach him or her the simple truths Poppop unconsciously taught me. And if I am lucky, my child will know to care for me someday by virtue of being taught the lessons of love and gentleness early in life. And then the cycle will be complete. This would make Poppop proud.
