Missed Goodbyes
last updated on Tuesday, July 12, 2005 at 2:57:47 AM CST

regarding events somewhere about 4 March, 2004

It's been about thirteen-and-a-half months now since my paternal grandfather's funeral.  While my personal journal is filled  with notebook page after notebook page of thoughts on everything that happened, I thought it was about time to get something  out here about it.

Sadly, I hadn't seen my Granddad for about twelve years.  The last time I saw him was during a visit to my Aunt Edie's house.   Since I was in town, I stopped over and saw him and Granny, and then me, Granny, Lenny, Jenni, and someone else (it wasn't  Granddad, but I don't remember who it was — maybe Great Aunt Alice) went and saw my biological father, who was having some personal issues at the time.

I never thought that it would be the last time I'd see him alive.  Who would?  No one expects that the next time they'll see  a friend or relative will be at their funeral over a decade later.  What bothers me the most is that I don't even remember  our last conversation.  I couldn't even tell you anything we talked about that day.  I'm sure we talked about what I was  doing with myself for a living and such, and the usual pleasantries, and a bit of reminiscing, but, I really couldn't say for  sure.

I have fond memories of him though.  I remember visiting Granny and Granddad's house out in Manville (a small town somewhere  outside of Streator, Illinois), and watching him work on clocks in his clock workshop.  There were clocks everywhere!  Walls  covered with them.  I remember visiting their house in Meredosia (another small town, this one outside of Jacksonville,  Illinois), and going out with Granddad and my dad, and walking around with his metal detector at a park.  I remember talking  to him about his massive coin collection, or about the latest arrowhead I'd found in the farms near the Manville house.  I  remember his voice.  And his laugh.  His smile.  So many things.

But, sadly, most of my memories of him are childhood memories.  The last time I saw him, I was eighteen years old, and maybe  had an afternoon with him, just talking or watching television, and like I say, I don't remember much of it.  Before that, it  had been a few years, probably four or five, and I was usually there visiting with my cousins, and like all kids, I was more  interested in running around playing games or playing outside or whatever than sitting in a room with the "grown-ups."

I think, aside from not having seen him for twelve years, that's what bothers me the most.  I don't remember having any  serious, meaningful, deep conversations with him.  You know, stuff like finding out how him and Granny met, or what it was  like for him growing up, how he got interested in clockwork, what it was like working at Owens...  All kinds of things that,  now that I'm older, I wish I'd taken the time to ask him.  Stuff that, as a kid, just didn't seem very important.

I've got to say, it really sucks knowing that I'll never have that chance.  I mean, you know, it was my decision not to  visit... I was avoiding my biological father, and I knew that going down to visit family there meant I'd have to deal with  him.  My Granddad's the second relative I lost without a goodbye or even a relatively recent conversation with because I was  avoiding my dad.

You can sit and look back and have regrets, but at the end of the day, you have to live with the choices you've made.  The  funeral... the funeral brought that all to life for me.

I was at work when I got the call from my brother, letting me know that Granddad had died, and telling me when the funeral  was.  In one sharp moment, I knew the past had caught up with me, and that now, not only was I going to have to deal with my  father, I was going to have to say goodbye, posthumously, to my Granddad.  I knew they thought I wasn't going to bother  making the trip... Granny, my dad, my sister Jenni... I'm pretty sure they all thought I'd skip the funeral.

Who could blame them?  Hell, the entire four-and-a-half hour ride down there, a voice in the back of my head kept saying,  "Turn around..."  And that voice wasn't Bonnie Tyler, and it had nothing to do with a total eclipse of the heart.  I couldn't  turn around though.  I knew I had to go and deal with it.  You see, the last time I'd seen my Granddad was also the last time  I'd seen my dad.  My brother.  My sister.  My Granny.

When I finally got to Meredosia, I turned onto the street that I was pretty sure was the right street, but I ended up having  to make a quick (and lucky) call on my cellphone (that had a single bar of signal).  I walked into the house, and there was  my dad, all smiles, happy to see me.  It was that moment that I let go over thirty years of disappointment and twenty years  of anger.  I just decided it wasn't worth it to be mad.  I wasn't going to let the past keep me away from my family again.

The morning of the funeral, I went with my cousin Diane to take her three children to say goodbye to Granddad before the  funeral.  She knew they'd be a bit much to handle, and had arranged for a sitter.  I walked into the funeral home, and saw  Granddad lying there in his casket, and a million thoughts just started bombarding my mind.  I decided that I was going to  hold myself together though.  I didn't want to start breaking down before the funeral, because I knew the funeral was going  to be bad enough.

I did pretty well, too, until I heard Devon (the older of Diane's two daughters) ask, "Is he sleeping?"  Diane had been  telling them they had to say goodbye to him, that this was the last time they'd see him, and then hearing that innocent  question, I felt my eyes well up with tears.

Another of my three cousins, Carrie, took me over to see my Aunt Edie's grave just before the funeral.  You see, I'd missed  saying goodbye to her as well, and her funeral too (but that's another story all together).  I remember standing there,  looking at her grave, and then crying on Carrie's shoulder as I looked down upon the final resting place of my favorite aunt.

Then it was time for the funeral.  For a 90-year-old man, he sure packed the place.  You see, my Granddad was a likeable,  friendly man, and just about everyone in town knew him.  Over the years, he'd made many, many friends.  I can only hope to  have that many people care that I've passed away when my time comes.

My dad... he started parading me about, introducing me to various friends and relatives (most of which I still don't  remember).  At 6'3", I tower over just about everyone in my family, so many of them wondered who I was.  Of course, my dad  would introduce me as his oldest son who he hadn't seen in twelve years.  "His name is James Leonard."

Every time he said that, I wanted to scream.  You see, my Granddad's name was Leonard.  My middle name was after him.  So the  emphasis he was putting on the "Leonard" portion of my name was a reminder to me that I hadn't been the world's best  grandson.  Plus, my brother's name is Leonard Edward.  I wanted to remind my dad of that every time he said my middle name,  because he wasn't parading Lenny around saying, "This is my son, Leonard."

But then, everyone there probably knew Lenny a lot better than they knew me.  I was feeling horrible though.  Not only  because of the amount of time it had been since I'd seen most of my dad's side of the family, and not only because Granddad  was gone, but now, because I felt like I'd crept out of the woodwork, and was stealing time that I really thought he should  be spending with Lenny and Jenni.

My last cousin, Pam (who is the middle of the three cousins), showed up with my "little" first cousin Tony (the last time I  saw him, he was maybe four years old, and now he was seventeen).  Tony, by the way, is probably the closest family member to  my height.  Anyhow, Pam sat down next to me, along the wall, and commented on how much my brother looked like me... I  laughed, and said I'd been thinking the same thing all day, and was probably creeping him out, because I kept staring at him.   It's true though.  Eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, overall facial structure... it's all there.  His hair's a lot darker than  mine, and he's got our dad's curly hair (somehow, I ended up with straight hair), but the resemblance is impossible to miss.

As we sat there, waiting for the funeral to begin, Lenny started talking to dad.  He was supposed to have been one of the  pall bearers, but wasn't sure he could handle it anymore.  Dad asked if I'd like to take his place, and I said I could, but  wasn't sure if I could handle it either.  In retrospect, I'm very glad that someone from the extended family filled in,  because I don't think I'd have made it.

Well, the funeral started, and unlike any funeral I'd ever been to, the family walked by the casket about a quarter of the  way through the funeral, and then they closed the casket in front of everyone (after the family left), and then the funeral  continued after we came back in.

Granny was the first to go up there, and my heart started to break watching her say goodbye to him.  I'm not sure what order  everyone else went up there until it got closer to me.  Dad got up to go, and Lenny and Jenni went with him.  I stayed back.   I just didn't feel right going up there and pretending I'd been a part of the family all those years I was gone.  So I stood,  and waited, and watched.  And felt horrible that I hadn't been anything remotely close to the world's greatest brother to  either of my siblings on this side of the family.  Now, admittedly, there are other factors involved in that, but, I  certainly share a large measure of responsibility.

As they walked off, I slowly walked forward, looking down at Granddad.  I reached out, and put my hand on his wrist, and  said, "I miss you, Granddad."  And everything I ever wanted to say to him, every conversation I knew I was never going to  have, every last bit of regret and shame came pouring out of me, and I just started crying.  I wanted so much to turn back  the clock, to make up for all the years that I hadn't come around.  I didn't want it to be too late.  But it was.  And I  couldn't do anything but stand there with tears rolling off my face.

I felt a hand on my arm, and I looked over, and there was Pam.  She put her arm around me, and gave me a hug, and we both  stood there for a moment.  Then I moved off to the side to let her and Tony have a moment.  I was surprised that Tony had  come up, because he hadn't wanted to, but I think he realized that it was the last time he'd see Granddad too.

And then the three of us turned and walked to where the rest of the family was at, the final three wrapping up the long line  of relatives who were saying goodbye.  As I walked, I heard a few whispers, asking quietly, "Who's he?" and "Who is that?"  I  knew they were talking about me.  More reminders of how absent I'd been.

I don't remember much of the service that followed.  A lot of talk about God.  That Granddad was in a far, far better place.   The usual stuff.  I was too busy swimming around my head, dealing with a ton of guilt.  It just kept building, and tearing,  and pulling at me.

I was the third car in the funeral procession.  My cousin Diane was in front of me, and Carrie behind me (Pam behind her).   My dad, Jenni, Lenny, and Granny were in the lead car.  I sat in my car, no one else with me, and just balled.  I tried to  compose myself, but I couldn't.  It wasn't until we started moving, driving toward the graveyard, that I was able to settle  down a little bit.

There was a brief graveside service, and I was doing okay by then.  At least, until I turned and saw Granny sitting, looking  on, and the look in her eyes just made me feel horrible all over again.

After it was all over, we were headed to the local VFW hall (or whatever hall it was) for the after-funeral luncheon, but  Diane had to stop by the house to let the funeral home folk bring the flowers in.  I had no idea where I was going (which is  pretty amazing for a town that holds 1200 people, has two gas stations, two bars, a general store, and not much else to speak  of), and somehow lost my cousin Carrie who had been between me and Diane (don't ask... still not sure how I missed her make  the right turn), and so ended up parked behind Diane at the house.

She got out of the car, and came over, explaining what we were waiting for, and then we started talking.  I remember saying  something like, "Today really sucks.  It really, really sucks."  She said something about how much of a shock it must be to  just get thrown back into the whole mix, and I said, "You know, it's been twelve years.  I haven't seen anyone down here  except you guys in twelve years."  I'd seen my cousins at my Uncle Kirby's funeral (and no, Uncle Kirby isn't my Aunt Edie's  husband... Uncle Kirby is my Aunt Margie's husband, and Aunt Margie is my sister Veronica's dad's sister... aren't you sorry  you asked?) about seven-and-a-half years prior.  I continued by saying, "You know, it really sucks that I don't even know my  own brother and sister.  I haven't even been a part of their lives."

"It's okay," Diane says.

I looked at her in disbelief for a moment, and then blurted out, "No it's not."

"No, really.  It is.  We understand that there were things going on, and reasons.  It's okay."  She was serious too.

I didn't believe her then.  I'm not entirely sure I do now.  But, somewhere, deep down, it is good to know that most of the  family understands that I wasn't avoiding them.

And perhaps Granddad's death, while heart-breaking, and horrible, and nearly impossible to accept, in the end brought with it  some good.  Since the funeral, I've been working to see that side of my family much more often.  I don't always succeed... My  cousin Pam, whom I desperately need to go visit in Michigan again will attest to the fact that I'm pretty lousy at it.  But  I've gotten down to Meredosia as often as possible, and am finally getting to know my brother.  My dad... he's still a bit difficult to deal with, but I try my best to manage.  My cousin Diane... I've gotten to rekindle the friendly  relationship I had with her as a kid, and have been able to spend time with her children, and even feel like her husband has  welcomed me as part of the family.  And I try to visit Granny in the nursing home every time I'm down there (though I did  fail on my last trip), and while it's depressing to be there, I wouldn't miss the opportunity to spend time with her.

So... while it still sucks, and I still feel horrible that there is no way to open up to my Granddad anymore, I think he  would be happy to know that in his passing, I've finally gotten back in touch with the rest of the family.

And I still mean my final words.  I miss you, Granddad.