So I'm working out tonight about 10:15 pm, bemoaning my current athletic abilities (translation: don't like ice cream. Otherwise you'll end up being so excited about buying fresh homemade ice cream that you'll fall flat on your patella on concrete and ruin your knee for life). I was watching NCIS, a military-mystery-CSI-forensics thing that is just perfect for me, since it gets me to stay for an entire hour...I always have to see the end!
Anywho, this particular episode was about an 82 year old marine from Iwo Jima who confessed to murdering his best friend during the battle and the ensuing investigation to figure out the truth (which happened to involve a sushi chef impersonating a Japanese veteran. Really). In one of the scenes, they're exhuming the body of his deceased friend, an action which I believe requires not only an excavator-machine, but also an honor guard. I hear them marching to the tune of "Left-Left-Left-Right-Left", their feet crunching on gravel as they walk through the cemetary to his grave, and I start bawling.
I realize I have quite the array of awkward exercising stories (I definitely fell asleep while studying chemistry on the elipticals at Shirk at 6 am. And promptly fell off. It was classy. I also decided at age 5 that I was old enough to use the stationary bike in the basement and ended up with a huuuge gash and blood all over the lineoleum floor...plus a scared-of-bikes complex that stayed for years to come). At least this time, there was no one to witness the scene I was making.
What initiated this particular outburst? Frankly---there has been a whole lot of death in my life the past week. The father of a friend from college passed away suddenly last week. Meaning, of course, that I have woken up several times in the past couple of days to nightmares of my own father dying (although, let's be serious. As a smoker, non-vegetable eater, and inhaler of copious amounts of asbestos during his youth, he's probably going to outlive us all just to spite us). And then this morning, I read this story about a woman who died of a brain aneurysm while 8 months pregnant. So death has been swimming around in my brain.
And the memories of being in a graveyard hearing soldiers walk on gravel paths...well, let's just say it was enough to move me to tears. The scene immediately put me back to about six years ago, at my grandfather's funeral at Fort Snelling. My grandfather died when I was 17, and he never found out where I went to college, he didn't see me graduate from high school, he didn't see me play French horn at IWU, he didn't see me take my first shot of Old Crow....and I wish more than anything that I could share this with him. He meant/means/will always mean a lot to me.
You know those questions you would be asked in ice-breakers about the dead person you'd like to have dinner with? He would be my choice. I could tell him all about the people that I've met here, how I can finally drink a beer now and then, how I still call my grandma every weekend, how I love to dance with my dancing partner, how I still haven't been in an car accident because of his good and patient teaching, that the smell of anise makes me think of him, that I see him in Scott's eyes every time his glasses fall down his nose, how I can finally play hard, show him a picture of me in grandma's wedding suit, that I'm trying so hard to find pussy willows here in Boston, how I bought ribbon candy last week, that I make apple pies just like I used to with him and grandma, that I love him. I wish I could tell him everything.
So, with that, I will be watching a video of my grandfather I made in high school just a few months before he died sometime this week. I converted it to DVD in undergrad, but I still haven't watched it. I've been scared....mostly that I'll hear his voice and miss him so much that I won't know what to do with myself. Actually, this past summer, I had to use the bathroom during the night, and I heard him talking. And I freaked out. But then I noticed that my brother's door was open, and he was listening to the DVD...something he told me he had been doing for every night because "it made him feel better." And oh boy, will there be tears. (my poor roommate. I'll have to warn her beforehand, or else she's probably going to think someone actually died). But the thing is---he had a wonderful life. And watching him walk through his memories will make my life so much brighter. And I will be able to see that through the tears.
2 comments:
My grandma still uses the answering machine recording that my grandpa made before he died (Dec. 9, 1999). I still call when I know she'll be out so I can listen to his voice.
You have topped all my embarassing workout stories. I am just floored you fell asleep. That's quite the accomplishment.
I hope the video was a good experience. I think it's really interesting how we are exposed to a whole new type of mourning because we can continue to hear the voice, see the mannerisms, and watch the face of those who have passed on. We are challenged to find how one copes with this.
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