Goodbye Grandpa

I had not been to Grandpa’s house in so many years I had forgotten how beautiful it was here. I made my way through the yard thinking that the house looked so much smaller than I had remembered and that it looked so run down. The house looked tired, I thought to myself and I began to feel that same tiredness seeping into my bones. I found myself rounding the north corner of the house coming into the back yard. I was greeted by the waiting open arms of all my old friends, the trees I had climbed in as a kid. My old tree house still occupied a massive oak on the furthest corner of grandpa’s lot. I smiled at the memory of that old thing and wondered if it would support my grown up form as solidly as it had my 10 year old self.

It was then that I saw the bench there under the outstretched canopy of branches right in the middle of the back yard. I almost choked on the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat. It tasted a lot like guilt mixed in with just a dash of regret. I recognized the flavor immediately. It was hard to say exactly why I had not visited my grandpa more often, too busy with my own life I guess. Now here I am saying goodbye.

Growing up, he had been the only person in my life that I could ever truly count on. He always stood by me even when he did not agree with the choices I made. I always knew that he loved me and that he would never turn his back on me. When my parents were too absorbed in their own lives to give me the attention or support that I needed, Grandpa was always right there.


I had promised him, on the day I left for College, that I would be back to visit as often as possible. I wish now that I had kept that promise. He has had five birthdays since that day; all of which I missed. It’s not that I had not wanted to see him, I had. I still called him at least once a month, but I realize now that was not enough. I had used a whole collection of excuses, good plausible reasons why I could not make it every year.

There were finals to contend with, jobs I could not get away from and that time I had the flu. Only I knew that the finals had actually been a hot date, and it was not a job keeping me away but a Matchbox 20 concert that I had tickets for. Of course that nasty flu I developed on the day of his 70th birthday extravaganza had in reality been a tequila induced hangover. There was that damned lump again, struggling to take my breath away.

Staring now at this old wooden bench, covered in a Picasso of bird droppings and leaves I could recall every single hour spent in play here. When I was three and we spent the entire day raking leaves into a pile in front of it just so that I could dive into them, sending them flying about in a colorful plume. I replayed every life-altering conversation we’d had here, from junior high through high school. Every major event in my life, discussed with this man whom I'd loved deeply, all taking place on this old wooden bench.

I bent over to inspect it closer, and there on the third slat of the seat, on the left hand side were the remains of my thirteenth birthday. My initials C.W.R. were carved with my present. He’d given me the first pocket-knife I’d ever owned. I looked around and realized how much this spot was a part of my life. It had become our special place, mine and grandpas, our safe place, our retreat from the rest of the world.

Nothing could penetrate from the outside while we were in this sacred place. Nothing until now-- he left this place two days ago, in his sleep, with his favorite book on his chest. I had not been able to tell him how much he meant to me or even to say good-bye. As I struggled to hold back the flood of tears that threatened, my eyes were drawn to the other side of the bench. There, in big block letters, undoubtedly carved by an old arthritic hand, were the words “I LOVE YOU” and “GOOD-BYE”, He’d signed it, “Grandpa”. Even in death, he was still there for me when I needed him.