The Heart of the Lion

My grandpa died a week ago.

I am not a girl who handles death well. On my best days, I am an anxious ball of stress and worry, and the smallest reminder that all of our days here are numbered is not good for my already fragile mind. My grandpa was my last grandpa, the patriarch on my dad’s side. My grandma died a decade ago, and he spent those ten years missing her so much. It was always heartbreaking coming to Michigan for a visit and hearing him talk about how sad he was without her. I will never know what it is like to be loved that way. They met when they were barely adults and spent 60 years as husband and wife. Over the past few months as he lost the remainder of his memory, my grandfather constantly asked where my grandma was, and he was devastated when anyone told him. How terrible it must be to continuously relive one of the worst things to ever happen to you.

I was not the closest to my grandfather, and I always felt guilty about that. He was a cool guy, and he loved us. He was so proud of my girls. The pastor of his church sat with my daughters and me at the luncheon after the service and told us that Grandpa always talked to him about his North Carolina girls. He was known to whip out photos of the twins when meeting with his friends at Arnold Amusements at the Cherry Festival in Traverse City so that he could score a couple of stuffed animals for them. Every year, he sold ride tickets for Harbor Days, the small festival that is held in Elk Rapids every year. Visiting at that time of year has been my favorite tradition, and with it came a sense of pride that I was Bob’s granddaughter. I knew how hard he worked to raise money for the fireworks that were set off over Grand Traverse Bay on the final night. One year, we had an abundance of extra ride tickets, and Kylie and I went to the carnival with the intention of handing them out to unsuspecting fairgoers. We stood a few feet away from the ticket machine, and when a group of preteens or parents with young children came close intending to purchase, I would sneak over and ask if they wanted free tickets before handing them a sheet or two. That was the most fun day. Those tickets were expensive, and I was so happy to play the part of the ticket fairy.

My grandpa was a proud member of the local chapter of the Lions Club. I don’t remember him ever not being a Lion. He served as District Governor (and my grandma as First Lady) the year that my oldest daughter was born. There are lion statues and figurines scattered throughout his home, inside and out. He was buried in his Lions blazer, embellished with pins and patches representing his many years of service. On his tie was a beautiful sketched print of a lion. That was the thing that made me cry. Knowing that he was finally with my grandma again should have brought me great peace, but the whole situation just made me sad. There was this incredible feeling of finality that just blanketed everything and ruined it all.

My girls and I came up for a long weekend in the middle of September. It was the only chance that we were going to have to visit for this year. I had a work trip scheduled to California in October, so I wasn’t going to able to go on vacation during the week that I had planned. We were trying to figure out what to do for the few consecutive days off that I had managed, and I just had a wild hair to book flights and come up north. It was a whirlwind trip, and we wanted to surprise my dad although he didn’t seem incredibly thrilled at our attempt. He has been so stressed, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea. The older I get, the more worried I am about missing a year. The what ifs worry me incessantly. I am so glad that we made the trip. My girls were able to hug grandpa one last time and tell him that they loved him on the day that we left to drive back to Detroit to catch our flight home. We didn’t know it would be the last time. Knowing would just make it worse.

A few days before he passed, my grandpa was taken to a care facility in Traverse City because he was struggling so badly with dementia that he had no idea of where he was or who was around him. He thought that my dad was two different people, and he was continuing conversations with people who have been gone for several decades. The day after he went there, I called to check on him, and I was able to FaceTime with him for a few minutes. I don’t know for sure that he knew who I was, but he mentioned “the girls,” so I like to think that he did, even if it was for a brief moment.

Things are kind of a mess now. My family seems to be falling apart before my eyes. This is not a surprise by any means, but I think that I held out hope that we would somehow manage to bypass the sticky parts of fighting over an estate. My dad moved to Michigan ten years ago to care for my grandpa after Grandma died, and this has been his home during that time, too. Now, my aunts seemingly cannot get rid of him fast enough so that they can sell everything. I don’t care to know anything about the dividing of assets or of the amount of money in anyone’s accounts. It is sad to see that at the end of someone’s life, this is what remains. My dad is sad and hurt, and I am sad and hurt for him. I know that he is broken hearted at the thought of selling the house that he has loved for his entire life. I have spent the week trying to memorize the parts of it that have meant the most to me. Playing Barbies with my cousin in the living room when I was seven, the Saturday that all of my uncles played football in the grass at the side of the house, Kylie biting into a tomato fresh from the vine in the front yard and being disappointed that it wasn’t an apple. I spent my summers pouring over my grandma’s old Nancy Drew mysteries, the one thing that was just ours to cherish together. We celebrated birthdays and Christmases here, had cookouts beside the garage, gathered for family photos under the fall leaves. It is sad to know that this will likely be the last time that I am here. Elk Rapids has always been my favorite place in the world, and now it feels like it won’t be mine anymore. There won’t be anything here in this village for me after this. The magic was already gone before we even arrived. My family will never be the same, and it is the worst feeling in the entire world.

I hope that somewhere, my grandparents are sitting on a beach that is just as beautiful as the banks of Lake Michigan, holding hands and thinking of how lucky they are to have one another. I can’t wait to see them again, too.