laughing over orange juice

Connecting with my grandfather

Toddler guzzling his juice

If only he could’ve made it to our breakfast table, he’d see himself in his great grandson.

I don’t often pulled out the juicer. It’s a lot of setup and cleanup. When I do, my son eagerly pushes his “toddler tower” into the side of the counter. With bright blue eyes he chants “up up!” (If you ever wondered how I stay in shape, it’s because I’m lifting 30lbs over and over and over again.) He’s pretty good about feeding sliced fruit into the juicer. However, every so often, he will sneak a bite before throwing it in. Whenever I catch him, he laughs with so much gusto. A laugh I’ve mostly known from my grandfather. Unapologetic, boisterous and a full display of pretty teeth.

I have to be swift about divvying up the juice otherwise my son will drink it all. In that moment, I feel most like my grandfather when he’d give us a swallow’s worth of orange juice. I’m uncertain of the upbringing my grandfather had but I believe he didn’t grow up with much. At the very least, he didn’t believe in food waste and now I get that children will waste your food if you’re not careful.

I’m happy to report that my 2 year old can be trusted with a glass cup to drink from. Before we can even say grace, he will down all of his juice. So fast that when he’s done, he’s heavy breathing and saying “good…more?” And all we can do is laugh. I reassure him that he can have more after his breakfast to which he begrudgingly obliges to. One thing for certain that my grandfather passed down to me is the importance of having breakfast everyday at the table. A tradition I definitely plan on maintaining.

I wish my grandfather could see how his legacy has come to fruition. In little moments like this, I know he’d be proud. That we don’t have to ration the juice anymore. That we get to make it fresh and as much as we want. That his great grandson doesn’t have to hide his joy. Ultimately, that his efforts weren’t in vain.

Dementia tried to claim his whole mind. My grandfather may have forgotten where he was, what day it is or where he put his glasses but he didn’t forget me. He did his best to remember my husband and my son. Even when he sometimes forgot who we were, he greeted us with kindness and thanked us for visiting. Dementia could never take away his loving mentality.

After breakfast, we tend to sit on the couch and watch the birds. Lately, a cardinal will come up to the window and look at us. Potentially, it’s the same cardinal I’ve been listening to sing the loudest harmonies throughout the day. I like to think that’s my grandfather visiting me. Nobody at Trinity Baptist Church could sing like him. Nobody in our yard can sing like that Cardinal can.

With each song-filled visit, my heartbeat crescendos. My love is looking for a place to go. After all, that’s what grief is according to a quote I’ve seen float around. Grief is just love with no place to go. For now, it’ll go to the cardinal for that’s where my grandfather is. At least that’s what I must tell myself to keep going…

With tender & heavy love,

Carri

PS in case it isn’t clear, I lost both of my grandfathers two weeks ago and I’m writing to more through the waves of grief. It’s hard to switch from “is” to “was” when talking about someone. So bear with me please, I’m in the valley.