"Just turn to my embrace
I won't let you come to nothing." -- Birdy
I started this blog in late October and I never finished it. I think it was because I was hoping that I'd be able to close it with... "But now I feel great and look how much I have learned about him since!" I know that statement doesn't make much sense now, but as you read, you might gain some clarity. I've been very reluctant to post this because its been so many months since it happened, but its been on my mind a lot lately, and I felt that it was important to externalize. Here goes...
I was sort of always wondering what this would feel like.
My grandfather died.
I just found out today (yesterday). But it happened on October 8th (weeks ago).
My family has always had sort of a different dynamic. And thats because, I'm half adopted.
Here's the short version: My moms my mom, but my dad as I call him now is "technically" my step father, although I made the choice in 4th grade to change my last name and have him be my legal father. As far as the courts and all the people in my life are concerned, my father is Lloyd. And that was a choice. It was my choice.
My biological father (Wayne) is estranged at best. I had some communication with him right before the adoption process, but before that it was sparse and far in between instances. It wasn't always that way. I have a lot of fond memories with him as a kid, but for some reason beyond my understanding he made the choice to slowly exit. As the saying goes, if someone cuts you out of their life, chances are you handed them the scissors. So I took those scissors and made the cut. Thats not say I haven't been curious as to what he's up to, where he's been and if he thinks about me and yada yada yada. Because I think about it rather often. But aside from a few VERY strange letters during my high school and college years that were years apart, I have no clue whats going there.
I don't talk about it often because, its really not something that guides me or is a source of motivation either positive or negative, although any psychologist on the planet could tell you that its likely had an effect on all of my relationships.
But, the beautiful thing in it is that I was given the opportunity to choose my new "dad". I'm sure my mother was met with many challenges in getting remarried and finding the man to grow old with, I'm sure I was a large factor in deciding who was the right fit entirely. Lloyd was/is that man for my mother, and for a man who had never been around kids he certainly made the effort and became the male figure in my life, happily.
Lloyd wasn't the only silver lining, however. As strange as the abandonment of my birth father was and still is, honestly, the relationship between HIS father and my mother remained a close one. My mother used to joke about how if his son was more like him, they'd likely had stayed together.
*enter my tears*
See, the thing is, I'm so conflicted and angry about his death. Because right now I'm sitting here trying to remember scraps of memories that have faded almost beyond little snapshots.
George was not a constant force in my adolescent years. Or I suppose he was, perhaps the better word there is: He was not a "frequent" force in my adolescent years. While his son and my mother had long been divorced, he'd still call and check in. It wasn't super often, maybe once a year or so. But it was nice. I remember feeling almost burdened by the phone conversation once because I was a teenager and was all about not dealing with it, but I do remember one time coming home from school and him being there (it may have been the only time he ever came to westminster, honestly) and having some fun conversation. I think that was the first time I really recognized and appreciated his humor, and... the first time I saw him in myself.
It was also the last time I saw him.
He moved to Idaho with his other son, and checked in much less regularly. There was a thought a few years back about him moving to Westminster to be closer but that obviously never happened.
I'm rambling. Anyway. While I don't have a lot of yearly memories of the man, I do remember feeling connected to him, possibly more than I ever did with my birth father.
And that really fucking sucks.
And what sucks even more is that, after spending about an hour online tonight, all I could find in his obituary was: George E. Gray, 94, of Buhl, passed away October 8, 2015 at Desert View Care Center in Buhl. Funeral arrangements are under the direction of Farmer Funeral Chapel in Buhl.
That is it. Nothing else. Nothing at all. No "how" or "why" or anything about his family and if there was a service or anything. I did manage to find some vague things about the funeral home, and MAYBE where he lived. But nothing about who he left behind, and who he was. And that sucks.
The only person close to him is his other son, who I know has had his own health problems as well. The kind of health problems that make him only good for the highlights at best.
And now, I really know nothing about George and that hurts. It hurts so much more immensely than I thought it would. I remember loving him, and I remembering him loving me. And so thusly, I will need to write all the things I DO remember about him. Because he deserves more than 2 lines on a shitty webpage.
I remember spending thanksgivings with him, and not wanting to leave his and nana's place even though it smelled SO much like cigarette smoke. I remember Nana igniting my love for butter beans (don't even start with me, that shit is amazeballs!!). I remember him living nearish to the airport, cuz the planes used to fly low and when I was really young I hated it cuz it scared me, but then I would crawl on the couch to look out the window anyway. :) I remember the box/bag of toys that were specifically there for me every time. And I remember there being one book about a grandpa and his grandson, and how that grandpa reminded me of my own and I liked when he read it to me.
I remember the weird 1970's/1980's decor of their house. There was this golden dolphin or fish wall art thing that just blew my mind. I remember him calling us when I was in high school and telling my mother and I that he was going to be a wal mart greeter and we joked about him being a dirty old man. I remember his guitar. I remember knowing that I got a lot of talent from him. I loved when he played.
I haven't been able to sleep. Thinking about thats... all I have, its making me crazy.
I don't want to marginalize this or even sensationalize it. i just want it to "be".
Was he scared? Were there extraordinary measures? How did it happen? Was he proud of me? How often was I a presence in his mind?
In truth, and knowing more about people than I used to, He probably thought about more more often than I know. I know that the feeling is mutual.
I'm not sure that I believe in heaven, its times like these where I wish that I really did because I think it would ease the pain and the loss a little. But I find myself, believing in spirituality. And I'd like to think that he's sitting in his old armchair watching the tv thats tuned into my life, watching what I'm doing. I like the idea that he's still around in a spiritual sense, watching the Mflave Tube, checkin in.
The sense of loss I feel is disproportionate to some, and I know that. I don't have a ton of memories and he missed most of my lifes milestones. But the connection I have always felt with him makes this parting so incredibly unfathomable.
And there is nothing that I can find, that even comes close to a memorial of his life. There is literally nothing in cyberspace that I can find about ANYTHING involving his death OR his life.
Then a few weeks after his death, my mother sent me a birthday package to my house, and in it was a picture of George.
I remember this picture vividly. I remember thinking it was quintessential George. That face (which, uhh... apparently is hereditary... lol), guitar in hand, performing. He has a warmth in his look, a welcoming posturing, even in this photograph.
Its one of only a few photographs that I know of that exists of him.
Its the only one I have.
The only one.
And so I will share it with you.
Now this is present day. March. And I find myself reflecting about him still. And how there are so many questions unanswered, and how they always will remain that way. And that makes me sad. And while i've never aspired to have a big family, it is a staggering thought that the blood line will end here with me (but thats a whooole other topic...). Its just, he was a very large part of my childhood and... the loss of him, the idea that he longer is walking around out there. That his life is just... gone. With no real hope of having any closure or answers. It hurts. So much deeper than I had anticipated. It stops me in my tracks sometimes.
And it pisses me off to now end how little I know about him, or that side of my family because of the way life played out for me as a kid. And to be frank about it, its total bullshit that so little is available to be known about this wonderful, goofy, eccentrically great man. It makes me so angry. But, oddly... despite my internal struggle with this whole situation from top to bottom, this picture... this one single image is exactly how I remembered him. I am washed over with a blanket of warmth, a little smile and if I concentrate a little hard, I can almost smell his very outdated cigarette filled apartment.
So, I guess... I'm thankful for this picture. This picture is literally all that I have of George. It seems so trite to word it that way. This sounds really... almost inappropriate coming from me, but pictures really are the thing that stands the test of time, I guess is what I'm realizing now more than ever. This is where he exists now. And my connection to it, is all that lingers.
You do'nt have to understand what I'm feeling, and I'm sure much of this is just ramblings of a 30-something trying to piece whats left of her family memories together, and I'm sure many people view my devastation, even months later, is a little ridiculous considering he wasn't so present in my life. But before you go and pass judgement on a situation and person, for a moment think about what it would feel like to be severed, by no fault of your own, from part your family; the people that help shape you, and are meant to love you your whole life, and still feeling a deep connection there, and then as time passes, the miles grow and terrible health takes over... so much so that it takes an indescribable bond from you... and no one tells you. Until weeks after. Let me tell you, it feels pretty awful.
Its been months now, and I'm certianly not crippled by it, but it still bothers me that there is just so much out there that I'll never know now. I wouldn't say its regret, that I'm feeling. But its an indescribable sadness of all the unknowns here. And sometimes, like today, it just hits me like a ton of bricks.
George, I love you. You were never anything but kind and wonderful and silly to/for/with me. And every time I look at this picture, I will be reminded of the man that you will always be, to me.
Hug your families, your kids, your dogs, your birds, your cats, your friends... whoever. Life is strange and sometimes there are no answers. But I can guarantee a little of that feeling of uneasiness that we all feel sometimes can be cured by a good hug from someone amazing.
Love to you and yours,
~martha
I started this blog in late October and I never finished it. I think it was because I was hoping that I'd be able to close it with... "But now I feel great and look how much I have learned about him since!" I know that statement doesn't make much sense now, but as you read, you might gain some clarity. I've been very reluctant to post this because its been so many months since it happened, but its been on my mind a lot lately, and I felt that it was important to externalize. Here goes...
I was sort of always wondering what this would feel like.
My grandfather died.
I just found out today (yesterday). But it happened on October 8th (weeks ago).
My family has always had sort of a different dynamic. And thats because, I'm half adopted.
Here's the short version: My moms my mom, but my dad as I call him now is "technically" my step father, although I made the choice in 4th grade to change my last name and have him be my legal father. As far as the courts and all the people in my life are concerned, my father is Lloyd. And that was a choice. It was my choice.
My biological father (Wayne) is estranged at best. I had some communication with him right before the adoption process, but before that it was sparse and far in between instances. It wasn't always that way. I have a lot of fond memories with him as a kid, but for some reason beyond my understanding he made the choice to slowly exit. As the saying goes, if someone cuts you out of their life, chances are you handed them the scissors. So I took those scissors and made the cut. Thats not say I haven't been curious as to what he's up to, where he's been and if he thinks about me and yada yada yada. Because I think about it rather often. But aside from a few VERY strange letters during my high school and college years that were years apart, I have no clue whats going there.
I don't talk about it often because, its really not something that guides me or is a source of motivation either positive or negative, although any psychologist on the planet could tell you that its likely had an effect on all of my relationships.
But, the beautiful thing in it is that I was given the opportunity to choose my new "dad". I'm sure my mother was met with many challenges in getting remarried and finding the man to grow old with, I'm sure I was a large factor in deciding who was the right fit entirely. Lloyd was/is that man for my mother, and for a man who had never been around kids he certainly made the effort and became the male figure in my life, happily.
Lloyd wasn't the only silver lining, however. As strange as the abandonment of my birth father was and still is, honestly, the relationship between HIS father and my mother remained a close one. My mother used to joke about how if his son was more like him, they'd likely had stayed together.
*enter my tears*
See, the thing is, I'm so conflicted and angry about his death. Because right now I'm sitting here trying to remember scraps of memories that have faded almost beyond little snapshots.
George was not a constant force in my adolescent years. Or I suppose he was, perhaps the better word there is: He was not a "frequent" force in my adolescent years. While his son and my mother had long been divorced, he'd still call and check in. It wasn't super often, maybe once a year or so. But it was nice. I remember feeling almost burdened by the phone conversation once because I was a teenager and was all about not dealing with it, but I do remember one time coming home from school and him being there (it may have been the only time he ever came to westminster, honestly) and having some fun conversation. I think that was the first time I really recognized and appreciated his humor, and... the first time I saw him in myself.
It was also the last time I saw him.
He moved to Idaho with his other son, and checked in much less regularly. There was a thought a few years back about him moving to Westminster to be closer but that obviously never happened.
I'm rambling. Anyway. While I don't have a lot of yearly memories of the man, I do remember feeling connected to him, possibly more than I ever did with my birth father.
And that really fucking sucks.
And what sucks even more is that, after spending about an hour online tonight, all I could find in his obituary was: George E. Gray, 94, of Buhl, passed away October 8, 2015 at Desert View Care Center in Buhl. Funeral arrangements are under the direction of Farmer Funeral Chapel in Buhl.
That is it. Nothing else. Nothing at all. No "how" or "why" or anything about his family and if there was a service or anything. I did manage to find some vague things about the funeral home, and MAYBE where he lived. But nothing about who he left behind, and who he was. And that sucks.
The only person close to him is his other son, who I know has had his own health problems as well. The kind of health problems that make him only good for the highlights at best.
And now, I really know nothing about George and that hurts. It hurts so much more immensely than I thought it would. I remember loving him, and I remembering him loving me. And so thusly, I will need to write all the things I DO remember about him. Because he deserves more than 2 lines on a shitty webpage.
I remember spending thanksgivings with him, and not wanting to leave his and nana's place even though it smelled SO much like cigarette smoke. I remember Nana igniting my love for butter beans (don't even start with me, that shit is amazeballs!!). I remember him living nearish to the airport, cuz the planes used to fly low and when I was really young I hated it cuz it scared me, but then I would crawl on the couch to look out the window anyway. :) I remember the box/bag of toys that were specifically there for me every time. And I remember there being one book about a grandpa and his grandson, and how that grandpa reminded me of my own and I liked when he read it to me.
I remember the weird 1970's/1980's decor of their house. There was this golden dolphin or fish wall art thing that just blew my mind. I remember him calling us when I was in high school and telling my mother and I that he was going to be a wal mart greeter and we joked about him being a dirty old man. I remember his guitar. I remember knowing that I got a lot of talent from him. I loved when he played.
I haven't been able to sleep. Thinking about thats... all I have, its making me crazy.
I don't want to marginalize this or even sensationalize it. i just want it to "be".
Was he scared? Were there extraordinary measures? How did it happen? Was he proud of me? How often was I a presence in his mind?
In truth, and knowing more about people than I used to, He probably thought about more more often than I know. I know that the feeling is mutual.
I'm not sure that I believe in heaven, its times like these where I wish that I really did because I think it would ease the pain and the loss a little. But I find myself, believing in spirituality. And I'd like to think that he's sitting in his old armchair watching the tv thats tuned into my life, watching what I'm doing. I like the idea that he's still around in a spiritual sense, watching the Mflave Tube, checkin in.
The sense of loss I feel is disproportionate to some, and I know that. I don't have a ton of memories and he missed most of my lifes milestones. But the connection I have always felt with him makes this parting so incredibly unfathomable.
And there is nothing that I can find, that even comes close to a memorial of his life. There is literally nothing in cyberspace that I can find about ANYTHING involving his death OR his life.
Then a few weeks after his death, my mother sent me a birthday package to my house, and in it was a picture of George.
I remember this picture vividly. I remember thinking it was quintessential George. That face (which, uhh... apparently is hereditary... lol), guitar in hand, performing. He has a warmth in his look, a welcoming posturing, even in this photograph.
Its one of only a few photographs that I know of that exists of him.
Its the only one I have.
The only one.
And so I will share it with you.
Now this is present day. March. And I find myself reflecting about him still. And how there are so many questions unanswered, and how they always will remain that way. And that makes me sad. And while i've never aspired to have a big family, it is a staggering thought that the blood line will end here with me (but thats a whooole other topic...). Its just, he was a very large part of my childhood and... the loss of him, the idea that he longer is walking around out there. That his life is just... gone. With no real hope of having any closure or answers. It hurts. So much deeper than I had anticipated. It stops me in my tracks sometimes.
And it pisses me off to now end how little I know about him, or that side of my family because of the way life played out for me as a kid. And to be frank about it, its total bullshit that so little is available to be known about this wonderful, goofy, eccentrically great man. It makes me so angry. But, oddly... despite my internal struggle with this whole situation from top to bottom, this picture... this one single image is exactly how I remembered him. I am washed over with a blanket of warmth, a little smile and if I concentrate a little hard, I can almost smell his very outdated cigarette filled apartment.
So, I guess... I'm thankful for this picture. This picture is literally all that I have of George. It seems so trite to word it that way. This sounds really... almost inappropriate coming from me, but pictures really are the thing that stands the test of time, I guess is what I'm realizing now more than ever. This is where he exists now. And my connection to it, is all that lingers.
You do'nt have to understand what I'm feeling, and I'm sure much of this is just ramblings of a 30-something trying to piece whats left of her family memories together, and I'm sure many people view my devastation, even months later, is a little ridiculous considering he wasn't so present in my life. But before you go and pass judgement on a situation and person, for a moment think about what it would feel like to be severed, by no fault of your own, from part your family; the people that help shape you, and are meant to love you your whole life, and still feeling a deep connection there, and then as time passes, the miles grow and terrible health takes over... so much so that it takes an indescribable bond from you... and no one tells you. Until weeks after. Let me tell you, it feels pretty awful.
Its been months now, and I'm certianly not crippled by it, but it still bothers me that there is just so much out there that I'll never know now. I wouldn't say its regret, that I'm feeling. But its an indescribable sadness of all the unknowns here. And sometimes, like today, it just hits me like a ton of bricks.
George, I love you. You were never anything but kind and wonderful and silly to/for/with me. And every time I look at this picture, I will be reminded of the man that you will always be, to me.
Hug your families, your kids, your dogs, your birds, your cats, your friends... whoever. Life is strange and sometimes there are no answers. But I can guarantee a little of that feeling of uneasiness that we all feel sometimes can be cured by a good hug from someone amazing.
Love to you and yours,
~martha
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