A tribute to a man whose life cannot be expressed in words, but whose presence lives on in stories, feelings, and moments that won’t ever be forgotten.
“Life is full of grief, to exactly the depth we allow ourself to love other people.”
—Orson Scott Card,
Shadow of the Giant
Death is a scary thing.
We may all talk about it as if it’s natural and eventual and something we need to accept, but even that doesn’t change the fact that it’s scary.
How do you say goodbye to someone who served as the thread in your childhood and the pillar in your adulthood?
How are we all expected to sit by and watch and mourn as those we hold so dearly to our heart suffer and wither and fade away so much sooner than we were ready for?
How do you capture in words the essence of a man who commanded the room with his life stories and flooded his family with love, food, and memories that will forever remain regardless of time here on Earth?
I barely have authority to talk about the kind of wonderful man that was my husband’s grandfather, but I shall try for the sake of the wonderful legacy he leaves behind.
When I was lovingly welcomed into this family after meeting my (now)husband so many years ago, I knew immediately that Grandpa A was both a force to be reckoned with and a pillar of strength upon which his family was built.
This week, the world lost a legend.
I don’t have the kind of bittersweet and sepia toned memories to share that my husband has, but I definitely have abundant memories of this great man.
He left our world as a storyteller extraordinaire, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a great grandfather. Through all of those roles, he lived a life larger than this world could contain.
The stories of his career as a high end businessman were only a part of his repertoire. His stories also included mischievous shenanigans with the neighborhood cronies that he grew up with, tales of safaris and explorations and adventures with his wife, and retellings of unbelievable pranks, fishing expeditions, and traditions.
Yet, through all of the life that he lived and stories of all the places he visited, one common thread ran through his life.
Magic.
It didn’t matter if you were having a cup of afternoon coffee in the backyard paradise of his quaint home or sharing a glass of wine as he whipped up his signature vinaigrette; every moment spent in his presence was magic.
It really didn’t matter if you were two, nine, twenty, or old enough that you had stopped counting your birthdays. You still felt his magic.
He had this aura that drew you in and begged you to sit for a while. Once you became enamored with his presence, you were already a goner. You could bet that whatever story he was weaving would forever be embedded within your heart.
If you were fortunate enough to see his art, you would have understood that there was always a part of his soul that tried to show the world what beauty was.
Now, it may be true that his definition of beauty and that of those that never understood the allure of his “mask room” may be different, but I assure you that his creative soul far exceeded the realm of simple art.
No, Grandpa’s art included the seasonal dressing of Celeste (their resident living room mannequin), tributes to both people and precious animals he loved, and, of course, the cat nemeses that he so painstakingly created to keep the felines off of undesirable surfaces.
(You will not be surprised to hear that we have had many cats over the years, and have since had to retire and preserve our own cat nemesis, created by the great Grandpa A, since our beloved past cat decided to chew off the sharp points of the nemesis, thus forcing us to repair and retire the device for more calm felines who can appreciate his artistry without eating it.)
The thing about a losing a family icon like this is that you still feel his presence and love and personality so fiercely that you just know there must be something more than the end.
I won’t pretend that I know what forever holds. I can’t persuade you to believe that death isn’t an ugly and terrifying word.
What I can attest to is so much more than those.
I can give testament to the value that a strong family pillar provides. I can swear to you that family gatherings involving tradition and food and laughter are worth investing time in. I can promise you that photos are worth the taking and that you won’t ever forget the memories that center around the stronghold of your family.
While facing this world without our beloved Grandpa Arnold may be tough, there is no doubt that the family foundation he built and the memories that sustain it will last forever.
Be grateful (for your family), water your own grass…
And drink coffee.