He was one of the most important men in my life. I talked to him about everything. He always knew just what to say. He gave great advice. He gave great kisses. He hugged and held. I loved spending time with him.
As if it were yesterday, I remember running through the field (Little House on the Prairie style!) to go spend time with him. As soon as I heard his transitor radio, that was carefully placed in the branches of an apple tree, turn on in the garden I would race to get ready, hop the electric fence, and run through the tall pasture grass to see what he was up to today. Picking blackberries. Hoeing the rows. Cutting dahlias. We would work together side by side and chat. I would say something silly and he would laugh at me with his crooked smile and say "I'm not sure about you, Sugar Bush (his nickname for me)!" and he'd kiss my forehead and we'd get back to work. Picking beans. Shelling peas. Smashing oyster shells. Feeding chickens. I loved working with him. One of my most important jobs was chasing the little white butterflies off of the plants in the garden. He wore a black and gray cap that read "Sexy Senior Citizen" every day. He'd see one of those butterflies and toss me his hat and yell, "Go get it!" and I'd run after it. He'd laugh while I jumped over rows and ducked under grape vines to catch the darn butterflies.
When it came time for me to go to the big city to UW, he and I still remained close. I called him every night at 7:00, because he didn't want me using my minutes on him. One night I forgot and I'm sure he had all of the Seattle Police Department searching ditches for me. My mom called in a panic telling me to call my grandpa. I remember crying as I was so ashamed I had forgotten him! We talked for a while and when I got off the phone, I set my watch alarm to go off at 7:00 every night so I would not forget again.
I was halfway through grad school when I got the call at work that he was dying and I needed to get home. He was 93 at the time and had been struggling for a while. Our last hangout time had been watching the Huskies win the Rose Bowl at Harrison Hospital because he was having heart and lung troubles. I got off work and raced home as quickly as I could. My mom called me on the bus on my way home to tell me he had died. My phone cut out both times she tried to tell me so I never had to hear those words, but I knew. I sobbed quietly on the bus as I made my way to the ferry to get home to my family. I was devastated. And still am some days...like today...his birthday...
There are many times that I am so, so thankful that my grandpa wasn't alive to watch my life unravel like it did. At many points in that process I thought of him and what he would be thinking and saying during our struggle and I was so glad he wasn't around to watch it all. And on the other hand, I'd give anything to sit at his feet, sob in his lap, and hear him say, "It'll be ok, Sugar Bush..." and have him kiss my forehead. I miss him. I miss everything about him.
This morning as I was going outside to empty the recycle bin, my girls ran out behind me onto the back deck. I heard them both giggling and yelling "Look, mommy!" I turned and gasped as I saw two little white butterflies dancing around my girls' tiny faces...their wings delicately fluttering and hovering around their heads. And I burst into tears and my heart leapt with joy for I knew who those butterflies were, and who they were for. My grandpa, and probably my grandma, just stopping in to let us know they're watching. They know. They know what I need and they know what we've been through. I can only hope that they are proud of me, and enjoying getting to know my girls from afar. Grandpa would have loved them so! And would have come up with the best nicknames for them ever.
Happy birthday, grandpa! I love you, and miss you, with all my heart...
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