Connecting Generations...

February 15th of 2003, the day after I lost my Grandfather, began a regret in me that grew over time. Most especially that regret became more tangible as my own child began to grow older and asked me questions about our family. My Grandfather died when he was 91 years old. He had lived an epic life and I was reduced to words when I told my child about him. I had some photographs. I had family pictures and videos here and there, but the man was so much bigger.  I did not know where to begin.

While the words I used to describe my Grandfather were heartfelt and significant, I struggled to use them in any way that was adequate to describe the man; of how he raised a family in the Great Depression working three jobs or that, despite his age, he signed up and served in the Theatre of the Pacific in World War II. When he returned from his journey, my mother, his 3 year old was in the second grade. Or that he worked as a sponge diver as a young man. He was knowledgeable enough to tell us the magical stories of generations past who had fought in the American Revolution or of a French princess who married into our family. We even had an American vice president somewhere down the line. But my Grandpa was gone now and I was left with only the words.

Time has passed. It is six years later...and there is not a single day that I don't think of him...not one. I try to find ways to incorporate his presence into the life of my growing son with anecdotal stories that are funny or something resonant of the old man's personality. I even relate the sad ones, like the day his dog, Blue, died. Losing his Blue was the first time first time in my life that I'd seen him cry. Or, I explain to my boy why my Swiss Army knife that Grandpa gave me is special and why I really can't part with it just yet. My son may not remember his great-grandfather, but it is important for him to know where he came from. And I will always remind him, this youngest generation of my family, of the place and time of that older generation; of that dearest man who carved this deep well in my heart that continues to overflow...and it pours nothing but love, tenderness and remembrance.