Another birthday passes. My grandfather turned 93 years old a few weeks ago. Also for his birthday he moved out back into his independent residence, without assistance or meals being received. Too stubborn for help, he ignores the new clothes, the towels, or any assistance passed down from my father, mother, or myself. The Jim Dandy brotherhood of soggy eggs and toast continues to be the answer for this family.
The attraction of the attention from the twenty something waitress updating him on her new born baby and husband that farms the corn fields for a pay check intrigues my grandfather. So much that he remembers the last conversation he had with the waitress, but he can’t remember where I work or what I do for a living. Just the question, of “When will you be done with school,” meaning he still thinks I’m doing an Undergraduate degree at times. Warm fuzzies.
Being away from that familiarity and ‘comfort’ that he receives from the friendly place of the Jim Dandy brotherhood, but absent from comfort is my presence, as apparently I don’t bring much warmth with my attendance. Going to a small tawdry dwelling full of memories and familiar people who would remind you of the meals we all had while waiting for my Grandmother to recover from pneumonia; would carry a painful association. (As this ended in her eventful death at the age of 85, that meal definitely was the last time I ordered the Jim Dandy salad bar).
These memories and associations are apparently absent for my grandfather. I often wondered if it had to do with more of the memories he shared with my grandmother who passed in 2005 (after 60 years of marriage) or if it was purely the atmosphere that he desired. I suspect he does not get the same sense of presence that I get when I walk in that dusty slop bucket.
The feeling of loneliness is according to my Grandfather was more apparent in a room full of people who shared the same farming kinship rather than the independence and empty nest in his own home and local restaurant that he eats three times a day for the specials.
The familiar and comfort outfit that is chosen is typically the Double Denim with his free Farmer’s Bureau baseball cap tethered with soil, complete with matching tethered Velcro shoes. This is the Saturday outfit mind you, Sundays are of a different collaboration, and I have yet to see his weekly business choices. Perhaps next year on Christmas break when I’m off through the week and will come for visits (and fridge purging).
Next year. That has become a vulnerable point with me recently. I am nearly to the degree of skipping out on holidays and birthdays at this point with the Gramps for fear that I won’t have any excuses left for future gatherings. If I miss it, perhaps I can instill a guarantee that I’ll have ‘next time’.
Next time. The time that does come around eventually and is seldom tardy. Next time leads into next Saturday, which eventually leads to next month, and unfortunately with life happening it can turn into next year. Will I have next year? Will I have next time, or…next Saturday? I never know anymore.
These questions flow through my mind every.single.time I am with him.
I learned recently from a close friend in my life, that he also endures similar family guilt, while trying to balance his own life, and assert himself chasing after a career at the age of 27. He handles it quite calmly with little to know emotional breakdowns, unlike me who cried on the living floor after my internet technician failed to show up after a week of customer service calls. It wasn’t the internet failing. It wasn’t the frustration with the Direct TV service failing after having two other service providers in the same month in a new house unfamiliar, away from my parents. It was the basically the last straw.
In transition back to my Grandfather, who handles his grief, life, and fate all day by day striving to maintain to control over his future…Aren’t we all? Are we all the same trying to gain control over our future, trying to balance life like the 27 year old?
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I’m living life on a tight rope, and about to fall.
Showing posts with label Jim Dandy's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jim Dandy's. Show all posts
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Being the Only
Breakfast with Grandpa
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)