Had my grandfather been younger, I am certain he would have delighted in taking Baxter for walkies and in throwing the ball for him in his backyard. Spending time doing things with him, much has he did with my brother and I when we were little. And my grandfather would have probably been a bit more strict in applying the same rules of doggie ownership that he applied to his own beloved dog so many years ago. But both made merry do with their circumstances, and who was I to deny them the happiness derived from the flood of beef jerky snackies that overtly, and often covertly, flowed between two mutually consenting parties?
Three more snackie filled, happy little kielbasa visits and five years would pass before my grandfather would die peacefully at his home on what was this past Good Friday. I have struggled in finding the words to share this news and adequately remark on his life. I thought about it as I made our preparations to attend his funeral, with every black skirt I tried on, and with every stitch I made into the black top that I knew, had he still been alive, would have garnered the kind of compliment that only those in my mother's family could make. I thought about it as I packed our things for the long journey to his home, where my brother and I spent the careless summers of our youth, and thought about it at every rest area we stopped, and with every hour that passed driving on the interstates that ultimately led us to the bittersweet intersection of the past, present, and future.
I had hoped that the passage time would eventually give me the voice I needed to eloquently say what I thought I wanted to say, before my timing got despicably tardy as is often the case with the thank you notes I am always very late in sending. But truth be told, only snippets have come to me, and they often leave my mind as quickly as they appear, lest tears break through the walls of my usually impenetrable fortress of optimism and happiness.
It pains me to know that many of my grandfather's century of personal memories and moments are now lost in time, and I am comforted in knowing that we can still remember him though shared memories, and the traits we acquired and the lessons we learned from him. Some day, I hope the words will come. But today, I find solace in knowing that joy can be had at any age, and that my grandfather will be always wonderfully remembered by a happy little four legged boy, and his very very happy little tummy.
