Blessed

by Jennifer Matthewson

When I really think about it...
...I can still feel your frail hand as I held it in mine so many months ago. Sometimes I lie in bed at night, wishing you were still here to talk with me of the past, and the future.

I remember those days, those last days in the home, when you would smile from ear to ear when I entered the room. I remember listening to every word you said, every story you told, no matter how often I had heard it before. I remember hating myself for not being able to take care of you.

Do you remember? When I taped a piece of Velcro to your emergency button, so you could find it easier? When I helped you onto your workout machine—you determined to strengthen your legs, to fight it to the end? Do you remember when I placed the angel by your bed as I struggled to choke back my tears?

The last memory I have of you—a broken man in a wheel chair, tired from years of military work, howling like an old mutt after the family finished their singing, plowing through my birthday cake with a grin. I fear I will cling to that memory for years, wishing I had said more to you then. I certainly would've had I known it would be our last memory together.

I cried for days when we lost you. I didn't know whom I cried for more - you gone too soon from my life, or me gone from yours. I couldn't bring myself to attend your funeral, to stare at your former, crippled shell trapped in a wooden box. Instead, I sat in my room 500 miles away, thinking about how ludicrous you would believe us to be for standing before you, crying. I thought about how absurd it had been for me to argue with Dad about your attendance at my wedding months later, regardless of what your doctors thought...for you, now, certainly would be in attendance.

Two months later, the night before the wedding, Dad presented me with the naval wings you had made into a ring for Grandma. He cried as he passed it across the table, and I cried as I placed it on my hand. I tried to imagine how Grandma had felt when she received it from you, how proud she must have been to wear it every day. The day of my wedding, I wore it on my right ring finger, with Grandma's brooch woven into my hair. Jeff and I danced our first dance to Sinatra's "All The Way." I felt you near.

Almost a year later, I stand here in our first home, a home you helped us buy. Enough rooms for children, they say. Enough rooms for our children, I say with a smile. The moment I saw it, with it's rounded ceilings, wide walkways, flower bushes in the yard, I loved it . I think about how it feels around me: surreal, comfortable, rewarding. I think about how I felt to be around you...

...blessed.

Thank you, Grandpa. Wish you were here.

Jennifer Matthewson is a busy entrepreneur and freelance writer, currently residing with her husband and puppy in Vancouver, Washington.