Friday, March 13, 2009


"And grief is a measure of your relationship..." -Luci

I have been lucky to not have lost much in my life - the people who I love and cherish are still here, walking bodies among the living. I can call them, talk to them, cuddle them, have them open the jars when they get stuck.

But for some reason, as I get closer and closer to my wedding I am re-grieving just a bit for my grandpa who died in 2004 - almost five years ago. I think it has to do with the fact that he won't be there to dance with me, and one of my favorite memories of him was of us dancing to the wind up Victrola in his den, with a tinny song on a shellac record lulling us with the words "I'll dance with you at my wedding..."

I only cry in the mornings now, about these things, and only in sunrises. These early spring mornings, when I imagine walking out on the frosty yard with him and remember the sharpness of the cold air and the crispness of the frost on the ground, silence with him, just being inside his weathered, wisened universe.)

We were waltzing around the room, or maybe it was a box step - I can't remember the tempo now, though I remember the melody and he stepped back and looked at me, realizing, I think, at that moment, that I wasn't a little girl any more. (this was 2003 - I had just graduated high school). I promised him a dance at my wedding, and here I am, four years later, with that promise still standing - and it aches a little bit.

It hurts twice as bad but is just as sweet to know that my grandpa would have LOVED Jon. They would have been best friends and it aches to know that they won't meet each other. I can see my grandpa and Jon together in the woodshop in the garage, feeding logs to that rusty barrel stove, creating all sorts of little knick knacks. Jon would have remembered with him, and soaked up the stories of the farm, of dexter and prince, the clydesdales, of his mothers and sisters. My grandpa would have taught jon the names of all of the different types of cows, and together they would have worked in the garden. And I know that Jon would have richley rewarded grandpa's life too. They both love honest hard work, and have that incredible admiration to the earth and all it holds, finding beauty in tree leaves and forrests and God's incredible outdoors. I wish they could have met. Grandpa could rest easy knowing that his granddaughter would be okay, because I am in the hands of an honest, upright man.

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