Bye Bye, Grandma
My Dad's mother passed last night. His father passed over a decade ago. Both of his parents are gone, no longer walking the earth. They only exist in memory via photos and the story of family orators. I don't fully understand that pain because both of my parents are still breathing. What I do understand is loosing someone close and not being able to reach out and touch them at leisure. My dad may be experiencing pain in his own way. He's been through a lot since before I was born. His back story is unknown to me because we never had that talk. What I do know is that he loved his parents and both have influenced him in many ways than one. Now that they are gone, he can only use what he's experienced to move on and allow God to permanently fill that void.
My grandmother resembles one of my older siblings Not entirely, but when I look into grandma's eyes, I see my sister. I see a history I will never know unless I ask someone. Maybe I will sit down with my dad and pick his brain for information. Maybe I will see more photos of her living a life I never knew. I might see a picture of her and granddad, back when they were happy if that was ever so. I was telling my girlfriend that hearing about her death was like watching a movie with a gray ending. You're left with the question, What? Really? I cannot recall ever sitting beside her, hearing her laugh or tell about the days when things were different than later generations. I feel that I've missed out on a massive mason jar full of wisdom. My grandmother lived in Louisiana, one of the meccas of American history. She was engulfed in that culture for so long and is probably aware of much more than I will ever know. I didn't know her, but I miss her.
Selfish, huh? I guess that's why it means nothing to her. She's home now. Why should it matter? It bothers me that my family has gaps, cracks, and pot holes. Some friends and I were mentioning generational distances between the older generations and the new. The new thinks the old is too conservative and the old thinks the new is too liberal. What if we were able to combine the two? Imagine how much would be discussed and possibly resolved. We have so much in common. We have access to different points of views and understanding. My grandparents dying with no connection to me other than blood creates an open space with missing information. I need that. We need that. The truth is that I'm sad that she's gone, but I can't miss her.
Aside from me and how I feel, my concern is my father. His mother is gone. She's no longer on the other side of town. She's not a phone call away. She's away from physical harm and spiritual warfare. She's home, back where she belongs, with her Father. My dad gets stronger with each tragedy. He's lived this long because God wanted him to experience life this way. He doesn't wish to deconstruct his will to live, but to destroy a need to not do so. I mourn for my dad because he's hurting now. Him and I haven't been on the best of terms since I was born. There's much disconnect and inquiry when it comes to our relationship, but the past is gone. We're here now. My prayer is that we continue to learn from each other. I wish to embark the concept of family on my children's life. They will know about the different branches on our family tree, even if they never get a chance to touch the leaves. They will know about tradition and how God had a hand in all our endeavors.
You're probably busy, grandma, but I want you to know that we're okay. No, we never communicated or shared life, but we do share one thing: the Pennywell name. We're doing some good things with it. Mama has it on her Doctrine degree. Nat's using it on her business cards in Virginia, Tasha uses it to be addressed by her students in Atlanta, and I use it to be introduced to audiences as a writer. I hope this pleased you in some way, seeing how God works when people fail us. Sorry that we both missed out. I'll make sure that my offspring doesn't emulate our failure. I love you and thank you for loving my father for who he is.
Your Grandson,
CJ
My grandmother resembles one of my older siblings Not entirely, but when I look into grandma's eyes, I see my sister. I see a history I will never know unless I ask someone. Maybe I will sit down with my dad and pick his brain for information. Maybe I will see more photos of her living a life I never knew. I might see a picture of her and granddad, back when they were happy if that was ever so. I was telling my girlfriend that hearing about her death was like watching a movie with a gray ending. You're left with the question, What? Really? I cannot recall ever sitting beside her, hearing her laugh or tell about the days when things were different than later generations. I feel that I've missed out on a massive mason jar full of wisdom. My grandmother lived in Louisiana, one of the meccas of American history. She was engulfed in that culture for so long and is probably aware of much more than I will ever know. I didn't know her, but I miss her.
Selfish, huh? I guess that's why it means nothing to her. She's home now. Why should it matter? It bothers me that my family has gaps, cracks, and pot holes. Some friends and I were mentioning generational distances between the older generations and the new. The new thinks the old is too conservative and the old thinks the new is too liberal. What if we were able to combine the two? Imagine how much would be discussed and possibly resolved. We have so much in common. We have access to different points of views and understanding. My grandparents dying with no connection to me other than blood creates an open space with missing information. I need that. We need that. The truth is that I'm sad that she's gone, but I can't miss her.
Aside from me and how I feel, my concern is my father. His mother is gone. She's no longer on the other side of town. She's not a phone call away. She's away from physical harm and spiritual warfare. She's home, back where she belongs, with her Father. My dad gets stronger with each tragedy. He's lived this long because God wanted him to experience life this way. He doesn't wish to deconstruct his will to live, but to destroy a need to not do so. I mourn for my dad because he's hurting now. Him and I haven't been on the best of terms since I was born. There's much disconnect and inquiry when it comes to our relationship, but the past is gone. We're here now. My prayer is that we continue to learn from each other. I wish to embark the concept of family on my children's life. They will know about the different branches on our family tree, even if they never get a chance to touch the leaves. They will know about tradition and how God had a hand in all our endeavors.
You're probably busy, grandma, but I want you to know that we're okay. No, we never communicated or shared life, but we do share one thing: the Pennywell name. We're doing some good things with it. Mama has it on her Doctrine degree. Nat's using it on her business cards in Virginia, Tasha uses it to be addressed by her students in Atlanta, and I use it to be introduced to audiences as a writer. I hope this pleased you in some way, seeing how God works when people fail us. Sorry that we both missed out. I'll make sure that my offspring doesn't emulate our failure. I love you and thank you for loving my father for who he is.
Your Grandson,
CJ
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