Several years ago, the country swooned over the movie, The Notebook. Girls cried together on couches, promised themselves they'd wait for a love like that, and told their husbands they'd go in peace just like in the movie. I didn't have to watch the movie or read the book. I already knew the story. It was the story of my grandparents and while my grandfather has certainly outlived both of his wives, a piece of him has died each time.
I have tried several times to bring to life his story; one of loss and love. I've tried to eloquently write of the challenges he overcame with the loss of his first wife and finding love again, just to have it taken. But the words, no matter how many times I write them or start over fall terribly short. Maybe, just perhaps, there aren't enough words; for no words could describe the utter despair of losing his wife and the mother to his four children. A wife that not only suffered from schizophrenia, a mental illness that challenges you and those around you to the core, but later from breast cancer which would ultimately take her long before we ever expected.
My mother once wrote about my grandmother. She said she couldn't edit it or even read it over because it was too painful, too emotional. How can you put in to words a person's life? How can you give value so that others can appreciate your loss? How? I don't know how my mother did it, but she did. It's a short piece and offers just a glimpse to the life my grandmother had and the profound impact she had on others. You can read her story here as a guest post on Mom-in-the-Moon.
And while all seemed lost, my mother fulfilled my grandmother's last dying wish and introduced my grandfather to a beautiful and charming lady; Pat. Grandma Pat was a woman that would become a wife he adored and a grandma that spoiled the rest of us rotten. To my younger cousins, she was the only grandmother they ever knew and to me she was the grandmother I knew my grandma always dreamed of being. Still, it was hard, growing up missing Grandma the way I did and at times feeling guilty for loving Grandma Pat just as much. But my grandfather was happy, we were happy, and life seemed to once again be as it should be.
I spent nearly every Sunday curled up on their couch after church, which I've written about here. Every Sunday I learned more life lessons, heard the same old stories, and indulged in all things chocolate. It was comfortable, it was simple, it was our life. Then, my grandmother started to forget simple things, things were uncomfortable, and life got real. She was diagnosed with cancer and later with Alzheimer's. If God only gives you what you're able to handle, my grandfather must be a saint. I watched him cry when things got tough; how he helped my grandmother to the bathroom, get her dress, take her around the block becuase she refused to be in a home that wasn't hers. What broke my heart was watching the woman he loved forget who he was. She'd get angry and demand to be taken home, but she was already there. He never left her side. Not even on her last day. He loved her like he loved my grandmother. And with every kiss, every story, I knew he not only saw his new wife, but also the one he lost many years ago.
No, words can't begin to explain it. Any outsider, trying to understand, would just nod in kind gesture, never fully grasping the love my grandfather had for his wives, a love he shared with us. And while, pictures are worth a thousand words, even they seem to fall short. At any rate, the following pictures, capture just a glimpse at the love my grandfather had for my grandma.
Just a few months after Grandma Pat passed, I traveled home to see my family. I asked Papa to take me to the farm to see it one more time and to stop by Grandma Pat's grave. He grabbed the keys and we were off. Before we left, he asked if he could just go and say goodbye one last time. I sat in the car, but found myself following quickly behind him as I watched him grab grass seed and fertilizer from his trunk. Happy to have had my camera, these pictures show how much he loved her.
"She would have wanted her grass to be the prettiest."
I've watched it all, silently sitting on the sidelines, I've always known him as Uncle Gibby or Uncle Gib, The man who took me to kindergarten for the first day, getting down on his knees to tie my little shoes, and giving me an unforgettable hug before leaving me for my first day of independence. have found memories of him coming home from service after spending dark nights in Alaska, picking me up and spending weekends with me at Grannys cottage, we would share the same bed, It was always cold, and the added warmth was the greatest comfort, I was safe, I remember crawling up and trying to get as close to him as I could, The love, the security, the safety was unlike anything I ever received from anyone else. It says everything about what helped be pattern my life and become the man I am. He taught me what it was to be family, to be a uncle, a dad and a husband. To be dedicated to the needs of others. As I grew and became a difficult teenager, he would counsel me, always tell me how much he loved me and try to set me straight. Would confide in me about his own issues which drew me even closer to him. When I was having troubles as a young service man, He came to my aid, paid me a couple visits, once again letting me know that I mattered. I watched him raise his own family, while still having time for the rest of his family. I wasn't the only one that shared his love and compassion. My heart broke when my aunt passed and His life changed. I saw his desperation, yet he prevailed, always smiling and giving the best hugs and trying to provide for his family. There were many ventures that weren't always successful, but he never gave up, He just kept doing what God put him here for. Then he met Esteen, another aunt, another Gift from God, she loved the whole family like she was always there. Always with a kind word, and loving hug. They traveled and she completed him and continued his life adventure. I was blessed to see the joy in that relationship. NO MAN would ever stand by his spouse like he has, I am humbled when I think of him, when I strive to be a better man, when I work to love my fellow man, when I have my heart melt by my grandchildren, when I sit and look at my wife. If I never see an other Angel the rest of my life, I have peace knowing that I have one of the best here on earth. All that I am, started with the guidance and love of this man. He would say, "Johnny, you know that your dad loved you" and that is true, but sometimes God puts people in your lives that that help you reflect, to learn from and to make you feel loved, to teach you what is really important in life, how to be a better person , He has always been my Angel and even after he enters The Kingdom I know that his work wont be done.. Because God has a special place for people like him..and that he will keep watching over each of us. It's just who he is, anyone that isn't blessed by him doesn't know him... Rev. Dr. John H. Murray Jr.
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