A Bit of a Tribute

So, a few minutes ago, I got a short message from my mother informing me that my grandfather passed away a few hours ago.

Wow, what a sudden surge of emotion: immediate sadness and relief, along with a tint of rejoicing...

Now, my grandfather turned 97 about three weeks ago, so, all things considered, you have to say he had a mighty good run.

My relationship with my grandfather was always a bit interesting. Though he was born in Texas, he never lived there until I was in my late 20s. Thus, he and my grandmother were always a bit special, since I did not see them all that frequently as a child. They lived 10-13 hours a way by car, so when the did visit (or we visited them), it was kind of exciting.

My dad's father had died when I was 9, and my grandmother on my father's side has always been close to me, particularly since she lived in my home town. I was able to see her often, and that relationship has continued over the years, whether it be for Tex-Mex and margaritas in Cantina Laredo, or more recently (aka, the past 5 years) via Skype.

My mother's parents, however, always lived "far away," or at least far in a kid's terms. Thus, any chance I got to seem them was extra special, since the visits were not so frequent. Nana and Daddy Monk were always close to me, but as a child, I was a little too young to truly comprehend the fact that my grandfather was a minister, and subsequently was elected Bishop when I was only 6. That basically meant that he touched a lot of different people in various churches and congregations. When you are a little kid, you just kind of want to be loved by your grandparents, and are not so caught up in what they do for a living, etc.

Daddy Monk and Nana took me abroad for the first time when I was 11 years old. One of the most brilliant trips in my life, that was....

As I grew into adolescence, I began to question the answers I received as I went about my life, questions about personal life, existence, religion, etc.

While I remained close to my grandparents, and always somewhat in awe of both of them, I began to notice that things were not exactly as simple and easy going as I had believed when I was a little boy. As I matured, I was not always so quick to simply accept what my grandparents said or directed. I was not really challenging them, but I trying to put things into perspective.

When I was 13 or 14, they moved to North Carolina. My grandfather had effectively retired, and had built a house near Asheville, North Carolina. My first visit to their house was incredible. Methodist ministers tend to move around a bit, so I had already known my Grandparents in 4 different houses before seeing their "retirement home."

Though I had always had fond memories of their previous homes, I was particularly enthralled with this house in North Carolina. When I was 15, before I started to high school, I got to go over and spend almost a month with them in their house. The idea was to spend time with them, of course, but also to serve as a bit of a summer job for me; I did odd jobs for my grandparents around the house, including painting, renovating furniture, and more or less doing all the heavy lifting that was required. My grandfather was a bit strict, but was quite a skilled workman, so I learned a whole lot. Sure, I got paint all over the garage floor, and mucked up a few other things, but the experience was wonderful.

My grandmother was an artist and a teacher, so her influence, along with my grandfather's special touch, made for a very enlightening growing up period.

As that summer came to a close, I thought happily about my visit with my grandparent's in North Carolina, feeling forever proud that I was the one who completed their little "Bryanhurst" sign that was placed at the foot of their driveway.

As I finished up high school, I started to get the feeling that my grandfather played favorites a bit amongst my cousins and me, and furthermore, was a bit direct in his commmentary. More and more freqnetly, he came across rather opinionated, kind of in a irritating way, if not hurtful. Once or twice I got the feeling that I was not able to measure up to expectation, which was a little disconcerting, as my high school experience was only slightly better than "it really sucked," so I was not really in the mindset to have to deal with additional negative commentary.

During the summer after my first year of college (private Presbyterian school...for which I apparently earned appreciative points from my grandfather), my grandmother died suddenly from a heart attack.

Though I was deeply saddened by this loss, particularly since this grandmother had had great influence with me regarding art, tolerations, and appreciating beauty in its smallest capacities, I was even more touched by the impact that my grandmother's death had on my mother, and my grandfather.

My dad's father died after a lengthy illness when I was young, and my grandmother (my dad's mom) has remained solid and strong ever since. On the other hand, my mom's dad, after mom's mom died, seemed suddenly lost. I was amazed, because he had always been the patriarch of the family, not just because he was a very capable minister, but because his direct approach at being the leader of the family.

The death of his wife seemed to take a lot out of my grandfather, but over the next months we were in regular contact with one another, and I, as an angst-ridden teenager, assumed that he would continue on strongly, after his healing process, much the way my grandmother (my father's mom) had done.

During my second year of college, I went to visit my grandfather during a spring break. We had a good visit, though somehwat subdued. During the visit, I felt a bit distant, mainly because during the past few years we had grown apart. Or perhaps I was simply growing up, still caught between being a child and an adult. As our visit came to a close, I remember thinking to myself, "My grandather is now old man, and I will likely not have too many more opportunities to see him."

Fortunately, I was wrong.

As I continued through college, my grandfather began dating again, and during my senior year, remarried, to a wonderful woman. At the time, I was a bit distraught, since I thought that remarrying only two years after a loved one has died seemed a bit too short. Howeever, I tried to put myself in his shoes; he had always had companionship, so it was only logical that he would seek a new partner. I certainly welcomed my step-grandmother into the family with open arma.

I finished school and entered my 20s with the comfort that I still had living grandparents. Sure, for a few years during my late teens and early 20s, I was a bit distant from most everyone in my family, as I struggled with my own life. However, I continued to recognize the importance of family and cherished the moments I had with my living grandmother on my dad's side, and my grandfather and step-grandmother on my mother's side.

During my 20s, my grandfather had a few health problems which required surgery, which inevitably led to complications, as he was already in his late late 70s. However, each time he was in hospital, I realized that he was so strong that he would get through.

Two years after I finished college, my sister got married, electing to have the wedding ceremony performed by my grandfather in the church where we had grown up.
Because my sister married a Spaniard, who at the time did not speak a great deal of english (and his family even less), a close friend of mine, Pablo, was enlisted to help with language barrier stuff. Pablo is Cuban-American, and obviously fluent in Spanish.


The night of the wedding rehearsal, Pablo picked me up, and we slammed a couple of beers down on the way to the church, and arrived about 15 minutes ("traffic, mom, honest...") late, to the disapproving looks from my grandfather and my mother. However, Pablo was particularly charming, and smoothed thing over (it might be a Catholic thing) very quickly. The rehearsal went swimmingly, and then the wedding party (plus guests) headed off to a restuarant to celebrate before the ceremony the following day.

Chris came to join us late, and Pablo, Chris and I had some late night beers atop the Green Room, where we just enjoyed the scene. I was just glad to have the company that was not immediate family (those of you who have had a sister get married know exactly what I am talking about). We enjoyed the scene, and a couple of times Pablo commented on how sharp my grandfather seemed as he coordinated the wedding party. Indeed, my grandfahter was at this point 80, but easily could have passed for someone 10 years younger. (note to Pablo, my grandfather was most impressed with you as well. imaagine that!)

Well, over these past 17 years, I am proud to say that I had a chance to become better frends with my grandfather. Sure, he has continued to be pretty direct, sending regular emails to me with instructions on how I should be living my life. Furthermore, I always suspected he tended to play favorites, so me, as a non-churchgoing heavy smoker did not necessarily rank as high among the grandkids, especially since two of my cousins have gone through seminary.

However, I put all of that aside. Though my relationship with my grandfather was difficult for a number of years, namely between age 18-33, I never stopped loving him. And I know that he never stopped loving me.

As I entered my 30s, we were able to have a few more open discussions about my viewpoints on life, the state of the world, etc, and to some extent, I think my grandfather respected that.

Once or twice, I have joked with friends that my grandfather started respecting me once he found out that I am an avid reader of the The Economist. Sure, my grandfather had never stopped sending me emails giving me the addresses to the churches in whichever city I was living in at the time. (you try moving 3 times and it adds up). However, my grandfather was just being himself. I learned to respect and accept that. I have always admired him, but yes, he had certain habits that made things difficult, not only for me, but also for other members of my family, particularly my mother.

That said, I always strived to put things in perspective. My grandfather had an incredibly active life, and touched thousands of lives in his personal and professional life. For the better part of 20 years, I wondered when he would be overcome with an illness that prevented him from living his life the ways he wanted.

Fortunately, he never really was subjected to that. Despite several surgeries and cancer treatments, he has been of sound mind and body, until this morning. Since I have lived away from the states, I communicate often with my parents via Skype, and hardly a conversation with my mother has gone by without her commenting on the current state of my grandfather, who, shortly after I left the states, left his home in North Carolina and moved into a more assisted liviing environment in my hometown, close to my parents.

Over the past 5 years, it has been more and more frustrating to receive the reports from my mother on a regular basis. My mom is simply commenting on her own frustrations at watching a parent, a loved one, get older, and become less and less independent.

I have always maintained that things were just taking their natural course, and truth be told, to have a grandparent alive at the age of 97 is quite the milestone. Therefore, it has always been relatively easy for me to sort of try and be diplomatic with my mother, ponting out the obvious, that 97 years is a bloody long time to be alive, and we should be thankful for all the great things that have happened during this time.

However, my mom is a worrier, and so am I. Thus, it is hard to NOT think about the "what if's" that take place in life. I have enough issues of my own, but often I have to stop and think of things from my mother's perspective; she is watching a parent get older and more and more dependent. Truth be told, I am doing the same thing, as I get older myself, and witness my own parents advance in their years.

It is days like today that I realize just how far away I am from my family. I want nothing more than to hug my mother and step-grandmother and oomfort them. I can only do that from afar right now.

But, I commfort myself with the fact that this past Christmas, I was in the states with my parents, and grandparents. We had a time together, where we could visit, laugh together, go to a concert together, catch up on each others lives (with which came the list once again of the churches I should be visiting in Frankfurt) and basically just celebrate the time together. For that I will be forever thankful.

As my sister lives on this side of the world with me, she and I often talk about what we do when we get news like we did today. We obviously cannot just jump in the car and cross town quickly.

How do I comfort my mom, who I want so desperately to hug right now? How do I reach out to the rest of the family who needs lots of thoughts and prayers right now? And how do I come to terms with this myself?

Like I said at the beginning, the emotions are flooding through me right now. The tears flow, and I think of my grandfather as I knew him in my lifetime, as well as before, as well as beyond. I hate laughing and crying at the same time, but it fits right now, because I can only be proud that Daddy Monk was my grandfather. He had a wonderful life, and touched many many lives, including mine.

I phoned him three weeks ago on his birthday; that was the last time we spoke. At the end of our conversation, we finished like all of our previous calls. We smiled, and said...

"Goodbye"