My Father Figures: Howard Vawters, Sr.

Have you ever sat down to write something but the enormity of it froze you in your tracks? That's how I am feeling right now writing this post about my Grandpa. He was and will forever be one of the most important people in my life. We were a very tight knit extended family and from as early as I can remember got together for any occasion, no matter how small. It was well known among everyone that I was Grandpa's favorite. He was mine, too.

I went fishing with him. And camping. He taught me my first piano lessons. I would go to his house often just to visit with him and Grandma. Grandma and Grandpa were interwoven into each other, having known each other since grandma was 5 years old. They were second parents to me, just not quite as strict as my mom.

He had many jobs during his life, including administrative positions, teaching at a local community college, tuning pianos on the side, working as a security guard, the list goes on. To me, he will always be tuning a piano (or playing one, songs like "Fascination" and other standards; he loved to play his piano, which now sits in my living room) and a cool college professor who talked to his psychology students about metaphysics.

Metaphysics. He was a Rosicrucian who had passed all but the highest level. He believed in all ghosts and aliens and telekinesis and claimed to have astrally projected to another country. But then, he believed every cover of The Weekly World News and Enquirer as if they were The New York Times. He truly believed in Bat Boy - really, I'm not kidding (which astounded us as he was an educated man and an educator). When I was a kid, all of this was Amazing to me; now that I'm older it just adds to his character, which was larger than life.

I've yet to meet someone who could talk more than him. And he had an opinion on everything. And he was gonna tell it to you. I have to tell you, there were areas where his prejudice would arise and times when he would talk and you wondered what the heck he was talking about. He wasn't perfect, and he didn't know everything he thought he did (even though he was a highly intelligent man), but I loved him just the same.

I don't even know how to put into words how much I loved him. He was a kindred soul, someone who seemed to understand me and was every bit as quirky and eccentric as I was, just in other ways. He could be very cranky and mean at times, but I couldn't imagine him not being there, with his astounding stories or huge pronouncements, and just being able to sit and watch him, be in his presence.

He was a lifelong pipe smoker, started in WWII when he was barely out of his teens. And he was never more belligerent than when someone told him that smoking his pipe wasn't good for him. That pipe was a part of him (we all have one of his pipes now - I smell mine quite a bit to remember him). In the end, he got lung cancer that metastasized everywhere in his body including his brain. In his final few months, he became befuddled, argumentative to an extreme; it was like all of the worst traits that he has magnified. And then there were moments when he was himself, claiming that with herbs and right living he would get rid of the cancer.

But he didn't. He was put in hospice at the same time I was in the hospital having William. I always pictured that I would be buy his bedside in his final hours, but I was on absolute bed rest and had a preemie and there was no way for me to get to him. And he was at most 2 blocks away from me, which stung even more. One of the greatest pains of my life is that he never was able to see William and I wasn't able to tell him goodbye in his final hours. To have just held his hand one more time . . .

He knew that I was going to give William his name as a middle name and as he was dying, shortly after I had Will, he asked my cousin if I really had given him the name Howard. She told me that when she told him yes he smiled and seemed calmer.

And when I talk to William about his name, I tell him daddy picked out William, but Howard came from my grandpa, someone who I still love almost as much as I love him.

My Father Figures: Pierson Gilliland

Grandpa Gilliland. The name conjures up warm fuzzies and massive feelings of love. He was actually my great grandfather, my paternal grandma's dad. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, so my earliest memories are of Grandpa Gilliland.

I worshiped him. There is just no other word that explains my feelings for him. I remember eating Cheerios with heavy cream with him because that's what he liked to eat. I remember just being with him. But the truth is, as the years have gone by, I've forgotten more and more about him.

He died when I was still very young. I think I was 8 or 9. Someone took me for a walk and told me he was dead and that I would never see him again. It took a few days, but it was the first time that I was completely, totally devastated by a person's death. At one point I wrote a letter to God asking for Grandpa Gilliland back. There was a large part of me that was sure that God would give me my wish. When he didn't I think I truly understood the finality of death.

But the most important thing that Grandpa Gilliland taught me was that I was loved. He loved me entirely and completely. And I felt the same thing for him. I still feel it all these years later when I think of him.

Look at that little girl. She loves that man. She will forever,

but she just doesn' t know it yet.

When I think of Grandpa Gilliland, I think about love.

Bittersweet Life

I've written a lot about my grandpa Herb on this blog; about his Honor Flight to see the WWII Veterans Memorial, about being inducted into the Ohio Veterans Hall of Fame, and most recently about dealing with his impending death and the feelings behind that. Last Wednesday he passed away in hospice after falling and hitting his head. He was 95.

He had wanted to "go home" for a long time. My grandmother and his sisters and brothers have all died. I know he missed them, was tired of the pain from his cancer and simply being old. I think he felt a little lost in the world. He was a strong believer in Christ, very involved with the Methodist church. He was a good, sweet man and I know where he is in glory right now.

He was the last of my grandparents. My grandparents have always been important to me, so I'm feeling a bit adrift right now. It seems that the natural order of things is all askew, that life is a little too bittersweet.

I have been staring at that word, "bittersweet," and I don't know what else to say. I think I haven't fully processed all of my emotions yet and so I don't event know what I feel. Of course I miss him, and all of them, but should I feel more, or something else. I suppose, like with all things, time will reveal the answers.

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Dealing With It

These last few days have been really difficult for me. I've been lethargic, depressed, on the verge of tears constantly.I miss Sonny, but my level of grief seemed so out of proportion to my life relationship with him. Then I realized that every time I thought of Sonny, I thought of my grandparents. I've been grieving my grandparents.

At the time my grandfather went into hospice with lung cancer I was on bed rest with pre-eclampsia and sciatica in both legs. Two days later, at 34 weeks into my pregnancy, I was in the delivery room being induced for severe pre-eclampsia. I had a seizure on the delivery table. Will was born and, for a 34 week baby who had been exposed to magnesium for 24 hours, was very healthy. But he was a preemie and headed to the NICU while I headed to the Intensive Care post-partum unit.

My grandfather's hospice was next door to the hospital. He was within walking distance, yet I couldn't go see him. Relatives kept me up on his progress and sent me messages, but I NEEDED to be at the bedside of the person who was my best friend, my buddy, the person who filled my heart. And I couldn't be.

I was in the hospital for 1 week after delivery - I was ill. I was sent home and told to go back to bed rest until I was seen by my Ob/Gyn. The next day, we brought William home. I begged my husband to take me to Grandpa, but both he and I knew that I wasn't healthy enough and a hospice isn't a place for a preemie. I received a call from my cousin who told me that my grandpa asked if the baby had been named after him liked I'd always said. When she told him that his name was William Howard he smiled and slipped into a coma. The next day he was dead.

I knew that all eyes would be on me at the funeral - I was the favorite, and he was my guy. I did everything I could to keep it together. I didn't cry much. I left him a letter in his casket telling him how much I would miss him. Then I went home and took care of my preemie, which took up all of my time.

A few days later, our dog of many years died. I kept it together for the kids. I was also dealing with the knowledge that Tim would be leaving us for a while and I had to prepare the kids for that. I was in crazy exhausted pumping supermom overdrive.

1 month and two days after my grandfather died I got a call from my dad that I had to come to the hospital, but to not speed to get there. My grandmother had died instantly of a massive heart attack. I went to the ER and entered a room filled with my family and my beautiful grandmother, bruised from IV's, skin torn from a monitor, looking like she was asleep. She looked peaceful. I remember handing Will to my aunt, walking up to my grandmother and kissing her on the cheek. I stroked her soft silver hair. I held her fingers, slightly gnarled from arthritis. I touched her lips that had kissed me so many times. And I didn't cry. I was in too much shock. I had been at her house with Will and Tim two days before. She had held Will, counted his toes, kissed his forehead. We talked for a few hours. Now she was dead.

I broke down a bit at the funeral. Everything that had happened over that last month was just too much. But I had a new baby, I had a family that I had to be strong for. We gathered one last time at my grandparent's house to box up everything and it was over.

Except for when I think of something that I have to call grandma about. Or when I know the bass fishing will be good and my grandpa isn't there to do it with me. Or when I want to hear their voices in my ears, not just in my head. I miss the way my grandmother's skin felt and my grandpa's soft, wispy hair. I miss my grandmother holding me. I miss that the most. To say that they were like parents to me is a severe understatement. They helped raise me. They helped me form a moral compass and held me up when I needed it. They were amazing people.

Last night I was crying, and Tim said to me "you feel like a piece of yourself is gone, don't you?" and I had to say yes. I told him he's just going to have to give me some time to get through this because it's about time I deal with my grief. I've grieved so many things over the past few years, but not one of the most important things of them all. It's time to deal.

Is there something that you need to grieve but haven't? Maybe you think you don't have to. Maybe you think you have to be strong for those around you. If there is something in your heart that you have been holding there, I urge you to take it to God. He will help you lighten the load.