My grandad, James Anderson, Gramps, was the stereotypical masculine man. He grew up during the depression, fought in World War 2 and did not show his emotions. When I knew him he was already elderly, and a little tiny bit on the cantankerous side. You knew he loved you. He supported whatever I and my siblings were passionate about at the time but he wasn't super-expressive in his affection, and he never, NEVER, broke down in front of us. He was strong, solid, protective, even as his body was falling apart. My grandmother, Joyce Anderson, was different. Grams was gentle, soft-spoken, strong in a different way. She was strong in her beliefs and her even temper. She was so incredibly patient with us and wise. I miss her. And him.
When Grams was in the hospital in her last week of life, Gramps sat hunched over at her side in a wheelchair. His baseball hat was pulled down low and he had gram's weak, veiny hand clutched in his as he repeated over and over and over, "I love you sweetheart, I love you sweetheart, I love you sweetheart..." for what felt like hours.
Sobbing, mumbling, but unceasing. Grams and Gramps were not some couple whose love was unattached from reality, flitting about with birds and butterflies. They squabbled so much.. "Come on Joyce!" "Well if you'd just give me a minute!"
But seeing Gramps break down all the barriers he put up over the years to make him seem tough enough to handle all the things life brings to say to the person he valued most in the world who was slipping away from him, "I love you, sweetheart"
Well...let's just say it's something I'll never forget.
Well...let's just say it's something I'll never forget.
As if her knowing how much he loved her was the only thing that mattered in that moment. Even more than his ego, or any pretense of control.
I'm trying my hardest not to over-romanticize, 'cause that's the exact opposite of what I'm attempting to get across.
This was a man who didn't want to be lonely, who didn't want to lose his closest companion in life, his sweetheart, whom he loved. Who he loved more than his pride.
I know I'm being repetitive and wordy, I'm just trying to process.
It showed me the power that love holds. And yes loneliness is a powerful factor as well, but what is the loneliness that stings the most but the absence of someone we love?
There is power in marriage. There is power in a man showing vulnerability. There is power in vulnerability, period. There is power in having a person to walk with as long as you or they live. There is power in faithfulness through the mundane, life is hard, squabbling fits, the two screaming squabbling kids, the stiff couch sitting, grams peas making, brick house living and upkeeping, bus-riding, golf watching, comics reading, jello veggie preparing, noise of 20 plus grandkids. There is power in a love that enables that kind of faithfulness. A love that brought about my dad, and my eight siblings, and my eighteen nieces and nephews and me.
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