I miss my grandpa more than I ever imagined I would.
He and I were always close. So when I found out he had cancer and didn’t have much time, I knew it would be difficult. I tried to imagine what life would be like without him, the man who had encouraged and challenged me all my life. But, as one might expect, imagination is far from reality.
My relationship with my grandpa developed in a very unique way. Because my grandfather didn’t approve of my mother’s marriage to my father, a Pakistani man, he had nothing to do with them—and consequently, me. That all changed when I was just a few months old, at my grandfather’s father’s funeral. My mom tells me that she was standing around, holding me, when she saw him walking towards us. At first, she was scared. After all, he hadn’t talked to us in quite some time. Her fears were quickly cast aside when he took my mother and I in his arms and hugged us. That was it. From that moment on, I became my grandpa’s girl.
As strange as it sounds, I look back on those early days of his illness with joy—it was the last time I really recognized him. I found out about my grandfather’s condition on my 21st birthday. I traveled all the way to the VA Hospital only to realize that visiting hours were over, there was no place to park, and I couldn’t find an open entrance. I had my friends drop me off at the ER where I managed to find my way to his floor and finally his room. He was so surprised to see me. And I was so happy to celebrate my birthday with him. We talked about school, the army, his health, and, of course, alcohol. Seeing as I was legal, I offered to buy him a six-pack of whatever—he laughed.
I was awakened by a phone call early that Sunday morning—too early. When I heard the first ring, I knew what had happened. It was my mother with the news I had been dreading—Tarha, papaw is gone. Shocking moments never seem to hit me right away. The intensity of situations usually occurs to me days, weeks, or even months after, and this was no exception. I was very methodical about the whole thing. I knew we’d have to travel to Kentucky for the funeral, which would last about 5-7 days, so I began cleaning my room and gathering my suitcases. I emailed all of my teachers and made arrangements with classmates to get notes. I notified my employer and internship supervisor. I paid my rent and withdrew money from the ATM for traveling expenses. In just a few hours, I was headed to my hometown. My composure that morning was scary considering how much my grandpa meant to me.
I figured the reality of the situation would hit me when I saw him in the casket. In fact, I avoided looking towards the front of the room for a while. When I finally walked over to see him, I was shocked. Not because I saw his corpse but because he looked nothing like my grandpa. He looked young and perfect. Too young. Too perfect. The closest I came to breaking down was during the service, right before his burial. I can’t remember why. Maybe I realized that would be the last time I’d see him in a physical sense.
Now, 7 months later, I feel it. I feel it every time I see a child with their grandfather. I wonder if they know how lucky they are to be able to call someone “papaw” or “poppy” or whatever their special name may be. I wonder if they realize how precious and valuable that person’s stories are. I would love to hear my grandpa tell me about his Navy days and all the places he saw and people he met. I miss his advice on politics and global issues. I crave his enthusiasm for knowledge and encouragement in my education.
People say all the time that they miss their loved ones but they know they’re in a better place and wouldn’t wish them back to this world again. Well, I would. I’m selfish and I want him back. I want him back the way he used to be: in his black Member’s Only jacket with a yellow button-up shirt, blue jeans, and freshly-shined shoes. He’d have Double Mint gum in his pocket and offer it to us kids. What’s funny is that even though Double Mint is probably my least favorite gum, I still buy it just because it reminds me of him and my childhood.
I like to imagine that he’s happy in Heaven and spending his time with his first and only love, my grandmother, Hester.
