Where Love Stares Us in the Face and Begs a Response

I asked the Amazing E if I could post some of her entries on grandpa/dad from her blog. It's interesting to see how her entries fill in the gaps in my own memory.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

We spent the evening over at my grandpa's house again. Sometimes even the better part of me wonders what we're doing over there as we've been spending more and more time over there to keep things going. We tidy things up and he gets upset. We tidy things up and he forgets and puts things back where they were in the first place. Paid bills get reopened. Clean clothes are a non-issue to him.

He often brings up the past as in to shove it in others' faces. Even simple misunderstandings make him lash out. He's stinky, irritable, revengeful, forgetful, confused, stuck in the past, and difficult most of the time. So why? He's a part of the family - yes. Someone has to look out for him - yes. We care about him -yes. But why?

Maybe because this is what love really is. Because really when we think about love we think about the sacrificial parent pacing the floor late at night, rocking a baby on half the necessary sleep, nurturing a child. On the way we think a dedicated family at a grandparent's hospital bed side with the grandma/grandpa softly speaking words of love and encouragement.

We think about the success stories. About teachers transforming classrooms. About 75-year anniversaries. About 1 Corinthians 13--a love never impatient, unkind, jealous, boastful, proud, ill-mannered, selfish, irritable, revengeful, dishonest. And yes,of course this is love. This is love in abundance. But what is love the rest of the time when it's not quite saintly enough for us to take notice? Where do those stinky and easily resisted pleas for attention and care reside in our lives?

I think sometimes we, or at least I, get too busy to stop and wait. We like helping people, but we're helping them in the rush to get to the next thing, even when that next thing is often helping someone else. We don't think we'd ever follow a request to help an elderly citizen across the road by rushing them through traffic so fast that they collapse on approaching the curb and then rush on to hand a few dollars to a bewildered man standing outside the gas station asking for money and then run back to the car to rush home to make dinner. Of course not. But love is not neat, and love takes a lot of time. With my grandpa, much of the irritation comes in thinking people are in too much of a rush to take notice, much of the hurt, past and present, and thus the hurt he passes on are an effort at healing from feeling left out of the loop too long.

He's forgetful,and we rarely take the time to remind him. He doesn't change or clean because there isn't always someone coming, or somewhere to go, and he doesn't want to bother taking the time for just himself. Once in a while I realize what I'm missing with him. Tonight we brought dinner--McDonalds, no less,but sustenance all the same. I finished my food, opened up the newspaper to read bits to him until it ran dry, and then I just sat. For once, I didn't rush him through his story or make sure he kept eating. I stopped myself from moving to the next thing. I stopped myself from running, and I listened for over an hour as he talked about growing up and his family and a pet horse named Esquire and kids at school. I listened as he forgot his story and started from the beginning, and I smiled and asked questions anyway. He forgot he had food in front of him, got up and left, came back was surprised at the food, started his story again,and I listened anyway.

I moved him to the kitchen and started to clean off the table so we could begin on transferring his scrapbook to new pages when I get back from North Carolina. I found layer upon layer of lottery tickets and intricate prediction charts and decades of brochures but underneath,there were older planner pages where his patient lettering taught mine, calendar pages he made out for me to cross off the days until holidays and summer vacations, menus I had made him for breakfast and lunch on those vacation days--And somehow, tonight was one of those nights when I really saw him. This is a man who has shown his family a lot of hurt,and they, for the most part, have tried to look past it to help the man he is now but with a slanted glance and a bit of a rush to get by with the help without any extra hurt.

I'm certainly younger. I've received a much lighter load.I've fought a less uphill fight. I've known the hard man, but I've also known the soft. But I still bear a good deal of the rush, and I need to make a greater effort to try. He needs attention. He needs love. He needs to feel worthwhile. I need to give him that chance.