Behind Infinity

And thus it was: the fourth age of Middle-Earth began; and the Fellowship of the Ring, though eternally bound by friendship and love, was ended.

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?

-Frodo, Return of the King.

My beloved Grandpa,
Two years today since you went home. I remember you like yesterday and I miss you like eternity. I can’t really comprehend it: the number 2 really holds no significance for me, except that it seems a paltry small number by which to measure our grief. At two years removed we should be “over it”. But we’re not. We’ve still only just begun living our lives in your absence. And when you look at it that way, two is both a very large and a very small number. We’ve made it this far. But how many more do we have to go?

Living without you is a pesky business. These days I feel like I could use your wisdom, your perspective, your support and unwavering confidence in me, your love, more now than I ever did before. I still discover things in school and think, “Oh gosh how neat, I can’t wait to tell Grandpy…” I was still a teenager when you died. I’m quite the little adult now. I find all this responsibility quite hard to handle sometimes. I wish you could see me because you’d be proud. And you’d tell me so…and I need that right now. And I wish I could talk to you as an adult. About being an adult and dealing with adult things, like responsibility and rejection and relationships. And about all the other things too. Music and words and nature.

I wish you could see my animals and my barn and my trailer, my very own little equine empire I’m building out in farmland. “For cryin’ out loud,” you’d say. And you’d tell me to BE CAREFUL. Be careful when I’m riding, be careful when I’m using the nail gun, be careful when I’m on the roof (Hm, maybe I just wouldn’t tell you about the nail gun and the roof….) Be careful when I’m driving, be careful when I’m walking down the road, be careful when I’m breathing. If there’s anything of you that sticks with me the most, I think that’s probably it. Be careful, for cryin’ out loud.

On some level I’m still scared of growing up and changing. I don’t want to change away from the girl you knew and loved. On some level I feel like stepping away from that person is like stepping away from you, like I’m leaving you behind. But then I realize that if I remember the things you taught me, and keep growing in them, and follow your example, I’ll grow closer to you, rather than farther, no matter what I do. Because you taught me about the important things. It doesn’t matter whatever else I do or however else I change. As long as that part of me stays intact, and I keep growing in it, I’ll still be your Britt.

I miss you. I miss paper sample books, butter pecan ice cream, bird eggs, tattered newspaper clippings, and surprise visits at the kitchen table. I miss coming home from vacation to find my bed short-sheeted and my stuffed animals wearing my clothes and candy under my pillow. I miss opera.

You’ve spent the last two years rejoicing, whole, happy, in the presence of God. Someday, I will join you.
See you soon.
Love forever,
Britt

Yesterday having been St. Patrick’s day and marking the 22nd month since my Irish Grandpa has been gone from us.

Danny Boy was the first song I played on my Great-Grandma’s violin after Grandpa had it fixed and gave it to me. He cried to listen. It was just a song I enjoyed at the time; I didn’t know how dear it was to him.

Month 22 carries with it just as much disbelief and heartache as Month 1.

Dear Grandpa,
Today being January 17, it is now 20 months–two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, two New Years’, and a birthday–since you’ve been gone. It feels like yesterday that I said goodbye and forever since I’ve seen you. I still often hear music on the radio and think, “I’ll have to tell Grandpy I heard this piece,” or see things in the paper and think, “I’ll bet he saves that one,” or learn a new fact about the ancient world and hope I remember to tell you about it later. Whenever I ride my horse (I so wish you could see me ride my horse) I always think of you telling me to BE CAREFUL!

Today in Greek class we read an Archillochus poem in which there was a shipwreck and Archillochus talks about grief. Archillochus was a soldier. He begins by saying that it’s OK to grieve, nobody will fault you for it. But then he turns around and says to suck it up and get over it with as soon as possible, because only women go on grieving for very long. It was a fun poem to read but I’m not sure that I agree with his outlook! But at any rate, it would seem that even by Archillochus’ standards, I’m allowed. Which is good, because I still cry when I hear “Love is a Song that Never Ends” from the Bambi soundtrack. And when I pass the “One Trick Pony” downtown, remembering how you always used to promise you’d take me there on a date when I grew up. And I cried on the way home from Toledo too, because I got to thinking about how you loved art and artifacts so much. (Kate was busy reading so I don’t think she saw, but Loretta caught me.)

I guess Archillochus’ main thrust is that you can’t wallow in grief forever; at some point you need to pick up and move on with life. And of course, he’s right, and we’ve all been doing that these past 20 months. We had a good Christmas this year, a real one, here in the new house. We are learning and growing and loving, the way you were always wanting us to.

Sometimes…sometimes the “growing” part of that makes me a little sad. I hate growing without you around. I hate changing because I feel like every change is a step away from that lifetime I had when you were around and the person I was back then. I feel like I’m leaving you behind. As a friend of mine said, “Every time something happens that changes…a piece of my life with my dad dissapears. Should I be okay with that?”

Actually, even though I feel that way, I CAN be ok with that. Because in reality I’m not leaving you behind, I’m doing the exact opposite: it is by continuing to do all the things you taught me, by appreciating and enjoying all the things you appreciated, and by striving to follow your example of honest, hardworking, humble, cheerful, joyful, Christ-centered living that I can keep you closest to me.

Love,
Britt

Age 15 or so, all dressed up to go to Grandpa’s company Christmas party at Color House.