My Grandpa Hawkins died on Friday. He was 94 years old. The last time I saw him was at my Grandma's funeral one year ago this month. I drove back for Grandpa's funeral this week and sat again with my Dad and Judy and my Sister at the front of the chapel, saying goodbye for the last time. I wasn't close to my Dad's parents. We didn't live very close to them most of my life and they were not easy to get to know - at least not easy when you're a busy young girl with things to do. There are a few things that I remember, though. I remember their little house in a sorta scary part of town. They always kept it nice, and Grandma always had flowers. My favorite flowers were all of those black-eyed susans that used to line both sides of their sidewalk. They were everywhere - almost growing wild - and I loved them! I remember how much Grandpa and Grandma used to love to have us come for a visit. They would meet us at the back door with enormous grins and hugs. We'd all sit down and talk about the weather. I remember their little front room, with the velvet pictures of the Mexican boy and his stubborn burro hanging on the wall above the desk, connected to one another by the thick cord. I remember their furnace in the corner of the room. I loved the sound of the furnace when the motor was running. It was loud and somehow comfortable - homey, I guess. I remember that they would often offer us a snack - usually some sort of store bought cookie or ice cream. If we stayed for awhile, Grandpa might play checkers with us, or we'd watch a game show together on TV. I always liked to look at the pictures that were all over their front room. Most of them were old photos of their kids and grandkids, and I couldn't help but think that most of those old photos should have been replaced with newer versions that somehow never got sent. I remember that visiting Grandpa and Grandma generally involved some sort of meal out. We would usually go to Furr's Cafeteria, which was right up the road. I always liked eating there because you could get whatever I wanted, including dessert. I remember Grandpa would always get the chocolate pie for dessert. And, as I got older, Grandpa would slip me a $20 bill when I was leaving, and he'd smile and wink and say, "We love ya."
I remember my Grandma was almost always smiling. She didn't hear very well, so she couldn't always participate in the conversations, but you could just tell that she loved being with her family, and she was always smiling. She would sometimes comment on the fact that I was either gaining or losing weight (mostly gaining). I was always a little afraid to see her as I got older because I was afraid that she'd make another comment about me getting fatter and fatter with each visit, and I wasn't sure my "fat ego" could take it.)
I remember Grandpa's great big voice and his easy grin. Grandpa's voice was so big and so clear and resounding. Because his voice was so strong and clear, I always thought of my Grandpa as a strong man with a sharp mind, and I was right. I remember Grandpa's bald head; bald for as long as I can remember him. He often wore a hat when he went out. I remember a few of them. In fact, I have one of his dress hats and one of his working hats, but the hat I remember most is his Sherlock Holmes type of hat. I can't remember the hat's official name, but it was plaid and it reminded me an old-time golfer's hat. It just fit Grandpa; it sort of embodied comfort and contentment and a just a little bit of spunk - just like Grandpa. Everyone remembers him in that hat; everyone talks about him in that hat. I think everyone wanted that hat, but it was in Grandpa's hands as he lay there in his casket, and it was buried with him on Tuesday. In some strange way it brought me comfort that he had his hat with him. He didn't often leave his house without it, and it just felt right that he wouldn't be without it as he heads out to begin this new journey. I expect that when he is there to greet me on the other side, he'll have his dapper hat on. And when he sees me, he'll smile with a smile that spreads across his lips and goes all the way to his eyes and I'll hear in that stong familiar voice, "Well, Hello there Tammy. Come on in."
No comments:
Post a Comment