my father's father

I never knew my father's father. He died before I was born.

As a child I never really thought anything much of the fact that he wasn't there. I just knew he was in heaven. I knew someday I'd meet him.

All I ever heard about my grandfather, until very recently, was that he didn't talk much, that he was a helicopter mechanic, that he made a pineapple upside-down cake so sweet it made you dizzy. I have a jar full of rocks that he collected and tumbled. In younger years, I sat for many hours examining each rock, rubbing my thumbs over their smooth, glossy surfaces, thinking about my grandfather doing the same.

I never heard my dad talk about his father. Typically, when he'd come up in conversation it was because my mom would remember how he was shocked when she tried to hug him after she married my dad, or how he would say "mhmm, mhmm, mhmm." quietly as you spoke to him.

"Remember, Philip?" she always says to my dad when she brings up my grandpa George.

"Mhmm." my dad always says.

I always wanted to ask my dad to tell me about his dad, but I never wanted to make him sad, so I never did.

All Saints Sunday is the day where you remember people who have passed away. In church on All Saints Sunday, I sat with my family in our regular pew. I listened to the pastor ring a bell once for every person who passed away that year. Ting, ting, ting. We got up and took rocks for all the saints we wanted to honor and left them at the altar. I took one for my Papa, my, grandpa George, and my friend Jason. I left the three little grey stones at the altar, looking at the flame of the little candle through tear-blurred eyes. When everyone had placed their stones, the pastor told us to share memories about our lost loved ones with the people in out pew. My dad began to speak, quietly.

"The last time I saw my dad alive, he was in bed, at home. I remember I went to go visit him, to make sure he was okay before I went to play softball with the guys from work. I was in my softball uniform, I was just stopping by to check on him. I spent a couple minutes with him, but then I had to go. As I was leaving, he asked me not to go, he asked me to stay and I said I couldn't because I was going to be late for the softball game. That was the last time I saw my dad alive."

My dad had his arm around my shoulder, his head was hanging and his eyes were pointed down toward his lap. I was crying. I was imagining my father in his softball uniform, in the excellent shape he was in the 80's; tall, handsome and young, rushing away from his dying father, my grandpa, who was begging him not to go. I was so sad for my dad, so sad that he didn't know it was the last time he'd ever speak to his father. The lint from the kleenex I was using was making me sneeze. My makeup was running.

Every time I leave to go anywhere, every time I leave my family, I tell them I love them. You just never know when it will be the last time you get the chance.