Currently, I find myself above the Mason Dixon line due to an ill-timed and unexpected death in the family. I say ill-timed as it was my mother’s father and Father’s Day Weekend/Friday the 13th is never the best of times to lost a dad. So here I am, in the town I spent 20 years growing up in, for a very heart-breaking reason.
You all may remember back in November, shortly before my marathon, when I was in New York for my grandmother’s funeral. Yeah, that was also on my mother’s side, so between the whirlwind that makes up my personal life, my sweet mother has had to deal with the devastating loss of both her parents. But it all can’t be melancholy – you can always find a silver lining if you look hard enough – and I can’t help but reflect on the idea that two people, so closely linked, dying within months of each other, has a deeper meaning than anything we can wrap our heads around.
My grandparents were married for over 50 years – a feat that is both respectable and incredibly intimidating. In case you weren’t aware, 50+ years is an incredibly long amount of time. A lifetime for some. They shared a home, had 5 children, countless grandchildren, and established a bond that was so strong, in the end one literally could not live without the other. Now that, dear reader, is love.
So as I say goodbye to a man who propped me on his knee during holidays and ate donuts with me after Sunday School, I take solace in the fact that he is no longer alone but with the women he cared for most deeply in this world, and more than likely enjoying all the Bavarian creme filled pastries he can get his hands on.