Grandpappa

This weekend I get to see my Grammie Stout, who brought my Grandpappa back to life over the last year. Seriously, last year when my family gathered there for Labor Day weekend we all thought we were saying goodbye to Grandpappa... but Grammie stubbornly refused to let him die. She fractured her face, endured a major laceration on her arm, all while caring for him while shunning in-home hospice (she didn't like strangers in her home)... hefting Grandpappa from bed to wheelchair to... now he's walking. And more cognizant.

I hate to admit this: I have a wicked fantasy about asking Grandpappa how he feels about Obama. Mind you, he's an old-school conservative... As a GM manager in the Flint, MI plant, he had to fire more people than I want to think about and was literally one of those top 3% in that world. Thanks to Mom, I was made aware of a touch of racism that lingered around there to boot. I learned a good lesson at the age of 15 when Grandpappa and I got to talking about Reagan and I just could NOT for the life of me sway his opinion about how evil that man was. That's when I was introduced to the mind-boggle they now call "spin". Now... any talk about politics is a no-no-no-no-no-infinity. Cubed.

Despite our differences, I love that man, as well as his life-saving better half, my Grammie, within the dearest depths of my heart. My childhood memories of our visits to their home, most often for Christmas, evoke vivid memories of pure happiness, marred by nothing but the occasional reality (like the hornets' nest I uncovered in their barn, which sucked ass).

Epiphany: Maybe that's how the "spin" works! If you live in a virtual eutopia, isolated from omg how real, for instance, *my* world has shapen up to be thus far, I can almost fathom the letting-go it takes to fall for it.

Grandpappa is not, however, someone who shuns the outside world. He has avidly traveled the world, and shared it with his family, taking his children and their spouses on various international vacations every other summer while my generation stayed home. Grammie and Grandpappa gave each of their granddaughters (there were no boys) the opportunity to join them on their vacation the summer after their high school graduation. This was our graduation gift. I was the only grandchild that did not accept this offer. I made many excuses back then, but now I humbly admit: I thought I was too sophisticated for their tourist dalliance.

I was wrong. I missed out... What I didn't experience was being with these people: my family. In an unfamiliar place. Embarrassing me from hell. Memories I'll never have to make me cringe and laugh.

Upon college graduation, I got a check from Grammie and Grandpappa - much more than I expected. Turns out they added the cost of the trip I never took with them (high school graduation) to their generous gift to me for graduating college. To this day, it stings. Worse than the hornets.

I guess that's why I love nothing more than when I saw Grandpappa last year. I got there before the rest of the visiting family did, said "hello" as I leaned over so he could see me from the port-a-bed. He reached out: "Stephie! How's my girl?! How's my special girl?!" and hugged me something fierce. I said something along the lines of "that looks comfy - where's my bed?" as he held me tight and I cried and he chuckled.

So... in less than 48 hours I'm going back to say "hello" to Grandpappa, against all odds. No more goodbyes.

This is what I have learned: Not every "goodbye" has to be the end of a "hello". Not unless you want it to.