Ciao Renato!

My grandfather died last week. The funeral was today. There's been a lot of death in my extended family these last 10 years and each death brings a different range of emotions. When my grandfather died, I though that it was a mercy. He had had a couple strokes many years ago and, after my grandmother died, he had been living with first an uncle and then an aunt for 4-5 years, now. They have spoon fed him, changed his diapers, read to him, medicated him and loved him day to day. I never went to see him.

I felt like it should be less emotional for me because his death was welcome, but I realized that it wasn't because my relationship with him was complicated. Not complicated in any dramaitc way, but he was a cranky old coot in his later years and could be a little mean. I lost sight of how wonderful he was. Aunts, uncles, cousins of mine read thoughts they'd typed up, letters they'd recieved, shared thoughts that they had about granpa. A picture of him emerged - part old memory and part new knowledge. I guess that's what wakes and funerals are for. I have printouts of many of the speeches made, but not the beautiful love letter my grandmother wrote him after 70 years of marriage, just before her memories were lost to her and us through dementia.

At the wake there were 3 tables of photos and keepsakes on display to view. On one table was a card he made for me. He was a technical drawing teacher - a drafter. His card showed it, but it was also silly and sweet. Also on display was his old tobacco and pipe holder. I took a sniff and that's when I lost it. A moment later I watched as my sister did the same. Smells..... they hold so much memory. There weren't as many people as I expected. He was a teacher, I thought there'd have been more. Kids ran around and the funeral staff took away the bowl of mints because we were abusing their generosity, I guess.....

He loved nature with humans as part of it. He lead us into respect for all for who they are. And, even though he got over-stimulated and cranky when his grandkids swarmed into his home on holidays, he still loved to tease us. Once when I was 3-4 he came to stay with us on the cape for a vacation. He and I were on the beach, chatting, when he motioned me closer. I peered at him ever closer only to have him suck out his front-teeth dentures with a loud sucking noise pop - I went screaming for the house his laughter following me all the way. He would ask for hugs only to grate his beard stubble into our cheeks with more laughter. As he lay on his back on the floor to relieve his pain, we'd run around him only to have out ankles snatched up in an iron tight shackle of grandpa hands. He was.... well...he was grandpa.

At the gravesight, we laid bits and pieces of nature on his casket. He was a naturalist, he loved the wonders of nature and taught what he knew to all of us. He rejoiced at finding a crysalis, sighting a hawk aloft. So, we placed collected shells, feathers, pinecones, acorns, butterfly wings, crystals, bird and wasp nests, mica, twigs of hemlock...... on his casket after my mother read "The Tuft of Flowers" by Robert Frost. On the back of the card commemorating his passing was a poem he wrote.

Mulch Pile

It's the season for gleaning.
Seperating that which nature will not digest
From the richness of this season and of seasons past.

The mulch pile collects from trees and gardens.
There are a thousand workers for free
Who live in what to some seems ordinary,
And they change it all to rich black soil
From which beautiful gardens may grow.

I must check the mulch pile occasionally for the richness therein:
I find branches too large to be useful and some roots the same.
It takes time and patience to search for the good
And to find, too, occasionally a treasure from the past.

Amidst bits of plastic, and glass, and wire,
Hidden by leaves and worms and weeds and rocks,
Occasionally an old merit badge, a toy pistol, and a plastic horse.
Whose horse, Mother? Whose treasure is it?

And the gleaning continues when the work is done.
The memories surge and tears emerge --
What fun they had, alone or with others,
What a rich, rich field of life --
Of life with discovery and energy and tears and joy.

We all must glean occasionally
Through our thoughts and emotions.
In each one of us there are treasures to be found.
Amidst the dross of daily life, they are there --
Beautiful memories, new thoughts,
Undigested morsels of no more use.

Lay bare and collect the fertile thoughts;
Bring them to the front to see;
Avail yourself of the fertile soil.
There is so much there for you, and for me.



So.... I brought some of last season's dried old seed heads and spent flower stalks from his yard to lay to rest with him. Grazie babbo, ti amo.