Dealing With It

Sundays are going to be hard.

It's now been a week, and it really hasn't hit me yet. Today it will start to sink in, as my normal Sunday routine now has a gaping void in it.

Last week I lost my grandfather - my person. I've been spending the whole week trying to figure out how to process it. I've done things that have helped, like taking a long hike in the rain, and listening to the Foo Fighters' latest album on repeat. I know that writing helps me process as well, and figured I'd share about my road to healing through the events of this past week (which included a cathartic Foo Fighters concert), but when I really started to write, the thing that came out was all fun and games - literally.

My grandfather was 99 years old. He was mentally sharp as a tack, though his lack of hearing could prevent an extended back and forth dialogue. His body had weakened from the burly, barrel-chested builder over the past few years, but he was still Poppy - my Poppy who loves to play games.

Sundays have been reserved for playing cards with Poppy since he and my Nana moved into a local senior living center about 9 years ago. Well, to be honest, it used to be Saturdays, when we'd play some cards and then crash the weekend Bingo festivities. Nothing got in the way of a Bingo game -but man- he loved playing cards.

Card games were a mainstay in our lives from an early age. All of the "starter games" like Rummy, War and Go Fish, were often played when I was younger.  When deemed ready, we were introduced to the game Pitch, which became our go-to game for decades. I can still vividly hear Poppy say "Wanna play some Pitch?" in his distinct Newfie accent, and the family would gather around the table to what always turned out to be an evening full of laughs and loud banter.

Poppy would always break down and process the prior hand out loud after every round: “I had a mind to put my queen out on your 10, but I knews yous was holding on to the jack” or “Fluff [what he called me - another whole story in itself] - you shoulda put out the king on that trump”. Not everyone loved his play-by-play analysis, but I didn’t mind it… probably because I do it just as much.

So bonding over cards made sense. For Christmas his first year living near us, I bought him the game Skip-Bo. Primarily I got him the game because I thought the retirement community was playing it in one of their planned activities (they weren’t), but it became a card game he - and I - really enjoyed.

In the midst of COVID, Poppy fell in his independent living apartment and had to be placed in a nursing home. This was the hardest time as nursing homes were on lock-down, and the first 9 months he was there we only saw him through what can best be describes as a prison visit setup: visiting through a glass window and a microphone. But as soon as we were permitted to visit in person, my sister and I had the Skip-Bo deck ready to go.

Since then, every Sunday afternoon I was in town was spent playing cards with Poppy.

And now, as I type this on Sunday morning, I am already feeling the heaviness of what Sunday afternoons will bring.

Poppy had been declining over the past month or two, and despite him having well over nine lives that he has pulled through from, it was obvious this was the end. This was hard. Seeing the strong and invincible patriarch or our family wither away to nothing was very difficult to witness, and despite him being very weak and tired, you knew he was still in there. He’d always recognize me and muster the energy to say my name, and when I leaned in he’d kiss my cheek. It’s still unfathomable to think I won’t see him again.

When we cleaned out his room earlier this week, there were only two things I wanted: a picture of my sister, Poppy and me from I believe my 5th-ish birthday, and the Skip-Bo deck.

With summer approaching, Sundays will be spent with Poppy while I paddle on the lake or hike in the woods. I never took for granted the invaluable fortune of having him in my life for so long, and I am so grateful for the countless memories.  There's so much more to say about him, and I am sure I will continue to work through my grief through writing - and maybe even playing a hand or two of cards.

This picture stayed on Poppy’s nightstand for over 45 years - it was a color photo that I am hoping to restore. I vividly remember this photo being taken, and me placing my hand where it is to prevent him from kissing me while it was taken.