In two hours I will be touching down in Montreal and catching another flight to St. John, New Brunswick. It’s time to say goodbye to my grandfather. I didn’t know my grampy very well, but I loved him.
Growing up, we didn’t get to visit my father’ family very often because the east coast of Canada was just so far away from California. Grammy and Grampy met me in Prince Edward Island for a beautiful afternoon lunch in 2001 when I was leading a team of teenagers on a summer outreach there. That may be the last time I saw him. The last time we spoke, he was wishing me a Merry Christmas.
This is one of the greatest regrets of my adult life – not knowing my family. Them not knowing me. Understandable in my youth, inexcusable now. I’d blame it on the divorce, but that wouldn’t be fair.
Part of me feels like I don’t have the right to go say goodbye.I didn’t say goodbye to grammy. I didn’t even give my condolences because I didn’t know how. That is one of my deepest, darkest secrets. And admitting it out loud doesn’t take the shame away.
I didn’t do any of the things a granddaughter should do. That my cousins did. I didn’t take him for walks or watch the news with him when he was housebound. Didn’t bring him his favorite meal or read to him as his sight worsened.. Didn’t give up my nights or weekends so he wouldn’t be alone. Didnt shovel the snow from his driveway so he could get to church on Sundays. I don’t even know what his favorite things are. Who am I to show up now?
Saying goodbye is something I have to do. I was in Mozambique when my grandmother on my mother’s side passed away. I wasn’t able to come home then, didn’t have the finances. Couldn’t miss school or some other excuse when it was my grandpa and my grammy’s turns. I won’t get another chance to tell them I love them.
My grampy deserves better from me. And so does my family. Hopefully I won’t be too late.