Encourage Me: Handclasps

“One of the most powerful handclasps is that of a new grandbaby around the finger of a grandfather. “ (Joy Hargrove)

Dear Ed,

I never called you Grandpa instead I called you Ed. When I was little I always felt like the most special child in the world because I had something no one else did, I had my very own Ed. I had someone who was like a grandfather to me. I was allowed to call you Ed, and that just added to your charm. It's taken me a little while since you've died to be able to even think about you without crying, but I'm giving myself some grace on that since it's still only been a few months since your passing. I'm here writing this letter because I think it's something you'd encourage me to do to write through my grief because you always encouraged me to write and to do anything even mildly instructive so here it goes.

I want to say thank you for every long talk you had with me about school, and for always being interested in my ideas and opinions. I miss that more than anything about you. The world is too big and too loud, and you were big and loud but you listened. You understood from having a daughter of your own that because the world is too big and too loud that to a young girl having a place to discuss what she thought made a difference. You made a difference to me. You gave me the confidence to use my voice, to learn my facts, and speak my truth.

You gave me the encouragement needed to not let the world drown out my ideas, and the push I needed to go back to college (you, grandma, and my parents). I feel so guilty that I didn't bring around those last papers from school that you wanted to see. I know you wouldn't blame me. You would say I was busy and it's alright but I know how happy it would've made you to talk to me about my ideas in psychology and all my classes. It made me happier than you ever knew to talk to you about all of my ideas for changing the world.

I also want to thank you for making my grandmother and my family so happy, so full of laughter. I can't remember many times that I entered Grandma's house and there wasn't laughter when you were there. You had that smirk that made people laugh just by looking at it that coupled with your bad jokes always did the trick. I miss that too, the way Grandma's eyes used to light up when you did something funny. I've tried to pick up the bad joke mantle for you, but I just don't think it works as well as it did when you told them. You inspired so much laughter, happiness, and fun everywhere you went, and it breaks my heart to see that missing now.

I think that's where the biggest hole is now not in the empty place where you used to sit or the spot where your car used to be parked in the driveway, but you're missing in my laughter. Thank you for those times where laughing was more prominent than breathing, and for the times when our smiles were brighter than the shine on your forehead (that joke is for you, I know you're laughing at it in Heaven).

There's one more thing I want to thank you for, thank you for being a part of our family. Thank you for being my grandfather, thank you for being Grandma's fiancée, and thank you for being our Ed. I know you're happy and safe where you are that you aren't sick or hurting anymore, and I'm thankful for that. You hated staying still. I think that's why you and Grandma loved each other so much. We will watch out for Grandma. I know you'd worry about that, but we've got it. You had us, and we're all so grateful to have had you too.

I guess that's everything. Thank you for being such a big part of my life. I know I will see you again. Oh one last thing, I’m taking good care of your motorcycle, he loves it as much as you did. Love you Ed, see you soon. Let’s go for a ride in Heaven.

Hugs and Kisses,

Savannah

Your Granddaughter

“Grandfathers do have a special place in the lives of their children's children. They can delight and play with them and even indulge them in ways that they did not indulge their own children. Grandfather knows that after the fun and games are over with his adorable grandchildren he can return to the quiet of his own home and peacefully reflect on this phenomenon of fatherhood.” (Alvin F. Poussaint)[i]