The first time I ever heard my grandfather talk was at his funeral.
Literally. A stroke at the age of 54 left him without the ability to speak. An old recording of his voice was played at the end of the funeral service, which left me speechless. "That was what he sounded like? Wait, there's no way that voice goes with his face. Nope." The feeling was similar to when I saw a YouTube video of the guy who does the actual voice of Spongebob Squarepants. Only there were a heck of a lot more emotions strung along with it. I was never that attached to a talking sponge.
I am guilty of not knowing my grandfather. I didn't know that his entire family was from Alabama. I didn't know Lisa was his "favorite." I didn't know that when he was in high school, a group of his friends stole World War II harmless smokescreen "bombs." As a joke, they put them at one end of the old subway system. The Democrat and Chronicle headline the next day was "Rochester Main Street Up In Smoke." No one was ever caught. Although his father, who found one of the smoke bombs in the garage, had a pretty good feeling who it was. No, I didn't know him. I learned these things today.
But I did know that my grandfather lived for over 30 years after his stroke, despite being told it would be 10. And ten years after his stroke, his grandchildren were born, who he watched grow up and become adults. Every Christmas, every wedding, every Thanksgiving, every summer in the Adirondacks, we were together.
The biggest lesson he taught me is that communication goes far beyond words and talking- those things are merely a vehicle for expression. A smile, a hug, a kiss, a shrug, a fist-bump, and simply being "there;" those languages are equally valid. Silence speaks. With that said, listening also goes beyond hearing- it is watching, being present, looking into somebody's eyes, and understanding.
Yep yep, I have had many conversations with my grandfather.
I am so incredibly grateful of my grandparents. Many of my blessings in life are because of their love. The Large-Frey family, my family, has evolved over the years. The cottage has always remained the same. They are my wings and my roots, despite the fact that the name sounds like a McDonalds order. Which has been announced at more than one restaurant when our table is ready.
Sometimes family is your blood. Sometimes it's your neighbor who comes to your grandpa's funeral AND sister's grad party in the same weekend. Sometimes it's the friends who will stop at nothing to make sure you are okay. Family is your heart and soul, your support and your motivation, and it is not always your blood. I just consider myself biologically blessed.
Rest easy, Papa. We will have a lot to talk about when we meet again.
