For My Grandpa

Below is what I wrote and spoke at my grandfather’s burial last month. I wrote this into the journal I purchased for Hawthorne while I was still pregnant. In it I write to him my thoughts, his milestones, our funny memories, etc. for him to read and enjoy when he’s older.

While my grandfather had fond memories of and with my son, meeting him when he came home from the hospital, holding and hugging and cuddling him and watching him grow up, Hawthorne will not be able to carry these beautiful memories; I wanted them to be recorded in his journal so he knew how dope his great-grandpa was.

While this “speech” is heartbreakingly beautiful and at times funny, I’ll end this post with some silly, dark humor tidbits my cousins and I have come up with and shared in the wake of his death as a way to process and complement the tears with laughter which is all he would have wanted.

SO if you’re not in the mood for sappy stuff today, scroll to the bottom for giggles.

I have a lot I could say about my grandpa—like we all do. Honestly, I think anyone who spent even five minutes with him could’ve shown up today and offered at least a paragraph of reflection.

But everyone here knows him. You don’t just remember him—you experienced him.
You remember him singing “Hallelujah, hallelujah!” at random times of day.
You remember him shouting “AMEN!” with joy, raising his hands when something intrigued him, or sitting out on a deck at sunset, smoking a cigar and soaking in the beauty of nature.
You remember him telling stories of our ancestry… or reminding you, “It doesn’t matter.”
You remember him having completely normal conversations at an abnormally loud decibel, and laughing so hard every head in a restaurant would turn.

So, what’s left to say?

In the days after he passed, I felt confused—like I’d been snapped into a reality I didn’t recognize. He was so full of life… how could he be gone?
His energy still feels so tangible when I think of him. I can still feel his hand in mine. I can still picture him pacing around because he just couldn’t sit still.
I kept thinking, This isn’t fair. This isn’t right. This can’t be real.

But the more I sat with it, the more I realized—
It was fair.
It was perfect.
It was lucky.

This is the first close loss I’ve experienced. And as I’ve moved through the days without him, I’ve come to see how deeply fortunate I am that this is the person I’m grieving first.
Because I’m grieving a man who lived the kind of life people dream of living.

In the 30 years I knew him, he was always spreading joy—not because he was trying to, but because he was so full of it himself. His awe and wonder at the world around him were contagious.
He found community wherever he went—morning coffee meetups, weekly neighborhood dinners, new friends every time he moved.
He knew what he loved—red wine, cigars, and quiet moments in nature—and he leaned all the way in.
He gave back—staying in touch with the sheriff’s department, singing in the local church choir.
He traveled the world.
He spent real, intentional time with us, his grandkids, building memories we’ll carry forever.
He saw all of us get married.
He met his first great-grandson.
He checked in regularly—calls, texts, voicemails, always connecting.

We never ignored his calls.
We never forgot to say “I love you.”

He lived a life bursting at the seams. And even though we always joked he’d live forever—because, frankly, his energy outpaced most people half his age—when he passed, he left this world quickly, peacefully, and in the arms of the woman he loved so deeply.

So yes, I mourn. I miss him.
I’ll miss holding his hand.
I’ll miss hearing him tell some poor stranger, “The only sugar I can have is with my lips,” for the thousandth time.
I’ll miss smelling a cigar and knowing he’s nearby.

But I also feel such deep gratitude—for the life he lived, the peacefulness of his passing, and the memories he gifted us. He showed us exactly what it looks like to live.

And now, with the permission of my cousins, I’ll close with something a little lighthearted—because if Grandpa were here, he’d want us laughing.

Five days before he passed, he was in the hospital—nothing major., just uncomfortable—and Nana told me he’d gotten a good dose of morphine.
I asked to talk to him.
And when he got on the phone, I said:
“Grandpa… are you high as fuuuuck?”

In the days after, I kept thinking: Did I really say that? Is that really the last thing I said to him?
It was.
And honestly? I bet it was fun.

HERE ARE THE FUNNY THINGS

SOOOOOO yeah if you read the above, you’ll already see this first one coming:

1) I spoke to Grandpa on the phone 5 days before he passed. He was in the hospital, though it wasn’t anything serious and he was later cleared for discharge… it gets complicated. JUST KNOW THAT IT WASN’T SERIOUS!

My nana, who was with him and giving me updates on how he was doing, told me that he was doing great! Why? Because he just got a dose of morphine! I said, “Let me talk to Grandpa!”

And when he got on the phone, I said:
“Grandpa… are you high as fuuuuck?”

In the days after, I kept thinking: Did I really say that? Is that really the last thing I said to him?
It was.
And honestly? I bet it was fun.

2) My cousin was the executor of his will and the three of us were 3/5 of the beneficiaries. My cousin was filling me on on when to expect what payouts and deposits and checks are various stages for various assets. It was just about two weeks after he passed and I was still in the throes of it. But Rachel? She had to get into “MANAGEMENT MODE” real quick. Her emotional button was on pause for the time being.

I said “Rachel UGH it just feels so gross talking about this inheritance as “payouts.” It sounds so cold when I just want to hold his hand again.

She said, “I know but I don’t know what else to call it!”

I settled on this “Let’s just lean in: call them Grandpa Paychecks.”

And after we spent a Grandpa Paycheck on responsible adult things, I also bought a sauna mat and a red light face mask. Thanks Grandpa!

3) There were various points before and during the burial weekend that I wanted to say in my cousin group chat, “Grandpa would be rolling in his grave!” because, you know, family dramas.

But he was cremated. So instead we all said, “Grandpa would be SWIRLING IN HIS VASE!” I envision this kind of like the Genie coming out of that bottle. Spinning and spinning and spinning in the base until he came out of the spout. Except Grandpa won’t come out of any spout. Apparently that urn is locked and loaded to survive the end of the world.

4) Through the period of dealing with and navigating the legal inheritance stuff, I stumbled upon a document identifying my cousin as the Executrix. DID YOU KNOW FEMALE EXECUTORS ARE CALLED EXECUTRIXES?! How badass.

I asked why on EARTH she hadn’t been ending her family emails with “Madame Executrix”

That turned into me calling her Madame Dominatrix.

The end