As the day that marks a year since your Grandpa Pallister passed draws closer by the hour, I suspect I'll spend a lot of time tonight (and tomorrow) wondering if I've been doing it right the past year. By "it," I mean dealing with his death. I was lucky enough to live 40 years without anyone close to me dying. On the other hand, my first experience with it had to involve one of the few people in my life I have ever been close to. I think of him a lot, but I find myself not wanting to dwell. Sometimes I'll skip a song that I know will remind me of him. Often, the picture in the bedroom of him holding you in his arms from the day you two first met catches my eye. It initially makes me smile, but I usually turn away pretty quickly, because I know the road it will take me down. That makes me feel guilty, as if I'm not devoting the proper amount of time to grieving. Related to that, I'm very happy with my life. That, too, makes me feel guilty, as though I'm being hurtful to his memory by not hurting more. In reality I know it's the exact opposite, that Grandpa knowing before he died that I had started a family made him as happy as I've ever seen him. But my wiring is a bit off when it comes to the issue of death, primarily because, as I mentioned, I never had to deal with it. Sometimes I think I should sneak away and just, for a lack of a better term, "lose it" for a while. Sometimes I think I owe that to him. But maybe that's not how it works. Maybe I am doing it right. I still struggle with the question, though. Likely because there is no correct answer. This time, I don't have any advice for you, son. To be honest, I just wanted an excuse to talk. To you. About your Grandpa Pallister. However, related to the thoughts above, I wrote this a while back. Hopefully, as you get older, it will make more sense. But I hope it takes at least 40 years.
Of death and what will be
There's a cross that bears his memory and a boy who bears his name
There's a picture not an enemy framed by joy and pain
There's a man who doesn't close his eyes, afraid of what he'll see
Remembering's the hardest part of death and what will be
For 40 years I walked through life and many thoughts were born
But one thing never crossed my mind; I never learned to mourn
Now here I stand at 41, a father to a son
And when I think of what he'll miss, my thoughts away they run
The cross it sits inside a drawer, a reminder out of sight
It's hidden there, a choice unclear, confused by wrong and right
Should I clutch it ev'ry day or hang it in plain view?
Or should I use it just to pray; God, what should I do?
The picture on the windowsill is a priceless work of art
A baby in his grandpa's arms — four eyes that pierce my heart
Captured on the day they met, two smiles for all time
So why is it I rarely look and guilt is all I find?
On nighttime drives I reminisce; I'm happy for a while
But suddenly that feeling's gone; it fades into the miles
Instead I wipe away a tear, return to make-believe
Can't seem to wipe away the fear of letting myself grieve
Love,
Dad
