Familial Familiar
Aug. 27th, 2012 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
miss_lucy21I noticed tonight, while listening to my father rant about various things (the Republicans, the Cleveland Browns, work stuff...dinner as usual around here) that he has his father's arms. My dad generally takes after his mother's family, who was Polish and looked it. We joke that we make good peasant people. So, it was a little surprising to look at my dad and see my grandfather's arms waving around as he was making a point.
I imagine that many people think of their grandfather's arms, or body, as being strong, maybe as being shelter. I don't. He was no longer strong by the time I knew him. He'd had a major heart attack about five years before I was born, and then a serious back injury a few years after that, and then another major heart attack that forced him to retire when I was about 18 months old. And then a stroke when I was about 4, that robbed him of most of his conversational abilities. I have very few memories of him before the stroke- standing at the front window counting cars around the time my brother was born, is the main one. But there was never any doubt that he loved me and my brother more than the stars in the sky or all the fish in the sea. We were his delight- his only grandchildren- even if he couldn't quite say so.
I expected to be upset at realizing that my father's arms look like my grandfather's, since they didn't used to, and it's probably a sign that my father is getting older (he's not that old, only 58). I don't imagine most people like the thought of their parents getting old and dying, but it's especially difficult for me. But, really, I was just wistful. It probably helps that my grandfather's death was considerably less traumatic than the deaths of my grandmother and my maternal grandfather in 2007. It's a story I can tell, that I can think about, without...dissolving. That probably makes a bit of difference.
Handsome son of a gun, wasn't he? This is in 1954, I think when he was on leave after my dad was born. I can't quite remember right now, but he was at sea when Dad was born and I'm not sure he got to come back right away. Or he did, but only for a day or two, and then he was gone until my dad was 6 or 7 months old. But I love this photo. He was still handsome when I knew him, but he wasn't nearly so joyful.
Anyway, I was just in a sharing mood. It's nice to talk about what I can, sometimes, without being all tearful.
I imagine that many people think of their grandfather's arms, or body, as being strong, maybe as being shelter. I don't. He was no longer strong by the time I knew him. He'd had a major heart attack about five years before I was born, and then a serious back injury a few years after that, and then another major heart attack that forced him to retire when I was about 18 months old. And then a stroke when I was about 4, that robbed him of most of his conversational abilities. I have very few memories of him before the stroke- standing at the front window counting cars around the time my brother was born, is the main one. But there was never any doubt that he loved me and my brother more than the stars in the sky or all the fish in the sea. We were his delight- his only grandchildren- even if he couldn't quite say so.
I expected to be upset at realizing that my father's arms look like my grandfather's, since they didn't used to, and it's probably a sign that my father is getting older (he's not that old, only 58). I don't imagine most people like the thought of their parents getting old and dying, but it's especially difficult for me. But, really, I was just wistful. It probably helps that my grandfather's death was considerably less traumatic than the deaths of my grandmother and my maternal grandfather in 2007. It's a story I can tell, that I can think about, without...dissolving. That probably makes a bit of difference.
Handsome son of a gun, wasn't he? This is in 1954, I think when he was on leave after my dad was born. I can't quite remember right now, but he was at sea when Dad was born and I'm not sure he got to come back right away. Or he did, but only for a day or two, and then he was gone until my dad was 6 or 7 months old. But I love this photo. He was still handsome when I knew him, but he wasn't nearly so joyful.
Anyway, I was just in a sharing mood. It's nice to talk about what I can, sometimes, without being all tearful.