So many questions left unanswered, so many memories left unmade. Just to turn back the clock, even for a day and hear the wisdom he had. To hear of his life, his stories: the struggles and the triumphs. Looking back it seems selfish not to spend more time in his presence when I had the opportunity. To learn what he had to share. To listen to what he had to say. He was old fashioned - well, because he was 87. He didn't need a computer or a tv to make him happy. He made birdhouses and wreaths out of found bark and seeds and twigs and gave them away to friends and family. I loved the smell of his workshop that was in the cellar of their house. The cellar was such a cool place. It had two blue weathered doors that you had to lift up to be able to then go down into the musty room where you of course had to feel around for the light switch and flick it on. The dim light would flood in over his work bench. I loved to go down there when I was a kid. It seems though, the older I got the less and less I wanted to go down there with him; I'd sit inside and watch tv or take a nap. And how selfish of me to later put off trips to Carthage so that I could work or sleep in instead. I realize now what is most important in life.
It is people, it is relationships. It is being with those that you love and loving them back. What I wouldn't give to be down there in his workshop just one more time with him, listening to his stories and learning how to make birdhouses in his cellar. I love you.
In Memory of Grandpa Max
2-17-21 to 12-13-08
1 comment:
Thank you for this.
His birdhouses and wreaths say something about him. Any fellow who sets out to create beauty for others is a gift to the world.
Post a Comment