Words escape me right now and any description for our weekend will have to be told through the few photos that I snapped over the last days. The last four days for us were full of nothing and everything. Spending time together as a family has seemed to be the best way to swallow these long weekends and I wouldn’t trade it for all the peanut butter M&Ms in the world.
Between workouts, eating cupcakes, BBQs and birthdays, we found ourselves engrossed in our books, the garden and a new Netflix series. Ahhh…..staycation.
But.
This weekend also marked 17 years ago that my grandpa died the day before his birthday. The days and weeks leading up to his death are etched in my brain, as it was my first experience with death as person old enough to partially grasp the gravity of his passing. My mom, her sisters and my grandmother formed a small tribe to ensure that his last days home were comfortable and full of love. They were, of course.
In some ways things don’t really change. 17 years is a lifetime, but not really. I said my goodbyes to my grandpa, at the urging of my grandma, while he could still respond via touch. He squeezed my hand in response to my blubbery love-filled chatter. When he died the next day, I was at my other grandparent’s house helping to celebrate Chaya’s birthday. She was having a sleepover and I was to join the party.
Last night we went over to my grandparent’s house to celebrate Chaya’s birthday and there was talk about my Grandpa Lowman, what a remarkable man he was. And he was, plus more. Seventeen years have come and gone and still stories are getting told that make us laugh. He was nothing short of a character.
Yes, 17 years is a long time. A lifetime in some cases.
But.
We’re still celebrating life and we’re still honoring his memory. This weekend I honored my grandfather simply by loving the life that I live and those that I share it with.
He sure would have loved sharing a slice of Chaya’s birthday cake with Mags.
