Lunch with Granny
Granny and I met for lunch today to have a little celebration of Granddaddy's birthday. Granddaddy died several years ago. I was drinking then, but still had many years left of "good" drinking. When he was in the hospital just before he died, John Barleycorn helped me do something I just couldn't do sober at the time: visit Granddaddy alone and sincerely thank him for all he'd done for me, all the love he'd given me, all the times we spent together, all the lessons he'd taught me - to truly tell him I loved him and to tell him good-bye.
It was after visiting hours one night, maybe around 10:00, and I'd been out drinking. I don't even know what I'd done that night, but I wasn't very drunk. Driving home (drunk, yes), the thought struck me to go talk with Granddaddy. He'd been in the hospital for several days, his health steadily declining. I'd been over everyday, but never alone. He was lucid most of the time, but couldn't talk. So, I went to the hospital and straight to his room. In the low light, I pulled a chair beside his bed. I held his hand and I said what I needed to say. I wish I could've done it sober, but that just was not in me at that time. I imagine he knew I was a little drunk, not so much from physical mannerisms, but for the fact that I was saying things I'd never said. I was a good grandson and we'd always had an amazing relationship, but we'd never talked like this. This was the type of talk that I, as a gay man, would almost never have with a straight man, even my grandfather. But, it needed saying and alcohol loosened me up enough to do it. Admitting that hurts a bit; that my being gay (and afraid) almost kept me from saying thank you and good-bye to my grandfather and that using alcohol was the only way I could do it.
Granddaddy died the next afternoon. Granny, my mother and I were in the room with him when he died. A preacher and friend of the family was also there. As he was leaving, he touched Granddaddy and Granddaddy drew his last breath. I held mine.
It was after visiting hours one night, maybe around 10:00, and I'd been out drinking. I don't even know what I'd done that night, but I wasn't very drunk. Driving home (drunk, yes), the thought struck me to go talk with Granddaddy. He'd been in the hospital for several days, his health steadily declining. I'd been over everyday, but never alone. He was lucid most of the time, but couldn't talk. So, I went to the hospital and straight to his room. In the low light, I pulled a chair beside his bed. I held his hand and I said what I needed to say. I wish I could've done it sober, but that just was not in me at that time. I imagine he knew I was a little drunk, not so much from physical mannerisms, but for the fact that I was saying things I'd never said. I was a good grandson and we'd always had an amazing relationship, but we'd never talked like this. This was the type of talk that I, as a gay man, would almost never have with a straight man, even my grandfather. But, it needed saying and alcohol loosened me up enough to do it. Admitting that hurts a bit; that my being gay (and afraid) almost kept me from saying thank you and good-bye to my grandfather and that using alcohol was the only way I could do it.
Granddaddy died the next afternoon. Granny, my mother and I were in the room with him when he died. A preacher and friend of the family was also there. As he was leaving, he touched Granddaddy and Granddaddy drew his last breath. I held mine.
