I was blessed with 4 grandparents when I was born. My paternal grandfather died when I was
young. I only know him through pictures and tales I heard about him at the time
of his death. Amazing stories, firsts,
feats, and greatness. My paternal
grandmother I knew in person. My first
name is hers. I sometimes feel like I
remember her voice, but I definitely remember her smile. And her hands. For some reason, I remember her hands.
From a young age, the family began traveling to Nigeria for
summers or for the Christmas holiday. I
began to know my maternal grandparents more and more as I grew. Both of them also visited StL pretty
regularly, too.
I will never forget watching episodes of Jerry Springer with
Grandma and her turning to me to ask, “What does ‘nahmee’ mean? Took me a
while, but, I finally figured out that she was referring to the slang drawls of
people saying (never really using it as a question) “You know what I mean?”
I don’t remember how the nickname started, but my grandpa
always referred to me as Ada-Potato-Ada-Potata. I loved it. I loved having a nickname that he anointed me
with and that he called me and that some of my aunts and uncles started to call
me, too.
My grandfather was really incredible. I mean that.
It is unbelievable some of the things he has accomplished in his
life! If you don’t believe me, read at the Vanguard, or on this blog.
Even when I was small, I was impressed by how in awe so many
people in the village were of him. It
was like he was a celebrity. I wanted to
know why. I learned that he was a judge
– the first judge to come from his village.
He not only became a judge, he became really big and handled some really
big cases. This was impressive even to
me - a child of a lawyer. I mean, how many people have a grandpa who was a classmate of Margaret Thatcher in school?
I cherished hearing him tell tales of his times in England
when he visited us in the States and we could take up all of his attention
without others around as it tended to be in Ohafia.
At the same time, I loved seeing him in his element at home
– more and more often in more casual wrappers and undershirts as he got older. Not in suits and ties and judges robes any more, but still looking distinguished at all times.
Over the summer, news reached me that he was growing ill.
My first thoughts were about how it had been so long since
I’d seen him. Then I went to thinking
about how I needed to immediately buy my tickets to Nigeria for December 2014
so that I could visit him and Granny.
Each new message from my mom about her father was a little
more unsettling.
I barely slept all summer thinking of him. Hearing his voice. Hearing him say my nickname. Seeing him on his balcony entertaining
guests.
At the beginning of August I found out that my big brother
was going to Naija with his fiancée and my mom.
I jumped on that trip real quickly.
It would coincide with the end of summer school that I was
teaching.
After tickets were bought, knowing I was going on that trip
and would see him again gave me my first decent night’s sleep in a really long
time. I was going to get to see him
again. We had word that he was eating
again. My aunts even were sending pictures of him sitting up and looking
alert. Much thinner than Grandpa I had
seen 6 years before, but still alert and smiling.
Six years. How had I
let it go that long without getting to Nigeria?
I had a train to DC scheduled for the last day of summer
school; I’d meet bro and Slaw (my loving name for my one and only
almost-sister-in-law) and Mom and then the next day we would fly to see
Grandpa, Granny, and the rest of the family.
During an end of school year staff meeting, I missed a call
from my mother. I called back as I
walked out the door on my way to the subway that conveniently was right outside
the school. I was on my way to get home, pick up my suitcase, and head to Penn
Station for my train.
Very calmly and almost like she was just stating facts like
that I am her daughter and my skin is brown, she said, “We were too late.” She went on to say more, but at that moment,
those four words shook me to my core. My
heart literally seemed to skip a beat which caused my lungs to not inhale and
for me to stop walking and lean against the side ledge by the school.
How could we be too late?
How did our quick, perfect plan to see him one last more time before IT
happened not work out?
I listened to details about how he had passed on with Granny
right by his side. I think that at first
this gave me some relief, but then that relief turned to fear that maybe since
he died in his sleep she had not been able to say a proper goodbye to her life
partner of 60+ years.
Even though the subway stop was less than 20 meters from
where I leaned, I took a walk. I walked
and I walked. I passed two more subway
stations. I just kept walking. I cried as I walked – at first I hoped that
my large sunglasses and the fact that it is NYC and crazy stuff is seen all the
time on the streets would keep me inconspicuous. Then I stopped carrying and just kept crying
on my walk. I got on a train. I cried on
the train. I had to transfer to another
train and cried on the platform while I waited and then cried some more on the
next train and on the walk up to my apartment.
Bawled so hard.
I tried to stop so I could give the news to the boif that
the suitcase I packed so immaculately sitting in the middle of the living room
would not be put to use for that last visit, but I could barely get any words
out. I stuttered through my words as
tears choked my voice.
The family cancelled the trip that day. They had already
cancelled the flight before I received The Call.
We wanted to transfer the flights to whenever the funeral
would take place. That is something I don’t
want to miss.
That suitcase stayed in the middle of the living room floor
for almost two weeks. Taking items out
and moving the case would mean that it was really real. Grandpa was really
gone.
As weeks have gone by it has sunk in more and more that it
is the end of an era. Despite that he is
gone, I continue to learn more and more about my Grandfather and to become even
more and more impressed by his professional accolades and his dedication to his
village town.
I also continue to burst into tears at random times and in
random places when I think of him, hear his voice, or see him either in my
memory or in pictures.
I know he was older and older people – and all people – have
to die.
I also know that he has influenced my life in so many ways.
Since I was small, I have wanted to live in a home with a
balcony in the front (or at least a front porch area large enough for many
chairs) so I can people watch and also so that people can see me as people saw
Grandpa and just stop by for a visit. I
have only thrice succeeded in garnering an apartment with a balcony, but they
are never substantial and are always in neighborhoods not conducive to
walk-bys.
I have not been able to have an open-door policy with my
home, but do so with the same welcoming spirit as my grandfather with my
classroom.
Because Grandpa was so educated and spoke with such clarity,
I have pushed to learn more and more.
Each day I push to either use my word-of-the-day dictionary app to learn
a new word, read various types of articles and books, or watch educational,
eclectic, informative shows and movies on tv.
I remember how much pride it gave me when my parents and
siblings would say I was teaching someone in the house something new each day;
the joy I felt when my father was so impressed that his non-medical school
daughter understood and could explain medical terminology and concepts; I loved
being there when my mother and her lawyer colleagues were shocked and awed by
my legal knowledge at a legal trivia night; I enjoy shocking my students when
they ask their social studies teacher if they can go see the math teacher for
help and I am able to help them with their problems.
I do it all to honor ALL of my grandparents.
It took me a long time to put pen to paper to write about my
grandfather. Each time, I would try to try to even THINK of what I wanted to
say, my thoughts would get jumbled. I
would start to cry so hard that it was purposeless to try to create this. I am glad I have finally done so – this
creation was not without tears, just like all of my thoughts of him and of my
family that I don’t see enough and don’t talk with enough.
I know that death is an inevitable side effect of making it
out of a womb.
I also know that I need to do a better job of living.
I need to stay in contact more with people I care about.
I need to share more of my life and my ideas and my feelings
and my talents and more me with people.
I need to laugh more and smile more and make others laugh
and smile more.
I need to listen more.
I need to do what I want to do more.
I need to be in the moment more.
I need to live more.
I need to continue hearing Grandpa’s voice in my head
telling Ada-Potato to honor him and all my predecessors by being generous and
kind and loving – just like him.
I'm so sorry about your Granpa. He was an amazing man. May his soul rest is peace
ReplyDeleteI am in complete tears as I finish reading this. Such a beautiful tribute to your grandfather - and all your grandparents. I lost my grandmother last year and this brought back so much of the sense of loss and love. Thank you for sharing this little glimpse of your family, your heritage, and yourself with all of us.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteI'm glad it brought feelings of love to you about your grandmother - I believe that death is hard for the living because we don't often think of the love, we think of the loss. I hope you remember more of the love than the sad feelings of loss.
I don't usually share much about myself and my family, but I feel that it is time to do so and his life was so wonderful that it warrants being shared and having my life connected to his legacy.
I love that you shared your beautiful memories with all of us. What a great tribute to your grandfather!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteThere are really so many beautiful memories with him and with so many of my family members - I need to share more of them.
Glad you were able to put your feelings down and share what a remarkable grandpa (and family) you have. I know you have such precious memories that will be with you always. I never got to meet any of my grandparents and wish I had. NYC is a great place for those walks, as I had many walking when my husband was sick, or after his passing. They really help when you need to. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteNYC is indeed a great place to hide in plain sight and with many people when you want to be alone - and to find some secluded places in the midst of the city.
Forever in my heart grandpa
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