Grandpa's One Piece of Advice

On Memorial Day, I spent time with a lovely family and had the opportunity to spend a few minutes in heartfelt conversation with the patriarch of the expansive group, a man some 90 years old who has lived through eras I read about in textbooks.

One of his children died decades ago, and his surviving children have each married and given this man a host of beautiful grandchildren.

As he and I sat watching dozens of his progeny splash each other in the pool, dash to and from the snack table where we were stationed, and explode into laughter at intervals, seemingly fueled by the joyful afternoon sun, the man looked and me and said, "If I could give you one piece of advice-" and then a pause as my own child ran up to report on the fun she was having, before skipping away again to continue with her friends - "Talk to your children about him." He went on to say that one of his grandchildren was asked by a teacher that well known essay prompt, "If you could have lunch with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?" Those familiar with the animated imaginations of a classroom are likely accustomed to the usual responses: Abraham Lincoln, Babe Ruth, miscellaneous famous actors, artists, religious leaders, etc.

The man's grandchild's response: my Uncle Ewan (name has been changed for this article).

This child's grandfather explained that through family conversation--"talking story," as we would say in Hawaiian culture--this child had a connection with her uncle and her love and respect and understanding of his cherished memory drew her to him.

"Tell them stories," he counseled. "It may be hard, because it's so emotional for you, but talk to them about him."

Talking to my kids about Brandon is one of the biggest goals I have had since the day he died. I want to keep him alive in their minds and hearts. Initially, I felt I was making that effort out of fear--fear that they'd forget this man who was their everything for the formative years of their lives, short as that time together was. As I've adjusted my perspective and allowed grief and loss and all of its effects to be real, my motivation for keeping him alive to them has felt different. I no longer feel that fear. If they forget, they forget. Of course, I don't want them to. But realistically, their minds will move forward with new experiences and feelings and people and places, and the memory of their father may become distant, obscured, or maybe without reach. However, I do believe that by telling his stories, keeping him involved in family prayers, discussions, and special events, I can give the children new memories with their father. These memories might not include a visual of his face, or the exact sound of his laughter, but they will explain how valuable those things were (and are) to them and to me. I know they will feel drawn to their father, like that child feels drawn to her uncle.

Truly, my children's father is alive and well and he is part of their life now just as much--if not more--than before, and he will be forever. They don't have to cling to the old memory for fear of forgetting, or for any other reason. And neither do I.