On Losing Your Grandparents

Don’t feel like reading? Here, I’ll read it to you

Last week, my grandparents’ house sold. That chapter forever closed. I’ve been reflecting and wanting to write about it. We’ve all lost grandparents.

This summer we said goodbye to both my grandparents. My Grandpa Ronnie passed in June, followed by my Grandma Barbie in August. I feel lucky that I had them for 24 years of my life, a lot of people don’t get that.

Death is a weird thing. One of my greatest fears actually. And not my own death, but that of the people dearest to me. One of my fears when I left on travels would be that while I was away 1. My dog would die and 2. My grandparents would die. In the past year we have lost them all. I feel grateful it was during the windows of time that I was home. I got to hold their hands and tell them I love them one last time. I got the opportunity to make peace with their deaths. And while I would obviously prefer they were still here with me, I feel immensely grateful I could be here to say goodbye.

I always felt like when one went, the other would go shortly after. And that’s exactly what happened. One week after Ronnie passed, Barbie went to the hospital in debilitating pain. After a month of fighting pain and illness, her body chose comfort and peace. I can’t imagine what the last 6 weeks were like for my grandma, but I feel relieved that she’s free. Free from pain, free from heartbreak, free from the worries of life on Earth.

We miss them, we love them, but we are happy they’re free.

With my grandpa’s dementia, I always hoped that even when he forgot everything, he’d never forget Barbie. As far as anyone knows, the last words he said were “I love you” to my grandma. The last month my grandma spent in the hospital she wore grandpa’s wedding band on a necklace and reached for it often. I can’t speak on their love story or romance or the innerworkings of their relationship, but what I can say is that they were true partners. They were married for 62 years, and both died at the age of 90. They took care of each other, and I guess when I think about wanting to marry someday, I hope we have a partnership like that.

I wish they could read this. I wish they could know. I wish I had more to say when they were alive.

On Christmas we would all sit in the sunroom at Ronnie & Barbies, piled on top of couches and chairs surrounding the tree stacked with ornaments. I remember looking at my grandparents and thinking, wow, none of these people in this room would exist if it weren’t for you. I wonder how that feels. What an amazing thing it is to be a grandparent.

Grandma Barbie holding young Alexa in a lawn chair.

A photo of a man and woman sitting in front of a log cabin.

When I was younger I never knew what to talk to my grandparents about.

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“You still get together with your friends on Mondays?”

“Not really. They keep dying.” (That’s grandma’s crass sense of humor)

Ooookay grandma…

But now I feel guilt I didn’t do more. I feel guilty that I didn’t prioritize calling or going to visit as a teen. I feel guilty that I didn’t try harder to have a closer relationship. I feel guilty I didn’t ask them more about their lives. I just didn’t know what I was missing out on. Once I realized our time was limited when my grandpa went into assisted living about 2 years ago, I panicked. I started visiting and calling. Wondering about their lives and looking through photo albums. Don’t wait until the “panic.”

If your grandparents are still alive, I’d say, ask them about their life. Look at photo albums and see what comes up. They have a whole guidebook to life full of funny stories, brave adventures, and important lessons. Don’t leave it untapped. Go do a puzzle with them, go watch an episode of a sitcom they’ve seen a million times, go do the things you used to do when you were a kid like bake an apple pie. Go play with the little knick knacks in their house and sit on the front porch doin’ nothin. Just do it because you always think I can do that anytime and you always think we have more time. But one day you might go to visit and after two hours your grandpa will shake your hand and say “nice to meet you” as you leave. And one day you might go to find grandma’s gardens have all been overgrown and mowed over. And one day you might walk into that house they lived for 50 years and find it empty.

I’ll always see Barbie in stain glass art, gardens, and ground cherries. I think of her when I get a front row parking spot she deemed “rockstar parking” and when debating if I should add more garlic to my mashed potatoes, I always do.

I’ll always see Ronnie in planes, Andersen windows, and chocolate desserts.

I’ll see the both of them in gazebos and sunrooms, funny little toys, and little bowls of candy all over the place.

An old photo of a white house with a green roof.

A man and woman standing on the steps of a house.

Losing your grandparents is the end of an era. It means selling the house. It means holidays are somewhere else. It means families start to break off as your parents become the grandparents.

After the house sold and my aunts and uncles handed over the keys, my dad wrote a beautiful post that I want to share here as I think it’s relatable to many people and the feelings they have when saying goodbye.

“I walked into the front door of this house nearly 50 years ago. I was just a kid, but I knew some things. I looked around and said “This is it”.

I only actually lived there for 7 years, but for half a century it’s been the center of our family. It’s where we all came together for holidays, birthdays, Wannigan Days, any old day. Its where we shared our news, here at the kitchen table.

I made the team. We won the game. Can I get a ride. Look at my report card. DON’T look at my report card! No, there wasn’t any alcohol at that party. I graduated. I got accepted. I got a job. I met somebody. We’re getting married. We’re going to have a baby. (not always in that order). Can the kids come for a sleepover? We bought a house. Can I borrow some money? We’re having trouble. We’re getting divorced. Can I come home for awhile? The kids are getting so big. Where is Christmas this year? Here, of course – everyone will be here! Is it too much? This house is so big. Is it time to think about downsizing? NO! Soon. One more year. One more Christmas. One more Wannigan Days parade. One more…

Sold and closed today. The house is still there, but it’s not home anymore. But thanks to the way Mom and Dad lived, home is always with us.”
Michael J. Schafer