I was still a little bit sleepy when Christine told me my grandfather had died. The news came by text in the middle of night and we were all kind of half expecting it. My grandfather knew how much I loved him and how much everybody loved him. That isn’t the issue and I don’t want to make it seem like there is any issue. My grandfather was a great man.
When I think about my grandfather I think about legacy. I was talking to Christine and we said how nobody ever had a bad thing to say about D-Dop. D-Dop is what we called him. It’s what we always called him and even though I took credit for coming up with that as a nickname I will admit now, finally, that it was my sister who may have originally said it.
When I look at this picture of my grandfather I think of how whenever we saw each other we’d shake hands and rest an arm on one another’s shoulder. We never said much when we did this but then again we never had to. He knew and I knew that we both knew how much we enjoyed each other’s company and how the love that we shared was ours and how special it was and how nothing could hide it. There was respect between us and admiration also.
We spent a large amount of our lives together but never said a whole lot of anything. For a while I began to wonder if I would regret this, regret not sharing more of my feelings and opinions with him. Now I can see that in the silence were some of the best moments of our relationship. There are countless people in my life who I have things to say to. He was the one man with whom I didn’t have to say anything.