The Truth: A Change of Plans

Okay, time to try this for the third time.  I started out writing this post about how I thought that in my two previous posts I favored one grandfather over the other.  I intended to use that as a springboard to write about truth but less than two paragraphs in, I couldn't think of anything else to write.  I realized that I couldn't think of anything else to write because the truth was illuminated in a light shade of blue and a single keystroke; I deleted most of what I'd already written and started afresh with a new angle and an anecdote to prove my point.  I got three and a half paragraphs in before Blogger decided it hates me.  I mean seriously, how does hitting the undo button delete everything I'd written in a previously saved draft of the blog?  Thank God I'm not doing something stupid like going to school for Computer Science in order to get a job intimately working with computers for the rest of my life.  Oh, wait... that's exactly what I'm doing.  So here I am writing this post for the third time after four episodes of Archer, a thousand more words in my NaNo Novel, a peanut butter sandwich and a few shots of tequila (just kidding, Mom).

And if you're worried I've forgotten, I'll conclude the epic saga, "The Past One and a Half Years of My Average Life," next week but I just had to change my plans a little bit to work this out with myself.  Once I'm done with my introspective/philosophical blogna and if you didn't stop reading after that terrible pun, there's a sonnet waiting for you.  Okay, now I'll get to what I actually want to write.

While it is true that as a child I was always more excited to see my paternal grandparents because they lived so much further away and, hence, I didn't get to see them as often, that doesn't mean I cared about one grandfather more than another.  But it was on this uncertainty, in addition to the fact that I didn't have the same reaction when my maternal grandfather died as when my paternal grandfather died and a few sentences that didn't make it into the final drafts of my previous posts, that I tried to base my argument.  Even though I edited out those sentences for a reason, they lingered in my mind and festered.  I asked myself, "Could it really be true that I cared about one grandfather more than the other."  So with this post I set out to seek the truth.  Like I said, my failed attempts at writing about it was enough evidence for me but I'll break the rest of it down for you.

My primary internal conflict came from the fact that I didn't (and still haven't) really cried for my maternal grandfather.  But there are many variables -- variables that have nothing to do with the amount of love I had for each grandfather -- that go into my tear ducts.  When my paternal grandfather passed away I was also dealing with the struggles of my first quarter of college: making new friends, papers, exams, projects, upcoming finals.  In comparison, I wasn't in school at the time of my maternal grandfather's death so the absence of that stressor made things much more emotionally manageable.  But because the only other major loss in my life was accompanied by a total mental breakdown I thought that because I didn't experience one when my maternal grandfather passed away meant I somehow cared about him less.  I now realize that the mourning process doesn't work like that.  It's different for each person; for each loss.  Another variable is that I was unable to attend my maternal grandfather's funeral but was able to be there for my paternal grandfather's.  Being surrounded by hundreds of other people mourning the loss of the same person makes the tears flow a little easier, I think.  Not only that, but my dad and the rest of his family have always been very emotionally strong people.  They were there to be strong for me, allowing me to lean on them and cry if I needed to.  When my mom's father passed away, she was stretched emotionally thin as it was having just celebrated her eldest son graduating from college and moving out into the real world; I had to be one of the ones she could lean on.  Similarly, when I went to spend a few days with my grandmother before going back to school for summer classes, I felt that I needed to be strong for her.

There may come a time when I subconsciously decide I no longer need to be strong and will allow myself to cry -- to mourn -- for my grandfather, but that aspect of the mourning process just hasn't come for me yet.

Both of my grandfathers were very, very special people.  Certainly, they each had their own areas of grandparenting at which they excelled and personalities that made them very different people but I loved them both the same and couldn't imagine what my life would be today if I hadn't had the privilege of knowing them both for the extraordinary men they were.

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I was also going to write something philosophical on the subject of truth but I decided these last few posts have been long enough already.  In place of eight extra inches through which you'd have to scroll, I wrote a sonnet:



Traveling East

The sun traverses cobalt skies but in
Its rightful place is standing still, while ants
Below the earth are swept away by wind;
Among them spiders try to hide but can't,
By ninth commandments they abide; a bright-
Eyed youth perceives it all through outcurved lense;
The contradicting paths of those upon
An anthill layered deep with sands of sense,
That coalesce to form one paragon --
Unknown except to those of passage earned;
Now traveling west to where we'll never come;
It seems so far away yet if he turned
Around, it's little more than twelve steps swum.
Though multitudes of things the bright-eyed youth
May never know, he only writes the truth.



If you only want to read this blog for the poetry (I'll completely understand if you do), from now on just skip down to the second section.  I sincerely hope, though, that you'll start/continue to read the journal section of my blog.

That's all for now, so have a great rest of your week and if you're doing NaNoWriMo, don't give up!
- NLD

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Today would have been my Grandpa Benson's 87th birthday.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa.  You are profoundly missed more than I can express.

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Unpublished material, ©2013 Neal Digre