medals and charms

This was written in Sept. of 2011.

This week I really struggled with focusing on the negative.  Funeral. Family. Sadness... Want for lost time. Missing out.

I could see my grandfather. He was in there. Laying there. I was looking at my grandfather's grave. It bothered me. It was too final. Too much. Too hard to believe that there wasn't anything I could do to change the moment.

It was there. His name in print. Acknowledged by at least someone else. It was even in the papers.  You could touch the coffin. He lay there permanently even if I told myself that wasn't him.

You could touch the veteran's flag. You could hear the ceremonial gun salute. You could hear the trumpet's song.  The end of a song. The end of my time with my fine fellow.

Negative. Not fair. Not enough time. Like a child, I found myself head down, twisting my right foot in circles in the sand.  Pouting at the age of 33. If I pretend it's not there, it's not. Right?

Then, I look up and see my aunt crying. My uncle head down. He wore those cheesy black boots. Didn't recognize the back of his head with his head bowed. And, I see people around me charmed by his life. They loved him too. What an honor to see that. To see how he was loved. 

Then, I watched the brave soldiers hand my grandfather's widow a flag. Each of three kind, metaled men looked her directly in the eyes on bended knee and thanked her for service.

And, I hid behind a tower and cried. And, I remembered as the soldiers stood there, that it was my turn to be brave too.

Dumb. But, facing the negative isn't what I want to do. I want everything back. I want the time back. I want long talks with my grandpa back. I want taking it for granted back. There I am negative again....

But, instead, I'll remember the moments, like charms. Circles of time hang together on a chain of one lifetime. Captured moments like pictures or trophies on my memory pages. Stockpiled for tomorrow.  These are MY badges of honor.

I'll remember the laughter. I'll remember the long letters. I'll remember my heritage and the bravery that I GET to be related to. This part of him that lives in me can continue.

People said to me he was old. It was time. And, I get mad because time and memories are timeless. There are no boundaries. For a child, or for an adult, sometimes the people we look up to seem, well, timeless. Invincible.

To me, he was always grandpa. In his 60s, not 82. He was the one with the stories. The long-talker. He was one in the same. He doesn't get older. He's just there. He's mine.

I'll remember him.  Our memories are my charms. My ribbons to wear on MY chest.

As I got in the car, I saw the thousands of veteran tombstones. Alike but, yet as bold as though they were original. I'll pause and remember those thousands that said, "I'll fight" and even those that didn't want to, like me. I don't like change.

My grandpa.  His memory.  My fit.  Time for me to suit up. Let go and reframe the moment instead. I can say, "Hey, lookie there! I was. I AM related to him. Yes, that great warrior of a man..." See, he's still timeless.

Charming acts of boldness, character and Cherokee-tattooed colored strength.  Memories that linger even after the dirt settles in the sand and I've kicked and screamed and begged for my own way -- -even if he was 82...