Metal Meredith

My Grandfather died last Friday. It is hard to wrap my head around at times. It seems normal, expected and not at all sad. Then I really think and get that feeling when my throat seems to fill up with emotion and it causes all the tears in my eyes to spring forward. Grandparents are like the best chocolate around, given to you as a kid. Then, one day when you are used to it being readily available and you have forgot how special it is, it goes away.

I am sad for my own loss, but I am devastated for my children. I liked my grandpa a lot. I wanted him to teach my kids to fish like he taught me. I wanted him to fill a huge dish to the rim with coins and then allow them to dig in (with one hand only!) and let them keep their loot. I wanted them to be able to be called “Gypsy” and have those funny faces and ridiculous stories told to them over and over until they can repeat them all by themselves.

My Grandpop was goofy, sometimes large and intimidating but all the time lovable and caring. I think he loved his family more than anyone in the world was capable. In the last two years, I was able to see him more than I had my whole life. He moved closer, along with my Grandmother, and we were able to see him as much as we were wanted to. It was such a blessing to have him near, one that I am not sure I understood until now.

I have so many stories that I am unable to properly sort them in my head. My father wrote a wonderful post about him in his own blog. I loved it so much that I read (or should I say, choked and sobbed my way through) parts of it at his funeral. I swear I really did think I was fine, that I saw it coming and knew it would happen as soon as it did. But I wasn’t expecting all of the “But wait...” moments that followed where I wished I had, wanted to say, and forgot to tell. Suffice it to say that I have now learned this the hard way.

(warning, there is some profanity in here.)

When we moved in, we realized that the back door sucked. It is a wooden french door which I assumed was installed in 1977, when the house was built. It stuck, there was no keyed lock. The doorknob was hard to turn and required a slight lift up and then pull when opening or closing. There was one sliding bolt on one side of the doors and that was the only lock.

Last year, we had a new kitchen floor installed and with that, lost the threshold. Since the installation, we have lived with a rolled up towel and doormat as buffers from the 2 inch gap that leads to the outside. We have experienced more spiders and bugs than I care to acknowledge. We all dealt with freezing toes over the winter and chilly ankles from the drafts. Once, during a heavy rainstorm, there was a small river flowing into the kitchen from under the door.

I finally threatened Phil enough (and then bribed him with a Wii) to call the nice handyman and fix the damn door. This weekend, all of my wishes were realized. Behold, my new (albeit 2 inch shorter) back door. It has locks! It has a threshold! It has an easy open and close handle! There is no breeze, no draft and no illegal critters appearing from underneath.