Lawrence Thomas: I Remember December

Grandma, Yo-Yo, Joey, and I, spent many a day on my grandparents front porch. They would continue their conversation from the morning, and I would play with my dinky cars, or hang out with the kids across the street when they were visiting their own grandmother.

I remember one afternoon we lost Yo-Yo. We chased after him for probably a half an hour before we finally found him begging from a Dickie Dee ice cream vender in the park a few blocks away. “Bad Yo” grandma pointed at him in a firm, yet still gentle tone – fighting back a smile at the image of her dog wrapped around the vendors leg, pleading for a treat.

Looking back, it’s plain to see where our families love for animals emerged. My grandmother spent hours with those little creatures, and they really did sit there and listen to her. Joey’s inquisitive head tilted as he tried to learn a new word or phrase. “Joey’s a pretty boy” was his favorite – and he certainly was.

I remember how Joey would perch himself on grandma’s glasses; I remember her whispering in my ear that there were candies in the dish on the coffee table, after my mom had just told me I couldn’t have any more sweets; and I remember the squirrels coming in the back door and eating peanuts right out of our hands.

In my mind, I can still walk through and around that old Bayfield Avenue.

I remember my grandfather’s old Chev taking up two spots on the street, my grandmother’s blue Peugeot 5-speed parked in the driveway, the cracked sidewalks, the big maple that kept the front of their tiny house and part of the neighbor’s house in shade. I remember the soft yellow of the exterior siding, the brown trimmings, the green turf carpet that covered their front porch, and the way the moon cast its shadows on the living room floor through the three little windows at the top of the front door.

You were welcomed into my grandparent’s house with wide-open arms, and a kiss and a hug that expressed a true happiness to see you. Their house was always alive with chatter and play as you stepped in through the front doors into the living room. Their place seemed so big to me as a child, but standing in front of it now, at thirty-five, I find it hard to fathom that everything I envision going on within those walls all those years ago, could actually all happen at once in that blue-collared castle.

It’s been 26 years since my grandparents left us, and yet these images, right down to the vintage Flintstone magnets that covered the fridge door, are almost as vivid today, as the days when I lived these memories.

Having been so young when they passed on, this is, for the most part, really all I remember. I can’t recollect details of conversations, the sound of their voices, or many memories outside what I have just expressed.

For me, other than a handful of photos in our fading family albums, a few material things, and the stories other’s share with me, this is all that is left of them.

There was a time I could lie quietly in my bed at night, and hear their voices as they once were, but slowly, those sounds became harder and harder to reproduce in my mind until one day, they were gone.

It took me many years to get over losing my grandparents, and in such a short period of time. Knowing that I would never see the ones I loved so deeply again, and that the memories I had of them, were all I would ever have, was at times unbearable. Death, as a child, was painful and lonely beyond understanding. All I knew was that the world was so empty without my grandparents in my life.

For so many years I missed them. Many nights, I prayed I might wake up and realize that it had all been just a horrible dream. I spent so much time re-living those childhood moments – desperate to keep their memory alive.

I remember the day I obtained my license, 7 years later. The first thing I did was drive down to my grandparent’s old house, to see how much the neighborhood had changed. I was pleasantly surprised, when I found it almost untouched from the way I remembered it.

I dreamt of what it might be like, to be able to enjoy my grandmother’s company at 16. She would have a new dickie-bird, a new mongrel for the bird to tease. We would sit on her front porch over coffee. Granpa’s old Chevy would no longer stretch the width of their property, and grandma would probably have a new, used little 5-speed, but I would do the driving. We would venture about town running errands, or go for lunch at the Sears diner at the mall and look out into the parking lot as people rushed through their day. Most of all, I would tell her the things I never had the chance to say, before she was suddenly taken from me all those years ago.

The night she passed, I would have gone to visit her instead of my cousins. I would have told her I loved her and that I needed her. She wouldn’t have died from a broken heart. She would have lived knowing how much we all needed her here with us.

I still miss my grandparents to this day. Even time cannot erase the way someone holds our heart.

The hands on that old Barton Street clock continue to separate those moments of my childhood, but where those memories live in my heart, the hands of time have stood still.

Today, the old maple is gone; the sidewalks have been repaired several times; the walkway leading up to their front porch is no longer raised in the middle from the roots of that towering maple that once snaked above much of the grass-covered front yard.

The house seems so much smaller, the old variety store has changed names and served many different purposes since then. No more trading cards with bubble gum, one cent candies, or cap rockets. Even the mall we used to frequent is just a bunch of rubble as they make room for big box stores. The steel factories that put food on the table for many generations of our family are now under foreign ownership, and many mills are being closed and torn down. So many local jobs lost.

Slowly the things that are left of my childhood are being erased.

I don’t know when it was, or how old I was but one day, I suddenly let go. In those moments of comprehension, the moment I realized how much time I had wasted missing them and wishing my grandparents were still with us, I realized that they would always live in my heart.

I don’t know that we ever completely get over the loss of a loved one. The fact that I have held onto these memories of my grandparent’s so tightly for all these years, makes me feel comfort in knowing that love has the ability to stand the test of time. That one day my love might live on forever in another’s heart.

I have always found it hard losing someone I love, whether through death, or just knowing that a soul I cared very dearly for, would no longer be in my life.

My grandparents live in me. I will never forget them. Friend and family bonds are very powerful, and the souls of those we have or will love, will always be with us. I truly believe there is a reason why we feel so connected to certain people and creatures in our lives. It could be that these souls have been with us during many lifetimes and even in passing, they always find a way back to us.

I have always been someone who loved deeply. Who quickly attaches to certain souls. There are many people from my past that I still think of from time to time. Friends, past loves, family, and even casual acquaintances that only passed through my life for brief periods of time.

My paternal grandparents; my grandmother, my grandfather, and even my great-grandfather (even though the only memories I have of him are the smell of his pipe, or the Chilliwack record he bought me one year), are just a few of the many souls who have touched my heart.

This is their story.

In memory of my grandparents, Edgar and Marion Pattison (nee Croft).You live in my heart forever.