My Grandfather and Gardening

I've recently acquired a garden spot in our community and I couldn't be more excited. It's been a rough week and when I finally arrived home today from what has been a very rough week, I thought maybe 30 minutes cleaning up the garden will relieve some stress from the last few days. 

It did that and so much more. First, I can't explain just how happy and content I was to be pulling weeds out of my plot. Of course those 30 minutes turned into me working out there until I could no longer see but I didn't realize the nostalgia I'd experience from such a simple task. 

My grandfather was a man that didn't have the best reputation. He left without a word when my father was 12 and suddenly showed up four years later with only the salvation army clothes on his back. My grandmother, a woman that should be considered a hero, allowed him back in their home, no questions asked. From what I understand, the feeling wasn't exactly mutual with my father and his siblings. Growing up I could see the resentment my father and his brothers and sisters held against him, though they loved him I don't think they could ever forgive him for not just leaving them but for what they put my grandmother through as a result of his actions. Beyond that, I know he had a drinking problem, though he hid it from everyone (or so he thought) and he had a major case of grumpiness. I could see the pain he caused and the indifference many of my aunts, uncles, cousins and even siblings showed towards him and that made me sad. Sad for them because I can't imagine how I would have felt if I found myself in that same situation. 

The weird thing, however, was I couldn't have loved him more. He and I had a strange connection. I had a big big heart as a child (sometimes I miss that innocence) and I saw the love he could give if given the chance. It's as if we understood each other. 

The first home I remember living in had a huge yard so my dad gave him a huge plot of that land to use for a garden (much much larger than my current 8 X 16 ft plot) and I was always right there with him when he came over to work in his garden. It's one of the fondest memories I have of my grandfather and I can remember it like it was yesterday. I had a small green watering pale with a white flower on the spout. It held maybe the equivalent of 10 cups of water and I would follow my grandfather down each row. He'd use this large post hole digger and he'd heave it into the ground and pull our a large chunk of dirt. It was then my job to drop in the seeds and he'd replace the dirt ready for my second job- watering the spot. 

We moved slowly down each row, digging a new hole every foot or so and I'd have to run to the house to fill my watering bucket after every 5 or so holes and he'd be there, patiently waiting for me as I returned. We'd work quietly and in unison for hours. Once our work was done, it was a quick trip to the gas station for a double cup cone of rainbow sherbet. Once we returned home, I'd pile up in his lap so he could read me the story of Little Lulu's trip to the beach. 

I remember the images from that book so clearly and he'd hike one leg up on the other to create a "chair" for me in his lap. I'm pretty sure the story changed every time and he probably stopped reading the actual words after the first 100 times but he'd tell me the story and I'd sit there and goof off with him. 

As much as it pains me to know the torment and mental damage I know he caused those I loved most, I couldn't hold any contempt towards him. I can't help but to wonder why he left and what brought him back. I like to think that he was looking for a second chance but maybe didn't know how to properly do that. I can't help but to think that maybe because of all the pain and hurt, no one ever thought to wonder or ask if there was something that hurt him or pushed at his core so much that he had to escape. As a child I couldn't imagine a reason why anyone would just leave like that but the more life I experience and the older I get, I'm realizing more and more that there are things in life that can eat at you and if you can't control it, can't express it or at least muster the courage to seek help, how else do you handle it?

The thing no one really focuses on is that he did come back. I'm not making up excuses for him nor do I think anyone should have or could have simply forgiven him completely but I only wish that more of the family could see what I saw. I wish more people could feel the love I felt from him and for him. It's funny but the first time I realized that I was the only one that actually connected with my grandfather was shortly after I graduated from high school. We had a family gathering the day I graduated to celebrate and we were taking pictures throughout the day. After having the film developed, the picture of me with my grandfather caught my dad's eye and he made the simple statement that his dad has never smiled in a photo but there he was in that image, our arms wrapped around each other and my grandfather with a very wide and genuine smile. Suddenly that picture became, and remains, extremely special to me. 

I will never reprimand or argue against my dad or anyone else in my family about him being a big grouch, because to them he was but to me he'll forever be the grandfather I loved. The grandfather I cherished every moment spent together because to me, he was special.