Portraits with Grandpa

Last Saturday, my family spread my grandfather's ashes in the backyard of the house he raised my mother and her three siblings in. It was nice to come together as a family after almost two years to finally bring my grandfather back to a place he cherished. I remember my grandfather as unbelievably hard working and showing little emotion, but would do anything for his wife, children, and grandchildren (believe me, the stories are endless). My grandfather did many things in his life, but most notable to me is that he was a butcher who ran his own his own shop. The shop closed long before I was born, but I've created the pictures in my mind of my grandfather (and my mother and aunt and uncle's) working there everyday, from sunrise to sunset, serving his customers in small-town Rhode Island. I see him sharpening the knives, concocting his original, homemade sausages, trimming slabs of steak, and locking up the front door on a cool New England evening to head home to his family.

I feel I owe a lot to my grandfather, not only for the memories I have with him personally, but for the family he raised and the qualities he passed on to his own children, that have now been passed on to me, and will certainly be passed on to my children. My grandfather is certainly missed, but for all he was to everyone in my family, he will never be forgotten. 

(A few years back, when I was writing creative non-fiction, I wrote an essay about my grandfather and his experience with Alzheimer's.)