You probably know my grandfather passed away this Spring. He went from having a stroke, to kind of getting better, to taking a turn for the worst and passing away just a few weeks’ time.

It is hard to sit down and portray to you what my Grandpa was like in a simple blog post. It’s still hard for me to grasp that he is not here.

My grandparent’s house has always been a house full of people, laughter, food, and booze. I spent a great part of my childhood summers there, because at one point in my Grandpa’s retirement he deemed it a good idea to get a pool. Also because your grandparent’s house is always cooler when you’re a kid (and an adult, really). Me and my cousins were there more than we were our own houses sometimes.

The thing about my Grandpa was that he was pretty quiet. I still have yet to figure out if that was because he didn’t have a whole lot to say, or because he couldn’t get a word in. He would sit on a chair in the living room, watching TV, usually sports. I swear, that man would watch any sport that was on TV. Football and baseball of course. But fencing? Bowling? You name it. He’d watch it. On mute. And he was a stats master.

When I got to their house for his funeral, I couldn’t get over the fact that he wasn’t there. And even though I was there for that very reason, I kept finding myself forgetting that he wasn’t. Over and over in my mind I kept thinking, “you’re house is waiting for you to walk in.” I kept waiting for him to ask me how Nashville was and how my car was running.

So there we were, gathered at the kitchen table, eating, drinking and reminiscing, and he was missing.

I wanted to ask him about Chip Kelly. Where Manti would go in the draft. If Cole Hamels would get out of his slump. I wanted to ask him if he wanted something to eat or drink. And he was missing.

People kept coming in and out. People he loved. People who loved him, and he was missing.

Flowers and food, food and flowers, sometimes a case of beer, and he was missing.

Some songs you listen to hundreds of times, and then something like this happens and it’s like hearing it with a whole new set of ears. That’s how I was with this one.  There were many times I considered this song for the blog, but I think it was meant to wait until now.

Every time something like this happens, music is hard for me. It’s hard to listen to, it’s hard to write. It’s hard to share. It’s hard to sing. My piano and guitar collect dust. Sometimes I think it’s because that’s where my greatest joy lies, and I can’t go back to it. But I know my Grandpa would want me to.

All you have to do is look at the comments under any YouTube video of this song, and you see that it means a lot to a lot of people. Bruce has said the best music is there to give you something to face the world with.

Thanks for listening, and I hope to get better about posting on here more often.

About these ads