This August will be my grandfather's one hundredth birthday. We'll celebrate it, but he won't be there because he died in 1986. My uncle is compiling a book of stories about Opa. Here are some of my memories for the book:
My most vivid and specific memory of Opa is the very last time I saw him. My mom and I were leaving the next day for a semester in France and we visited Opa and Nana to say good-bye. After our chat, Opa walked us out to our car. In the driveway of their 5th South house, he gave me a tight hug that lasted so long, I was afraid he would crush the wind right out of me. He said he loved me and I knew it was true. Turns out, that hug would have to last me the rest of my life.
Opa died while we were in France.
Opa was the light of everybody's life. He was big and kind and gentle and loving. In my violin shop, I have a 6-foot-tall portrait of him as a young boy, the son of Dutch immigrants, dressed in knickers and a perfectly pressed shirt, playing the violin. He also played the organ and had an art studio in his home, which was open to any and all grandchildren who wanted to paint. He was larger than life, so much so that it's hard to accurately describe how wonderful Opa was, how I love him and how much I wish I could wrap my arms around his strong waist again.
When he was alive, I got to see him a lot. He and Nana would come see us, and it seemed like they never stayed long enough. Opa always put me through the "tickle chamber," saying, "I'm not tickling you! I'm just pushing a button!" Then he would poke me in the ribs. Or he would say, "I'm not tickling you! I'm just playing the piano! Plink plank plunk," while throwing us across his lap and, well, tickling us.
I remember Opa's smile, especially one one occasion. A bunch of the cousins went to This is the Place Monument, where workers dress in costume and demonstrate pioneer life. We walked up to a heavy oak door to enter a pioneer dwelling. Suddenly the door swung open and OPA was the person dressed in pioneer garb beaming, saying, "Welcome to This is the Place Monument!" I can almost see him taking on that role now, swinging open the pearly gates and saying, "Welcome to heaven!" It is a funny thought, but I know his role on the other side of the veil is more sanctified than that. For all the wonderful experiences I had with Opa before he died, the one I treasure the most came years after he died. In 2000, I was pregnant and I had a dream that I was walking up my street holding a little boy's hand. Opa came and took the boy's tiny hand and floated away with him. The next day, I had a miscarriage. The "Opa dream" I had was, and is, a comfort to me that everything is taken care of and everything is right. I feel blessed to know that Opa's strong hands and strong, faithful intellect are still serving to bless his family.
The way Opa showed me his testimony of the Gospel, besides the way he lived his life, was how he prayed. He had a different, more reverent voice for prayers, a voice full of tenderness and humility. When Opa prayed, I was tempted to look around the room and see if Opa's good friend, our Father in Heaven, was right there with us.
Recently I went to the new City Creek Center and was reminded of the old ZCMI that stood on the same spot years ago. Things are different now. Opa is gone, and so is the little food counter in the basement of ZCMI. But even amid the fancy new stores, years beyond that farewell hug in the driveway, I could hear Opa's voice whispering on the wind. I could see myself as a little girl with Opa and Nana at ZCMI. They had bought me an ice cream, but Nana insisted on a healthier choice for Opa and he was drinking grape juice. Nana walked out of earshot and Opa leaned over to me, saying, "Put a little of that ice cream in my juice, fast!" I am so glad Opa gave me the chance to share my ice cream with him. To this day, whenever I am lonesome for Opa, I can put a little vanilla ice cream in some grape juice and he's right there, ready to wrap his big, strong arms around me one more time.
My most vivid and specific memory of Opa is the very last time I saw him. My mom and I were leaving the next day for a semester in France and we visited Opa and Nana to say good-bye. After our chat, Opa walked us out to our car. In the driveway of their 5th South house, he gave me a tight hug that lasted so long, I was afraid he would crush the wind right out of me. He said he loved me and I knew it was true. Turns out, that hug would have to last me the rest of my life.
Opa died while we were in France.
Opa was the light of everybody's life. He was big and kind and gentle and loving. In my violin shop, I have a 6-foot-tall portrait of him as a young boy, the son of Dutch immigrants, dressed in knickers and a perfectly pressed shirt, playing the violin. He also played the organ and had an art studio in his home, which was open to any and all grandchildren who wanted to paint. He was larger than life, so much so that it's hard to accurately describe how wonderful Opa was, how I love him and how much I wish I could wrap my arms around his strong waist again.
When he was alive, I got to see him a lot. He and Nana would come see us, and it seemed like they never stayed long enough. Opa always put me through the "tickle chamber," saying, "I'm not tickling you! I'm just pushing a button!" Then he would poke me in the ribs. Or he would say, "I'm not tickling you! I'm just playing the piano! Plink plank plunk," while throwing us across his lap and, well, tickling us.
I remember Opa's smile, especially one one occasion. A bunch of the cousins went to This is the Place Monument, where workers dress in costume and demonstrate pioneer life. We walked up to a heavy oak door to enter a pioneer dwelling. Suddenly the door swung open and OPA was the person dressed in pioneer garb beaming, saying, "Welcome to This is the Place Monument!" I can almost see him taking on that role now, swinging open the pearly gates and saying, "Welcome to heaven!" It is a funny thought, but I know his role on the other side of the veil is more sanctified than that. For all the wonderful experiences I had with Opa before he died, the one I treasure the most came years after he died. In 2000, I was pregnant and I had a dream that I was walking up my street holding a little boy's hand. Opa came and took the boy's tiny hand and floated away with him. The next day, I had a miscarriage. The "Opa dream" I had was, and is, a comfort to me that everything is taken care of and everything is right. I feel blessed to know that Opa's strong hands and strong, faithful intellect are still serving to bless his family.
The way Opa showed me his testimony of the Gospel, besides the way he lived his life, was how he prayed. He had a different, more reverent voice for prayers, a voice full of tenderness and humility. When Opa prayed, I was tempted to look around the room and see if Opa's good friend, our Father in Heaven, was right there with us.
Recently I went to the new City Creek Center and was reminded of the old ZCMI that stood on the same spot years ago. Things are different now. Opa is gone, and so is the little food counter in the basement of ZCMI. But even amid the fancy new stores, years beyond that farewell hug in the driveway, I could hear Opa's voice whispering on the wind. I could see myself as a little girl with Opa and Nana at ZCMI. They had bought me an ice cream, but Nana insisted on a healthier choice for Opa and he was drinking grape juice. Nana walked out of earshot and Opa leaned over to me, saying, "Put a little of that ice cream in my juice, fast!" I am so glad Opa gave me the chance to share my ice cream with him. To this day, whenever I am lonesome for Opa, I can put a little vanilla ice cream in some grape juice and he's right there, ready to wrap his big, strong arms around me one more time.
8 comments:
So beautifully written Circ. Grandparents are so important. Thanks for sharing yours.
Circ, I love it. See... this is why you need to write a book. You are able to tell a story with such ease. :)
But hey... we know your plate is a little full right now what with raising SEVEN children, teaching, and living in the car pool lane. :)
But one day... when life is a bit more quiet, we are all looking forward to you book release.
Circe, this is beautiful. Somehow, in these special details only you experienced, I am crying and missing the grandpa I also dearly loved.
I am sorry for your miscarriage.
Thank you for bringing Opa back while I read this. I had forgotten so many things. It was good to remember.
So beautiful. You made me fall in love with your Opa, just reading about him. What a treasure. Oh, and that dream - what a gift.
I remember ZCMI outings with my Grandma too! It's the end of an era.
That is a beautiful tribute to your Opa.
Now I know where you get your musical abilities from! How beautiful.
Precious moments of a beautiful man!
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