Vacation was pretty great, if you’re wondering. We drove up to Green Lake in Maine and rented a little cabin on the beach. Green Lake is about thirty miles north of Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, and it’s utterly remote. No phone, no cable TV, no Internet. No town to speak of. Barely any cell coverage. Hell, even our water was pumped in straight out of the lake itself. We weren’t quite in the Middle of Nowhere only because, truth to tell, you had to drive half an hour just to get to Nowhere from where we were staying. It was like falling off the edge of the world out there.
In truth, it was terrific. We swam a lot, took the kids out on kayaks and on the cabin’s canoe. I ran twice and rode hills once on my road bike. Went for two open-water swims. Finished reading a book and then read another one. Went hiking a couple of times with the kids and the dog. Visited a lobster hatchery and then went out to eat lobster rolls in one of the area’s many lobster shacks. Took the kids out on our trail bikes and trail-a-bikes. Climbed mountains, took pictures, and basically did what anyone would do when they have a chance to spend a week out at the edge of the world. It was great, really.
The only thing bad that happened during the entire week happened on Wednesday. I got the call letting me know that my grandfather had died. All things considered, we were fortunate that the call got through. Reception was spotty at best. But it did, and he’s gone, and as usual, there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.
I don’t really feel like eulogizing my grandfather here, but I will say that he was a great man, and that his death, while not completely unexpected, came as a nasty shock at the end of what had to that point been one of my best days ever.
I got up Wednesday and road hills on my road bike. After that, we loaded up the trail bikes, the trail-a-bikes, and the kids and headed for Acadia. We spent the day riding hills on the park’s carriage roads—an intense experience when you’re pulling a 60-lb girl on a trail-a-bike, especially if you’ve already ridden hills on your road bike earlier in the day—and I loved it. I mean, I loved every second of it. Hannah and I rode hard up Day Mountain, and I taught her to climb out of the saddle. Then we stopped, took pictures, and waited for Sally and Emma to catch up before descending as a family back to sea level and then climbing again up to the next part of the park. After three hours, we broke and had lunch and then headed back to the cabin, tired but euphoric. The girls swam when we got back while Sally and I kicked back with some beer. I told Sally, “This is one of the Top Ten days I’ve ever had.”
And then Cindi called to break the news.
My grandfather, Pa Pa Dan, was a tremendously important part of my life. I realized after he was gone that he’d been the sole source of consistency in my life, and having him gone is a weird and unmooring experience. I’m gonna miss him. I do miss him.
He got diagnosed with small cell lung cancer about a month after my mother died at the age of 87. He’d never been in the hospital, and he didn’t want to go this time, but he knew he was sick and didn’t want to get sicker. As it happens, he didn’t have the flu (like I thought) or pneumonia (like his daughters thought). So, I mean, we knew that he was in a fight. It’s just that it looked like it was a fight that he was winning. But then he went downhill suddenly on Sunday and died a few days later. That surprised everyone.
We tried to enjoy the rest of our vacation as best we could, but it was tough after that. There were moments that were great, but the cloud of grief hung over it, and when we left on Friday—a day early—it was with equal parts sadness and relief. We enjoyed hiking and biking and being away, but I also wanted to attend the funeral and pay my respects. That trip loomed over the back half of our week away.
The funeral was Saturday, and I flew back home Saturday night. I don’t have any more family in Tennessee, and frankly, I didn’t want to stay there any more without them. I’ve always felt like at least half a Tennessean, but I don’t guess I am anymore. I can’t imagine why I’d go back now.
No comments:
Post a Comment