Words Could Never Express..

I have been trying to compose my thoughts on my Grandpa Rudy’s passing for days now. I literally took a day off to try to get my thoughts and words together, and all I could do was stare at the screen. When people hear of someone’s grandpa passing away, I am not so sure they understand the magnitude of this in my circumstance. 

This man was involved in every aspect of my life. He taught me, he helped me grow. I would not know my multiplication facts today or how to drive a stick-shift if it were not for this man, among many other more important things. He supported and loved me through every decision I ever made and was there to witness every last thing. 

Once, a friend told me that I was “the weirdest mix of independent feminist and 1950’s housewife” or something along those lines. I smiled and said, “that’s exactly what I was going for.” I bring up this memory because I believe I inherited this juxtaposition of strange, opposite traits from Rudy himself, not that he was a feminist or a 1950’s housewife, but that he was an incredibly weird mixture of grumpy, staunch, structured, yet also, fair-minded, hilarious, outgoing, and unendingly kind. Grumpus, like myself, saw the world through the lens of black and white, right and wrong. Yet, on more than one occasion, I watched him change his mind about something simply due to the fact that he loved another human being enough to do so. This is not an easy task for people like he and I. Changing our minds requires a great deal of thought and humility, which isn’t something that comes naturally. 

Grumpus taught me the importance of deep conversation. To this day, I hate small talk. If you can’t get deep and talk for hours, why talk at all? I remember talking to him for hours on end about my dreams in life. He would ask the most thought-provoking questions. I was probably 8 or 9.

Grumpus (and Grummus) taught me the importance of adventure. He taught me to travel often, and to explore the world in which we live. I am so incredibly thankful that he and Grummus were able to visit John and I in Kenya. That was a trip of lifetime for all of us. We played “Oh, hell” until the late hours of the night, laughing and talking. Grandpa repeatedly told us why the game was called “oh, hell,” because he thought is was SO funny. We went on the most incredible safari ever. I spotted my first ever leopard.

Grumpus taught me the importance of having fun and letting go. Grumpus called in sick a million times just to be with us. Ha! Somehow we invented the idea that one road in Brown County was called “Llama poop road” and we would take the hills and curves fast in his little blue truck. Our stomachs would blossom with butterflies and we would giggle until we cried. 

Grumpus taught me to not give a damn about what other people think (though I haven’t quite learned this one yet). He once walked our dog in my mom’s shimmery teal trench coat because it was the first thing he found in the closet. The sleeves were about a foot too short. 

Grumpus (and Grummus) taught me the importance of nature. At the Christmas tree farm, we played outside until we were covered from head to toe in dirt. We were never allowed to get that dirty at home. Plus, we were even allowed to play with sticks at Grandma and Grandpa’s house (much to my dad’s dismay). I was never more alive with imagination than I was at their house, inventing students to teach, playing radio, destroying Grandpa’s office (that was usually impeccably neat), playing government (ask Zach), adventuring to Camelot, playing with my rubber rats, and so much more. That place made my childhood magical.

And most importantly, Grumpus (and Grummus) taught me the importance of unconditional love. He loved without reason or second thought. My friends became his granddaughters, my husband his grandson. There was never a question of how much he loved us. He was an incredible example of the love of Christ. 

This hole in my heart will probably never heal and that is ok. I don’t want it to. I will think of you every day for the rest of my life, Grumpus. Words could never express how much I love you or how much you mean to me. At any rate, I only hope you are looking down on me while wearing a Pillsbury Doughboy shirt and eating pounds of popcorn. Here’s to you, Grumpus.