Remembering Grandpa

Orson, my grandson, has returned to take up the mantle of shark once again. After a couple of days with his other grandparents, he and family are here for another day and a half, leaving for the coast on Thursday morning well before I am awake. While Charlotte plays quietly in the bedroom with her Lego, Orson is wearing the shark hat. He's very cute, as only a 2 1/2 year old can be.

Oddly enough both of the children are playing quietly. Meaghan and Lewis are getting a rest. I remember those years of having young children, always on the go, stressed, tired most of the time. Carla, my ex-wife, did most of the heavy lifting with the kids and home. I was working, often away on business trips, trying to make enough to keep us going.

As I look at my grandchildren, I wonder what they will remember of me. Certainly Charlotte, the oldest of all of them at seven, will remember me as an individual. I am also certain that her Mom, my daughter Meaghan, will stoke that memory, as she will for my grandson Orson as well. Their memories will be sustained by a few photos here and there.

The thing is, they will never remember me without ALS. They have no knowledge of me as a strong man, someone who could sail a boat or drive a truck or climb a hillside or even take them to the park and play. I remember my Grandfather. I remember his laughter, his solid nature. Yet I have almost no memory of my Dad's Dad, my paternal greandfather. He is but a dark vision on the distant horizon of my youngest days.

It doesn't really matter what they remember, as long as they remember it with happy feelings, as long as those memories include smiles, laughter, adventure, fun. Wheelchair or not, what I really want is for them to remember that I loved them, that I cared about them, that they mattered to me. Everything else is just the wrapping paper torn off of a Christmas gift, tossed to the side to get at the real treasure inside. I want them to remember that, the treasure.