Beyond

“It’s very sad,” said my mom.
“Yes it is,” I replied. “But it happens to all of us, at some point.”
Replied mom, “Yes. I’m glad this isn’t the only world, that there is another after this life, that we go…” She paused.
“Beyond?” I offered.
“Yes, beyond.”

I suppose it’s a little inauspicious that my return to blogging (one of my goals for 2012 is to start writing more) picks up where my 2010 blog left off: with the death of a grandfather. My dad’s dad passed away peacefully with his oldest son, my uncle, at his side on Friday night. But I also suppose that there is no better way to honor his memory than to share what I remember of him, what I knew of him, and what I loved about him.

One of my earliest memories of grandpa is from Christmas, when I was 3 or 4 years old. The only thing I REALLY wanted that year was a Cabbage Patch doll (which was the toy to have that year and impossible to find). But of course, grandpa found one for me. He never did tell me how many people he had to wrestle for that doll. I still have Rory, packed away in a box somewhere. He reminds me of that Christmas, and how important my happiness was to my grandfather.

When I was in Kindergarten, grandpa came for “bring your grandparents to school” day. I remember thinking that was the coolest thing, to spend an entire day at school with my grandpa. I can now imagine that spending an entire day with 30 5-year olds was not the most tranquil day of my grandfather’s life, but he was there nonetheless. He sat in the circle, talked to my friends, and played with me at recess. One of my favorite pictures of the two of us is from that day. Outside on the playground, grandpa in a baseball cap and suspenders, me in a bright red sweater and a huge smile.

There are countless other memories, some overwhelming in their significance: Grandpa at our wedding, at my medical school graduation, Grandpa going to France for his 70th birthday, him meeting my daughter for the first time the day before he died; while some are small moments: the feeling of riding behind Grandpa on his motorcycle, Grandpa taking Brant and I and the dogs to Dairy Queen in the El Camino, the way he would always say “Hey, Meagan, what do you know?”

Not all memories are particularly happy either: Grandpa’s life-threatening motorcycle accident when I was very young, and the all-too frequent visits in Indianapolis with him when he was hospitalized at the VA over the past decade. These are all a part of life though, and when I think of Grandpa, it is easy to call to mind a host of happy memories to overcome the sad ones.

So now he is no longer with us, his physical pain and frailty have passed, and he is Beyond. Capturing a multitude of ideas and concepts in 6 letters, beyond has long been a favorite word of mine. It is a particularly germane description of death, being a word that means both “farther on than, more distant than” and “outside the understanding, limits, or reach of.” Grandpa is farther on from us now. His life now is outside our understanding. He is Beyond.

Given Grandpa’s lifelong love of travelling, it is very comforting for me to think of him this way. It is also comforting for me to consider who is waiting for him there, who preceded him beyond this world into the next: his mother, his father, his twin brother, his sister. Numerous other friends and family whose separation from this world was as difficult for him as his is for us. It is comforting for me, as I consider my own mortality, as I consider this great gift of life that we all only receive once. It is comforting for me to know that, when my own time comes to pass beyond this world into the next, those who have gone before will be waiting for me.

We gather as his friends and family to mourn his death and celebrate his life. Though not always perfect, I would judge his life to have been a good one, full of love, friendship, happiness, and the constant companionship of his faithful dogs. He will be missed, but I will remain perpetually grateful for his presence in my life.