On December 8, I lost my Grandad. I got the call from my dad bright and early Hawaii Time and even in my sleep-deprived state, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I’ve rarely seen my father cry, much less heard him, but when he called, his voice cracked and he lost his composure. True to form, however, he made his phone call short and went on to teach his class. Lord knows if I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Always the rock, a lot like his dad.

In early 2012, Grandad suffered a stroke the took away his ability to speak properly. I miss hearing him say (more like yell) “Hey Chicken!” with a huge smile on his face when I came in the door. I’m not sure why, but he always called me chicken. After his stroke, he still was relatively the same Grandad we all knew and loved. He was ornery as sin (always had been) and we could tell it frustrated him to no end not being able to communicate the way he wanted to. Still, the stroke did something to him. He started to decline, as most people do with such a traumatic brain experience.  Soon, he was in the Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing home. From then on, he got quieter and started to lose more of himself.

But thankfully, my memories of him were not as tainted as some in my family.  Luckily, my parents chose to keep him in their lives after he divorced my grandmother and we were able to have so many wonderful times with him.  It was this man who took me to my first powwow as a kid.  He instilled the love of our Cherokee culture in me and made sure I honored it appropriately. He gave me my first wolf for my collection–the animal that turned out to be my spirit guide. He taught me how to fish and regularly took us out to the lake.

We spent our childhoods playing hide and seek in his house. My mom enjoyed riling him up about his love for Oklahoma football–she’s a Nebraska fan.  We’d have football parties when the teams played each other and yell between the rooms. We’d play Uno and hearts at nearly every family get together. He’d make his famous chili and vegetable stew–we never had a traditional Thanksgiving meal at his house and we always celebrated on any day, but Thanksgiving.  He was a jokester and loved to tease us. Even when he couldn’t speak, you could see the mischievous glint in his eye and that familiar jut of the chin when you teased back. He had the gravelly voice of an old Marine and he loved to sing along to Kenny Rogers, specifically The Greatest. He used to go square dancing and loved John Wayne films.

He made a point to come to as many of my school things as he could, even my golf meets. He used to cuss the officials louder than the rest of the family at my dad’s basketball games. He lived his life passionately and without a thought to the risk. It started at a young age too. He lied about his age to join the Marines at 17 and was sent to the Pacific front during WWII. I believe he was in the Philippines or some other island off the main stretch. He once told us that he tried his hardest to get malaria so he could be sent to Australia to heal. The story was much funnier when he told it. The man had a story for everything.

And now, those days are gone. And I miss him so much it hurts to breathe. What I wouldn’t give for one of his famous bear hugs one more time. The Mister wasn’t lucky enough to meet Grandad before his stroke; a fact I’m bitterly aware of. They would have gotten on so well.

2014 has not been a kind year to my family. I lost 4 grandparents (3 blood, 1 adoptive) between April and December. On the positive side, I have no more to lose so it doesn’t matter how far away from home I am. As of right now, there’s no ceremony happening until the spring.  He’ll be cremated and wanted his ashes spread over Lake of Three Fires, one of his favorite spots to camp and fish. The Mister says we might be able to go home for it which would be fantastic.

Needless to say, I’m over this year. I hope 2015 holds a better time.

And I hope my Grandad is back to his ornery self, enjoying that powwow in the sky.

Gvgeyu’i (pronounced Guh gay you he) and ganvdisdi (guh nah dees dee) — I love you and I miss you in Cherokee.

-A. xoxo