I just want to call him and talk about the stars and the planets in the night sky… I want to ask him for a detail on a story… I want to be the source of that crinkling smile again…
But that isn’t how things work.
And that’s okay.
And it’s perfect, too.
(I’m not saying I won’t cry an ocean-full over the next while, but even that is perfect and okay.)
I truly am the product of both of my maternal grandparents. My grandmother gave me the social aspect in life, the physical intimacy of her always patting a leg, rubbing a back, or indulging in deep, long hugs. My Opa, he gave me the ability and desire to step away from the action, and go do my own thing; to be not touched; to be comfortably contemplative on my own while the others gather loudly; to think deeply and analytically about…, well, about just about everything. He gave me the goofy, nerdy humor, and she gave me the sharp sass. He gave me the comfort in grunge attire, and she gave me the casual desire to out-dress expectations. I am both extremely picky and totally open to trying new things. I am artistically and musically inclined and am an utter nerd for knowledge. I want to save everything, yet have little around the house. I love with my words, but also with my actions and unspoken acceptance. The list could go on and on and on, I am sure… I know it could, and it could do so easily…. I am that much a perfect mix between the two of them.
Yes, I have my own pieces all throughout it all. Of course, I do.
However, it is unabashedly clear that I come from the two of them. We are of the same thread, and they helped to create me, as I became my own piece of the work.