Steel-Built Heart
In the final days of my grandfather’s life, the hospice nurse asked how he was doing — to which he replied gruffly, “Well, I’ve been better, but I've been worse.”
I’ve always been quite fragile; I think Sylvia Plath said it best when she wrote “Even when I feel nothing, I feel it completely.” However, it’s nearly impossible to go through life this way - being a slave to your own emotional instability. The greatest lessons I’ve learned in life came from my grandfather; it wasn’t anything particular that he said, but rather the silent determination and persistence that he exhibited.
As a child, my grandfather woke up at 4 a.m. everyday to milk the cows on his parents’ farm, before heading to school in a one room schoolhouse. At times he was the only student in the entire class, which became the basis for his favorite bit: “I was the best in class, but also the worst in class. I was the most handsome, but also the most hideous.” As an adult, he worked in the steel mills in Pittsburgh, and came home to once more care for an entire farm. My grandfather was a classically tough man in many ways, but he was also incredibly shy, warm, and loving. It was this balance within him, between being strong and gentle, that I have always admired the most. I’ve never been able to understand how he was so masterful at simply being present – he took life’s challenges at face value, and just kept pushing forwards. He showed me that you can find happiness, even amidst the greatest bouts of pain and sorrow. Yet, he wasn’t the kind of man that thought you should just ignore your problems and “get over it” – in fact, he loved a chance to be a bit grumpy. He let himself feel the emotions that came with the hardships of life, but he also knew when to grit his teeth and bear it…the latter part is something I am still struggling to emulate.
For my grandfather, aging came with challenges that probably would have destroyed a different man. He had a metal rod in his back, a hernia, leukemia, and an aneurysm that was discovered while under a different surgery. Despite the use of a cane, he remained the same after all of those life-changing events. He was a first-hand example that a beautiful and meaningful life does not mean a life without struggles. He bore the burdens of life with grace and humor, and a spirit impossible to break.
As I think about my identity and the things that shaped me, I find myself repeatedly thinking back to the times spent with my grandfather. In the summers, my days were marked by tractor rides with my grandfather, picking onions from the garden, getting grass stains on my Limited Too t-shirts, and drinking banana milkshakes from the Hot Dog Shoppe. I spent countless hours sitting on the wide porch of my grandparents’ farmhouse in a quaint, white rocking chair, with my grandfather next to me, and his C.D. player blasting Johnny Cash. He pointed out the deer frolicking across the street, and laughed loudly while my cousins and I licked the “salt lick,” which was a frozen block of salt for deer in the forest. He listened to my endless chatter, and he taught me to play Sudoku - which I still play every morning.
My grandfather showed unconditional and unwavering love to those around him. He was the epitome of classic American grit; the cowboys, the frontiersmen… none could compare to my grandfather. I know that I have everything I need within me, simply because I am his granddaughter. In the words of the great Johnny Cash, “We’ll be together again up yonder in a little while.”
