This past April Evelyn's great-grandfather passed away. He would have been 80 tomorrow, and while his health had been deteriorating fairly quickly these past few years, I don't think anyone in the family expected him to go that soon. He was a very loved man, survived by his wife of nearly 56 years, 8 children, 24 grandchildren, (some of whom are married/partnered), and 10 great-grandchildren. There could be more, it's easy to lose count! Needless to say, his life was abundant with hard work and love, and there is much to celebrate in memory of Robert Prissel.
Instead of attending the funeral I chose to stay home with Evelyn. My reasons for this were several, one being that less than a week after Grandpa Bob's funeral I had another funeral to attend (a frustratingly tragic death that I can't bear to think about), and I don't know if I could handle two funerals in a week. Two grieving families. Two dead bodies. Gah, I get choked up just thinking about it! I'll never survive a tragedy.
Anyway, my other main reason for staying home with Evelyn is that I didn't want her to attend because 1) I didn't want her to witness myself and everyone else crying. I didn't want her to feel sad for us, to worry about us. She's got plenty of time to feel sad later on, so I guess I felt I was protecting her. And 2) I didn't know how to explain the death. Her younger cousins (ages 2, 4, and 5), are being raised Catholic and were simply told that Grandpa is in heaven now, in a better place.
I would like to think that heaven exists, because, c'mon, wouldn't that be fucking awesome? Eternal life with the people you love? But I don't think that heaven exists, and I don't want to give Evelyn the easy answer if it's not something I believe. If she chooses to believe in heaven when she's older, of course, that's fine, but I feel very uncomfortable telling her what I would feel is a lie.
But then what do you say? This weekend the family is getting together in Wisconsin, including Evelyn (I won't be joining because I'm shooting a wedding in North Dakota), and yesterday we were talking about everyone she would see there. She's staying at her great-grandparents' house, and she said, "And great-grandma will be there... and great-grandpa..." and I had to tell her that he wouldn't be there. Of course she asked why and I told her because he died. She asked why and I said because he got old. She asked why and I said because that's what happens when you live a really really really really really really really long time (I don't want her to fear herself dying, or me or anyone else she knows dying.. I'm not sure if 3-year-olds are capable of that but she's so bright and intelligent that I wouldn't expect any less of her. I fear everyone dying so I'm probably projecting my own fears onto her. I don't want her to be so afraid and anxious like me). I quickly added, though, that she can still think about great-grandpa, that we have lots of memories about him, and we can remember him and his big glasses and his smile and his cane... the details she might remember.
The conversation made me second-guess my decision to not attend the funeral with her. Would it have been easier to explain death had she seen his body? Should I have given her the opportunity to see his body one more time? Thankfully, she saw him just days before he died, and I hope that if she does have memories of him when she's older that they're of him laughing, a twinkle in his eyes, because that's what he did best. He lived and he lived happily.
Read his obituary here. It does lessen my anxiety to think about the fact that when he was Evelyn's age the year was 1935. Life, in a way, is long. But still...
Also, I should clarify that this is Evelyn's dad's side of the family, so it's Jason's grandpa, not mine.
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| Grandpa Bob. this photo isn't mine so i'm not sure when it was taken, but probably in the past few months. |
