Dada's house

Both my grandparents on my dad's side are gone now. It's a very strange feeling. I have been trying to think of something to write about Dada but nothing has come for some reason. I would like to describe him but I don't think I can. I think about his voice, soft and gravely at the same time. I can't remember much of what he said. Hello's and goodbye's and 'God bless.' I have seen very little of him in the last few years. Dada was someone to be with. Just be. Like the way my dad and I used to be together when he drove me to symphony practice; we would just sit together quietly watching the the road slip by. I followed Dada around the orchard once when I was eight or so, moving sprinkler pipes. He hoisted one in each hand and stomped off. I shuffled behind with both hands clinging desperately to one cold muddy pipe. "Dada's really strong." Was the lasting impression made on me. At Grandma's funeral I got to sit with him for a little while and just hold his hand, quietly. "Arron is looking pale." was all he said in his tired, caring voice. That's all that comes to mind when I sit down to write about him.

The funeral was wonderful, of course. It was great to be with so many of the cousins again so soon. The house felt a little more like it used to when we were all there being a family. Those silly old stairs were once more a source of entertainment for cousins of all ages. Then it felt like Dada's house again. I was dreading the moment when we would have to leave. I didn't want to say goodbye to the house. Every room and every piece of furniture is special and full of memories. But after all, it's just a house. When I walked in on Friday I could feel the difference. It is sad to think that it will never be as I remember it again but it really wouldn't be even if Uncle Paul didn't change a thing. It was not the Red Hots in the glass cabinet or the story books in the basement. It was Grandma in her kitchen and Dada at his desk that made it special.

May the souls of the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Since I can't seem to say anything about Dada, here is what other people remember. Thanks Aunt Mary.