Pop. That’s what we call my grandfather. I’m not sure who started it, but it sure stuck. He’s my Pop, my mothers father. He’s looked pretty much the same for as long as I can remember. The same balding head, the same pot belly, the same series of shirts with photos of his numerous grandchildren, the same rainbow suspenders. He’s full of stories, some of them not very politically correct, but interesting none the less. He’s also full of love, especially for his grandkids and now an increasingly large number of great-grandchildren.
My Pop is Mr. Fix-it. He’s always tinkering with something. Maybe this comes from a lifetime of working as an electrician, and maybe he tinkered as a toddler, I don’t know. What I do know, is that he is very used to climbing ladders. It’s just a part of his life – up the ladder to fix the light, down the ladder to fix the line, up, down, over and over. So it came as quite a surprise when my mother phoned to tell that he had fallen off a ladder.
He’s okay. This isn’t a eulogy or anything morbid like that. But he did get pretty banged up. He had to spend a few days in the hospital – a couple broken ribs, a fractured tailbone, a ruptured cyst on his kidney. When he was able to come home he needed some help. Luckily, having no job and being on a summer long siesta, I had plenty of time to drop in and provide a bit of tender loving care.
My grandmother was there, of course, but she needed some rest too. We took turns; staying up through the night, doling out his medication, providing positive comment when his mood turned a little bit blue. Pop persevered. It was a true test of his strength and character, and he is well on his way to his former self.
I’m so happy I was around when they needed someone, so happy I could give back a bit of the love and care that they have given me through the years. I am so very lucky to have all of my grandparents, alive and healthy, and still helping those in need. I have a lot to live up to, very large shoes to fill.
Thanks for reading!