BABASHKA: 2011

So I have been putting of this post for a very long time. It's been about 2 months since my grandfather died, yet I still feel as if he is alive. My habit of calling my mom everyday and asking her "how's ded" still irks me; it's an automatic response.

I guess living in SF makes it even more surreal because I feel as if once I go to Brooklyn I'll be visiting my grandparents..but only one will be there. I really can't believe it sometimes since I still dream about him almost everyday. He is alive and well in my dreams, he's still embracing me. Him and I playing Dominoes, swimming in Brighton beach (him out-lapping me), eating shelled walnuts together, dancing together where I followed his amazing lead, me burping in his face, putting on shows for him with Becky, saying mean Yiddish sayings to provoke him, him always giving me candy and food (more than Babashka even), him sitting on the bench while I played, him walking me to the park everyday, with him being so excited for getting apples on sale, watching concerts with him outside, him sitting at the head of the table drinking vodka, with him screaming at me when I told him how much my watch cost, with him wearing the "have a nice day asshole" hat, him being quiet throughout the conversation except for those "ahhhs" or "oooos".......to him being scared to death as to what was going on, to him laying on the hospital bed with a NG tube through his nose, with him singing Yiddish songs with me, with him warming my hands because they were always so cold, with him finding out my sister was pregnant (and then forgetting), with him getting frail, with him unable to drink any liquids, with him sleeping a lot and becoming delirious, with him crying every time my sister and I left, with him staring into the ceiling with those large eyes, with him trying to be strong for all of us, with him terrified he was going to die. He struggled so much the last year and I really do not want to remember him that way, but it's tough. He was the strongest man I knew, never felt any pain and loved everyone unconditionally. He never ever ever ever ever complained. NOTHING ever hurt, everything was always good. He was grateful for his life, however simple it was.

He always said I was the best granddaughter. I tried hard to make him happy this last year, to entertain, to put on a smile, to dance and sing, but now I can't help but feel so sad. So freakin sad that he's gone, that it sucks, that he'll never be back. That he had to suffer like that. He had a long, tough life but also a lucky one in which his life in America was easy and happy because of my grandma. My grandmother took care of him incredibly well and they were one unit, it's weird when I think about her by herself. For so many years with someone and then boom, no one next to you in bed, no one to cook for, no one to be responsible for, no one to say good morning or good night to. I feel sad for my grandmother. I feel sad for the hole he has left in my family. I wish he could have seen his grand grand daughter. I wish he could have been at my wedding and have seen my kids. I wish he could have held them and just smiled with his humungous eyes and round face. I miss him a lot. I miss him so much. I miss him more than I ever thought I would. It just overcomes me at times and I feel sad, incomplete. It probably will get easier but I love him and always will.

Ih hob dikh lib!