Northern_Lights_2017

28 Six Months Ten Years Matthew Murray It’s been six months since my grandfather died. However, living only four hours away makes it seem that I could just walk in and he would be right there waiting. But I know that’s not true because I saw him at his funeral. It’s weird that in the span of a week he could go from being ninety-five years old working the fields to dead like that. I really didn’t know how to feel about his death at first. I’ve seen in movies that you cry at funerals, but because he was ninety-five there was very little to cry about. When my younger cousin cried, her mom tried to tell her that Grandpa had lived a long life. I don’t think my aunt understood that Grandpa had only been a part of my cousin’s life for eight years, and when you’re eight years old, your Grandpa is everything to you. The rest of the funeral, I assume, was standard. Grandpa was a huge pillar of the community, so the church was full with about two hundred people, most of whom I didn’t know. But because Grandpa was ninety-five, I assume those two hundred people were just a fraction of everyone he knew in his life. Then again, most of the people he knew growing up were also probably dead at this point. Six months later I was still trying to figure out how I was supposed to feel about the whole thing. I was hoping that going back would give me a better understanding, but after three hours of driving all I understood was that I should’ve had a second cup of coffee. My mom told me that my aunt and uncle had moved in to take over the farm, so it probably would be a little different. When I got to the next gas station, I took out my phone and shot my aunt a text to say that I would be there soon. She replied with such speed that it would put most teenage girls to shame. They were visiting Grandma in the nursing home, so they wouldn’t be home for a couple hours, and I was just to make myself at home. After I filled up, I picked up that second cup of coffee I needed to make the trip and paid the old man behind the counter. He seemed very happy, like he hadn’t seen a new face stop by his little station in a long time. He looked like the fat, bearded version of my Grandpa, with the same overalls and warm smile. We talked for a few moments and then he wished me a good day. I felt really happy when I got back to my car. I quickly finished my coffee and continued on my way to my Grandpa’s farm. The last hour went by pretty fast and before I knew it I was pulling into the drive. Nothing on the outside seemed to have changed. All the buildings were the same, with same amount of rust and chipped paint. The only thing different was the house. It was still the same on the outside, but it looked like my uncle had put a new coat of paint on it. It was still the same color as before, but compared to everything else it seemed out of place now. When I went inside, I felt like I had entered the wrong house. Everything inside was new, from the carpet to the lights. It looked like one of those home furniture magazines at the doctor’s office. It was no longer the place I remembered, as if all traces of my Grandpa had been erased from existence. It wasn’t my Grandpa’s farm anymore. It was my uncle’s. I decided to just wait outside. I found a familiar dusty bright blue chair by the side of the garage and set it up front. It was still the same bright blue I remembered, but most of the plastic straps that made up the back were now broken and tied together. The flyswatter Grandpa always had was still on the seat when I unfolded the chair. It had become a yellowish white from the weather. I remembered how he would sit with it on his lap as he watched the sheep walk around outside. Now here I was doing the exact same thing, sitting in his spot with a feeling of warmth and security. I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw looking out besides sheep. *** We were about an hour away from the farm, and I couldn’t wait. It had been six months since we last went down to see Grandpa and Grandma. I was able to spend the first few hours of the ride playing my Game Boy, but by now I was too excited to focus on anything but my excitement. The last hour took forever. My older brother Jack didn’t share my level of excitement, and my little sister Izzie was fast asleep. When we pulled into the drive, I jumped out of the car as soon as I saw him. He was sitting outside waiting in a bright blue folding beach chair that looked completely out of place, but which fitted him perfectly, and with an old orange flyswatter sitting on his lap. All excited with so much I wanted to say, I smiled up at him. He laughed and gave me a hug. My mom carried Izzie inside to see Grandma. After a quick passing “hi” to Grandpa, Jack went to find Uncle Robert, who was usually feeding the animals. “So my little one, how you doing?” Grandpa asked me. “Grandpa, I’m not little anymore. I’m already eight and a half.” “Well, I’ll be. Isn’t that something? I know halves are very important. Why don’t you run and grab a cookie for yourself and a half a cookie for me so we can celebrate? Just don’t let Grandma find out we’re having a snack before dinner time.” He gave me a little wink. I jumped inside and grabbed two cookies out of the jar on the old kitchen table. I put them in my pocket before Grandma could see and jumped back outside. “That’s my little ninja.” “I’m not little. I’m eight and a half.”