My heart is feels heavy, like there is an ocean of something bound up inside it. It has been just over a month since my grandfather died. In April when I heard that his health was not good, I went to see him. The older I had gotten the less involved we had been in each other's lives. When we reconnected in April it was awkward and a little bit painful. The last time I had spoken to Papa prior to that was more than 4 years ago. 4 years! 4 years of not speaking, not even wishing Merry Christmas or happy birthday to each other. 4 years of wasted time. 4 years of nothing but the occasional unanswered text. I became an adult in those four years. I’ve changed and become an almost completely different person so when I went to see him in April we were strangers in a lot of ways. I am so thankful for the chance we had to reconnect, I’m thankful that we got to play crib and make plans to see each and promise to do better. Unfortunately we will not have the chance to make good on those promises.
In the end, I don't wish for more time. I don't wish he had stayed alive connected to tubes and in pain. I don't wish that his suffering had been prolonged. What I want is better time. I wish we could have spent the time together when he was healthy and himself. I wish we hadn't used distance as an excuse. I wish we had tried harder. Because here's the thing, Papa was not a bad person. I believe he loved me, I believe he wanted to have a relationship with me. What I want is better time. I want phone calls and visits. I want that same time used differently. I want the time I spent wondering if I ever crossed his mind, spent reminding him that he had crossed mine.
I have all kinds of memories of my Papa. The time we spent two hours trying to fix a dent in my car. I will remember him as a man who cared about people that were otherwise overlooked. I will remember him as the man who tugged on my ponytails, who loved getting text messages but hated sending them, who for some strange reason used peroxide for everything. I will remember someone that was full of ideas, he was always building and inventing. He was the only person in world I let call me Kenzie because no one else ever said it quite like him.
We don't always wish we had more time. What we want, really want is to have used the time we had better. We want the moments we let slip away back, so we can make the most of those minutes. But the hands of time only move forward. Though we claim we just need more time, what we needed was to show compassion instead of anger, we needed to make memories instead of excuses. We can’t now. It’s too late. The time is gone and we can’t get any of it back.
What we can do is learn. This year I learned very painfully that I need to focus on better time. Not more just better.
