The Road to Happiness.
The late Queen once famously shared her thoughts on grief, saying that it was "the price we pay for love". In the wake of my grandfather's recent death, I've found myself contemplating her words.
“Grief is the price we pay for love.”
-Queen Elizabeth II
I’ve been reflecting on these thoughtful words shared by our late Queen, in the wake of my grandfather's recent death. From the viewing, to the funeral, and now beyond, this is the quote I keep coming back to. Grief is love left behind, a remnant of what once was. It is the painful reminder of a love lost, and a person gone. These are strange words to find comfort in, and yet over the last few weeks, I found myself at home in them. So this week, in lieu of my normal political commentary, I present the following.
A Study in Grief
Grandpa Charlie (his nickname, after Charlie Brown) is the first grandparent I’ve lost. He was born in 1927, which made him 96 years old when he passed on May 29th. I’ve never known a world without him. He has always been a stable presence in my life, someone I can look up to, and compare myself against. Despite his age, his death came as a shock. I went to bed that evening under the impression that he was in stable condition. I woke up an hour later to a frantic call from my father, who informed me that he had passed. Apparently, the doctors spent half an hour trying to resuscitate him. I was in Glasgow at the time, he was in Toledo. To know that those thirty minutes where I was sleeping were his last is hard. Never one to bother others I quietly slipped out of bed alone. I spent the next few hours in my living room, going through various stages of shock, and trying to comfort my nine year old brother over Facetime. I kept the news from my American friend who was visiting the next morning. We went around various museums in Glasgow’s West End, while I tried to hold it together.
I went back to the States a few days later. Working to care for my brother and emotionally support my family was a blessed reprieve from my own grief and emotions. At the viewing, I was able to escape by looking after my brother, and making sure he was receiving support. He took our grandpa's death hard. Horatio always considered Grandpa his “best friend”. The viewing was therefore a haze of Horatio fuelled hugs and science facts. The funeral was much the same. My mother, grandmother, and Aunt had spent all their energy working to execute it to his standards; they fought their way through the service. It was the second time I saw my father cry. Everything happened so quickly. There was no time to process any of this loss while socialising with the various family and friends who had come to pay their final respects to a great man.
The next week was the hardest part. Seeing his empty chair still sends a pang of loss (and guilt, for not being there) through me. I’m more often in his old sweaters and jackets than I am in my own clothes, despite the balmy summer heat. Whenever I think it’s moving to the back of my mind, I see some reminder of him, and the grief all comes back again. Somehow this has been the quickest, and yet, slowest, passage of time. What has helped is remembering the moments we shared, reflecting on the values he lived by, and a daily dose of my favourite blended whiskey (Compass Box Glasgow Blend). Above all else, humour has been an enormous aid; at his funeral, I gave a dramatic reading of his iconic margarita recipe. You’ll be happy to know it’s shared at the end.
So, what price do I pay for loving Don Baumgartner?
Food meant everything to him. Summertime, as a child, meant dinner or ice cream with Grandpa every other night. He hated being alone (but also hated planning family gatherings like this). The result was a gruff call maybe an hour or so before he wanted to eat, where he asked us to dinner. I don’t know if he was aware that we usually kept our schedules clear for him. Anyway, we’d go out, and he would evaluate the restaurant. As a former restaurateur, I don’t think he could help it. He was very particular and didn’t care for things just because they were fancy or expensive; he valued quality above all else. I’ll miss that. His values and code for living life will also be missed. He was a great role model, valuing hard work, honesty, and keeping a good name. He didn’t care what someone did, as long as they did it well. When I first seriously spoke about getting involved in politics with him in the winter of 2018, he listened intently and engaged, before saying that I’d do well (somewhat bemusedly). He could have turned me away from it, or talked down to me, but Grandpa Charlie never did.
Grief is found in the nostalgia of these memories and the knowledge that our time together was limited. He’ll never see me graduate, or get married, or have children. This hurts. But the memory of those times, and the promise I’ve made to do him proud, provide some comfort. I wonder if, while grief may be the price we pay for love, love is the answer to our grief. We can either wallow in bereavement, losing ourselves to the ghosts of our past, or we can move forward, with the knowledge that we have loved and lost, and this is what makes life worth living. We have a choice in how we use our grief: I choose to use mine as motivation for the future.
The Road to Happiness
By Mr. Charles Brown
First, take 26 ounces of good tequila (such as, for example, Jose Cuervo Gold Especial or Patron).
Then, add 26 ounces of sour mix (made with Minute Maid Frozen Limeade) and 12 ounces of triple sec.
Next, add 3 ounces of Roses Lime Juice and 6 ounces of either Grand Marnier or Patron Orange Liqueur.
Finally, add 8 to 10 ounces of water. Remember that this is the only acceptable time to drink something containing water.
Place the result in a clean bottle that you have used many, many, many times before for the same reason. Freeze for a few days, weeks, months, or years, depending on your willpower.
Always ensure to keep at least one bottle on hand in case of either emergency or 4:30 PM, depending on which happens earlier.
That was a wonderful tribute to your family and upbringing. I’d like to say that grief goes away but it doesn’t, it just changes so there are more happy days and the memories more often make us smile than cry. My Uncle Don, your Grandpa probably read your piece with a smile on his face , a lifting of his shoulders and turned to tell the others in heaven how proud he is and that life goes on.
Beautifully said … a real heart felt piece - you did your Grandpa PROUD!!! You’re a fabulous writer ✍🏻