Two years.
Two years in a life of seventeen is a very long
time...more than one-eighth, but less than one-ninth. And when you
don't remember half of those 'childhood years,' well...two years seems
like practically one-fourth of your life.
So, basically,
one-fourth of my life I have spent without my grandpa. How much can you
really miss someone? I mean, you only saw them once a year, right? So
how much could that POSSIBLY hurt?
I'll tell you how much, if you don't really understand yet.
I
miss Italian cussing. I miss Manhattans on the rocks. I miss being God-blessed after every sneeze and cough.
I miss being given random stuff, like boxes of pencils and umbrellas
that I didn't need but took anyway. I miss taking pictures. I miss
being taller than someone in my own family. I miss his perfect rocking
chair pose. I miss the sarcasm he had, then passed to my dad, who
passed it to me. I miss playing poker with him and always having the
winning hand...always. I miss being his little angel, the youngest of
the grandkids. I miss his huge nose; he had the kind that took up his
whole face. I miss him praying at every meal, not letting us take a
bite or a sip before thanking God for being given the opportunity of
being alive. I miss talking about the Yankees and talking about
politicians I didn't know about. I miss his hearing aid, and how I had
to scream to talk to him, whether it was in person or on the phone. I
miss when his face would light up when he could finally understand what
I was saying. I miss him referring to my grandma Scala all the time,
because I never got to know her. I miss him pulling his swimming trunks
up to his bellybutton. I miss him telling hilarious stories about my
dad's childhood, and what a little brat he sometimes was. My grandpa's
absence in my life is something that affects me more than any person
leaving or deserting me. I never even had a choice. So,
how much can I miss someone? My sarcasm is a trait of him, so
everything I say is something I know he would have said. I pray he's up
there laughing, explaining the joke to God. Sure, sneezing is totally
refreshing, but why do you think I really love it? Because if no one's
blessing me down here, I know he's up there, God-blessing every cough,
sneeze, and even those hiccups.
Elio Scala was twice the man of
anyone I had ever met with the exceptions of my father and my grandpa
Curkendall, who are both still with me. He fought in the war, had and
raised some loving children, and loved and respected every person he
met. He liked everyone. When I lost him, my life crumbled. It was the
worst day of my life. He never forgot me or my birthday. He died eight
days after my 15th...and still wrote me a check. I was forced to cash
it, but I didn't want to. If anyone has ever lost another, you can
relate, although no two cases are the same. The people I have truly
talked to about this have been supportive and can relate, but everyday
is an ongoing battle. Sometimes it gets easier. Most times it doesn't.
I'm just the granddaughter, though. I hope my dad has people to help
him like I do. I love you Dad. I love you, ELNFS. You're with me every
single day, and you're in my every single breath...my every single
heartbeat. You know what?
God bless YOU.
Grandpa and Grandma Scala; Summer of '86
Grandpa Scala, Dad, Great-Grandma Scala, Brette; Christmas of '88
Grandpa and me; Jones Beach in '05
06/08/2006
May angels lead you in
