For the Love of Dziadziu

My Dziadziu (AKA Grampa) was such a cool man. I've been thinking about how to write this post for awhile now, and I think I've come to what I want to say.

Grampa and I always had a pretty good relationship. I knew growing up that he was a grumpy old man and that he wouldn't change. I took that into consideration and I didn't take his grumpiness personally.

We became close after the death of my Senele (AKA Gramma). I was two hours away at school, but we would talk on the phone a few times a week. Stopping by his house was the first and last thing I would do before I left Ludington. I enjoyed hanging out with him when I was home. Sure, I didn't always want to go over there because it was sad, but he told me a few times that he appreciated it. Family history is very important to me so I loved hearing his stories about his childhood and early adulthood. Sometimes we would have great conversations about his past and how he was a bit of a shister when he was younger.

One thing I learned about him after the death of Gramma is that he just wanted to be loved. He was lonely and wanted to be with family. He even liked just sitting and having conversation. However, he was too proud of a person to ask for help (this seems to be a re-occurring theme within our family). As the time passed on, he opened up more and more with me. He would even say I love you to me after I would leave or ending a phone conversation. He even put that in the cards we would send back and forth.

Overall, I'm so lucky to have gotten to know my Grampa on such a deep level. Sure, he was gruff, but I've always known that. That was just who he was. If I had a life like his growing up, I might be like that too. So in memory of him, here's a song that always reminds me of Grampa, "Who Stole the Kishka?" by Frankie Yankovic.