08 February 2006

Wherein The Art Of Saying The Correct Thing Is Discussed, or, How I Told My Grandfather That I Love Him

Earlier tonight I sat across the kitchen table from my Grandfather, a cribbage board and a red deck of Bicycle cards between us, and didn't know what to say.

He and I have been playing cribbage together as long as I can remember. Our conversation has always centered on a few, mainly inane, topics. We make fun of each others card playing abilities and occasionally commiserate about the sorry state of the Packers. We talk about the latest model of Chrysler or how shallow the lake seems this year.

Tonight was different though.

Mainly because my Grandmother died on Tuesday and now I don't know what to say.

As I drove over I thought of a hundred things to say, none of which came close to being correct.

What do you say to the man who lost the woman he'd been married to for nearly 60 years? What do you say to the man who you have always told people that you wanted to grow up to be? What do you say to the man who you admire and respect and love more than any other man you have ever known?

What do you say to that man when he sits across from you and slowly deals cards?

To say that you're sorry is so gross an understatement that it doesn't merit consideration. To say that you love him isn't necessary, it is simply understood.

When he finishes dealing you just pick up your cards and play.

You say nothing.

Because you don't really need to.

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