The year everybody died, Pt. 1

Sometime around 2008-10, I found out about some things that my maternal grandfather (who by then, was a recovering alcoholic) had done during his years of insobriety. I was shook. He was in the hospital for something, I don't remember what, and I sent him a text message that said "Do not call or text me ever again. When you die, I'll be the first person there to dance on your grave." I didn't speak to him again until 3 days before he died in 2018.

My maternal grandmother died in May 2018 (she lived in AL at the time with her husband), my maternal grandfather died in July 2018, and his wife died in August 2018. She was my step-grandma my whole life, but I didn't know her very well, so she was always just "Penny" to me. My mom was the primary caretaker of all of them and she had a really difficult time handling it all at once like that.

July 2018- My mom was at my grandparents' condo in Fairlawn, cleaning things up and sorting things out to get them ready to move into hospice care and she asked me to stop by and help. I was freshly back from our beach vacation and felt like I was ready to talk to him and see what he had to say. I didn't tell him about my offense, but I did listen to what he had to say about his life.

He told me about how Cuyahoga Falls, specifically Front Street, had changed throughout his lifetime. We talked about bars that had turned over after being discovered as low key brothels, bars he'd been banned from, drunken fights he'd lost and won, he showed me prizes he'd won in poker games, we talked about his work with the Ironworkers Union, how he started smoking cigarettes when he was 5 years old and how I used to LOUDLY cough when he walked in the room to vocalize my disgust at his horrible habit. hits vape We talked about military experiences he'd had, how he'd always liked my dad and respected his service in the Marine Corps. He told me he'd heard that I was "blowing weed" and asked if he should thank MaryJane for convincing me to speak to him again.

I laughed out loud about that as I walked

outside to use my salt nic vape. We talked about a lot of things, but he told me that something I should never stop doing is looking people in the eye. He asked me why I thought people have always liked talking to me and telling me their secrets. I said I thought it was because I ask a lot of questions and I'm nosey, but maybe eye contact has something to do with it, I don't know... He told me I've always done that, since I was a kid, and that it makes people feel heard. He told me that eye contact can be the most vicious weapon and the most clear indication of your soul, and to always remember that. This was on the way up to what is widely considered to be my first psychological "break" and I felt so grateful for the chance to speak to this man again before he died and find a sense of peace with him. He hadn't hurt me directly, but for years I had written him off because of who he used to be and because I so deeply loved the people who HAD been directly hurt by his actions.

I looked him in the eyes and told him I did not forgive him for what I had found out he had done, but that I understood that it was part of what made him who he eventually became. When he died, he was the same asshole he ever was, but he was not alone, had found his personal salvation in Jesus Christ, and made his peace with God. My mom called me to tell me he was going to be dying soon and asked me to come be with them when he passed away. I was on the exit ramp at Cleve-Massillon Rd. when I felt a chill run through me as the radio played "Mary Jane's Last Dance". I felt him die, called my mom to ask if I was too late, and she said he was gone.

What's interesting to me, and why I bring this up, is that we've all been told how addiction and alcoholism is genetic, generational, and a lifelong battle to overcome. When I finally got to a point where I wanted to talk to my grandparents about their journeys through addiction, it was too late. As we sorted through his belongings, I found new meaning to trinkets because I knew the story behind them. There is a stuffed fox that has traveled from Ohio to South Carolina, to California, and back. The day we talked, before he died, he told me the story of how he and his hunting dog had treed that fox. (Apparently, that's not something that happens often? Idk...) The prized ring he had won on an unlikely flop in his younger days hit hard because I hadn't realized we had both shared a love of calling with bullshit hands like 8, 2 off... 'cause you never know.

The day he was buried, everyone from the funeral left, but I stayed to watch him be lowered into the ground. I had made a promise. Groundskeepers used equipment to lower his casket and covered it with dirt as I watched from a nearby bench. When they were done, I asked the two of them if they wanted to partake with me as I blew my California vape and played Mary Jane's Last Dance on my iPhone.

Jim, "Bud", Ralston wasn't playing cards by himself. He wasn't drinking in bars and being an all around wreck loose* alone. He was born and raised in Northeast Ohio, probably with some of your grandparents. My grandfather wasn't nice or friendly on approach like grandpas on TV. He didn't send birthday cards or presents, he didn't attend milestone events unless he had to, and when he was there, he was mostly grumpy. He liked golf, money, hunting, women, drinking, gambling, potatoes, and so did your grandparents. Is it their fault if they didn't work their shit out and get counseling after growing up the way they did? Yes. Can we change that? No. All we can do is be better and learn from their mistakes. If you're able to, I recommend you go have some eye contact with your grandparents and ask them some nosey questions.

*Apparently, this isn't a word or phrase lol. Wreck loose= hot mess/hell on wheels/whatever you want to put here is fine.