A week before my first term of college, my grandfather passed away in his sleep. He was 77 years old. He had been diagnosed with a rare form of Parkinsons called PSP a few years prior and was told there was no cure. The following years became daily activities of trying to make him comfortable at the end of his life, and it became clear to me just how important family really was. At first he lost his mobility, soon after his ability to effectively communicate was lost as well. It is a very strange situation when the smartest man in the family losses his ability to speak wisdom that echoed throughout a dining room full of family members; to talk of life in such a way that one could only guess had come from years of experience. It is very hard to speak of him in the past tense because he was an incredibly present individual for the last 19 years of my life. I had been wondering how we would fair during the first thanksgiving without him for some months now, and this Thursday I got my answer.

My doorbell rang and I greeted my great aunt, her son and his wife, and their daughter. Children are incredibly helpful individuals during a time of grief, for their only goal is happiness and smiles. The world doesn't work any other way to them. Rya instantly greeted me with a hug, and went into an incredibly in-depth explanation about her recent ballet recital (that I tried my best to be intrigued by, I promise). After learning about how she was the best dancer out of all her friends (modesty is a beautiful trait in our family), the rest of the family poured in. This year we had a smaller turnout because my uncle had recently moved to Michigan and was visiting family in Iowa, and both my aunts were in Pennsylvania. Nonetheless, there was still a strong family bond present at our table. After all the hello's died down, I began the thrilling process of informing my family of how my first term in college went. Common responses included;

1. "College kicked my butt, but it was such a rush being independent and responsible for my choices."

2. "I swear to god, I gained 30 pounds. You can't see it because it's muscle. Core muscle, mother, you didn't see the exercises our choreographer made us do before each rehearsal, my abs are as hard as aluminum. No, Rya, not steel. Uncle Nick ain't that comfortable with his physique yet."

3. "Shockingly enough, me and my roommate do get along. Talk about being thankful for someone today."

4. "The show went well Grandma, you were there (this one came up a lot, my grandma worries too much that she didn't come to support us in our activities)."

5. "Oh, grandma, I love school so much. I love who i'm becoming there."

Shortly after, my father said grace, and we sat down and ate our food. I devoured 75% of the stuffing, that is no lie, and I have never felt more disgusted and proud of myself. Afterwards, we watched football and entertained the younger audience with explanations as to why grown men chase after each others balls and slap each others butts for a good play, "That isn't how the real world works, okay Rya?" (Disclaimer, I have nothing against football. However, explaining how the game is played down to the basic actions is just so darn fun to say out loud). At the end of the night, we packed up the mountains of leftovers, the family said their goodbyes, and I went late night shopping with some friends. Sounds like a normal Thanksgiving, right? No one really mentioned my grandfather, and I have two possible hypothesis' for this:

1. We were avoiding it. Losing the man who held your family together is like getting kicked in the face by a soccer penalty kick in your fourth grade rec league: Fast, painful, and you lay there for a while wondering what just happened. There is no way to prepare for it, and all you can do is pick yourself up and move on.

2. We were at peace.

When my grandpa was first teaching me how to play chess, he told me that the most important rule of chess was to think 3 steps ahead of your next move. "What do you want to be remembered by?" he would ask me. Now, I know he meant did I want my move to be thought of as calculated or sloppy, but it still speaks to how the rest of my life went.

Friday morning, I was telling the girl who makes my heart rate accelerate all of this, and she was a bit confused as to how I was so calm about his death. I told her that I was a very strong believer that my grandfather was in a much better place than he was on earth. The last couple of months were just filled with pain for not only him, but our family as well. While all my family was praying for a miracle, (like the black sheep I am) I was praying for a peaceful death. It became clear to me a week before he died that it was incredibly selfish of us to want him to remain alive just so we could have him around while he was in an insurmountable amount of pain. And I am a firm believer in a great beyond, though I identify more so with Thomas Edison's idea of an afterlife: "It's very beautiful over there. I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.” Aptly put, in my personal opinion.

We never know how long we have our loved ones for, so I think i've decided that it is best to make as many memories with them as we can. Once they're gone, all we will have are the stories we will share with our families and eventual children.

"Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?"

Wherever you are, Grandpa, I hope you're with your mom again. I still play chess, I still kick your daughter's butt, your lesson's are not forgotten. I want to be remembered as you are. I want to be the smartest man in the room like you, I want to learn how to effectively play golf, and I want to have a family by my side at the end. Thank you for 19 wonderful years.

Sincerely, Your favorite grandson.