Walking with my grandparents

Sometimes when I’m out walking at night, I talk with my dead grandparents. I do.

Grandpa Schwartz died most recently, about 15 years ago, my Grandma Schwartz 20 years ago, Grandma Theder about 30 years ago, and Grandpa Theder died when I was just 11, over 35 years ago. But I find it helpful to talk with them. It is probably all in my head – and it is also real to me. I tell them the struggles I am facing. I hear them expressing care for me, asking questions, giving me advice. I hear their laughter. We walk together among the trees, night breezes spinning the leaves around us and between us.

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited, Jimmy.”

“I know, I’m sorry I’ve been away.”

“That’s OK, you know we’re always with you.” Their eyes sparkle with intensity.

“But I miss talking with you. I wish I could make it out here more regularly.”

“We know you’re busy. How are you?”

“I’ve been struggling a little bit. I’ve been feeling down, thinking about all the people around me who are sick. Sometimes I feel like it’s too much.”

“I’m so sorry, Jimmy.” My Grandma Theder puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know that can be so hard, to see how fragile it all is.”

“It got us in the end, didn’t it?” Grandpa Schwartz chuckles.

“Bill!” Grandma Theder remonstrates with him.

“It’s OK, Grandma,” I tell her. “He’s trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?” asks Grandma Schwartz.

“It is,” I reply. “You all are.”

“We’re glad,” my Grandpa Theder adds.

“Talking with you doesn’t take any of it away,” I explain. “But it puts everything in a context, helps me see where my struggles sit within the struggles you have all faced and overcome.”

Grandpa Theder looks at me. “It’s not about overcoming, Jimmy. Like your Grandpa Schwartz said, none of us makes it out of here alive. It’s about going through it together.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re right,” I agree. I am standing in front of my apartment building. “It’s time for me to go in. But this really helped. You all really helped.”

“We’re so glad, Jimmy,” Grandma Schwartz reassures me. “Like we told you, we’re always with you. We love you.”

“I love you all, too.” I reach my hands out in what will have to pass as a hug with those who’ve been gone from this world for decades.

I walk inside, a little bit more healed than I was before. Talking with my grandparents doesn’t make it all better. It doesn’t take away the pain I experience. It doesn’t snuff out the sadness, the regret, or the anger. But as they know very well, it helps me feel those emotions in the context of everything they faced in their own lives, what they went through with one another and with others, and it reminds me that I’m going through it with others, with my family and friends, and even with them. They remind me that, no matter that I feel alone, I’m always walking with others.