A week and a day ago, my grandfather passed away. He is the first person close to me who has died - and I guess this makes me lucky, especially considering this lately-more crazy world we live in. He was a very interesting man who I admired and respected very much. He was sharp-witted, generous, and had an air about him that made you feel like you were important whenever he spoke to you. He kept meticulous records of history, relevant news clippings, birthdays, his personal finances, and he also had a roaring social life and knew what was important to him. He died surrounded by 19 children and grandchildren - literally standing around his bed, feeling connected enough to him that they would be willing to witness his final breath of air. I figured if you die like this, you've done something right.
The reverend canon at his funeral talked about the desire humans have to have a home, and the desire they have to leave home, and related this to my grandpa's own life of leaving home, and coming back better - to contribute to his community in a more meaningful way, to be able to have special skills, in his case a teaching education, that he could use to make his community better. He had a strong sense of where he came from but he also had a great adventurous side in him, and I think that was the base of our relationship. He actually approved of adventures, and I actually admired his ability to have a strong a foundation, and a strong 'home'.
This theme really resonated with me as I have been aching to leave home - whatever that is for me- again for quite some time. I feel like I need this constant ebb and flow or leaving and returning or else I get bored and depressed. I am waiting to hear from a school in Sweden to see if they will accept me - oddly enough the town is directly across the Baltic Sea from Kaliningrad, Russia, what was formerly Prussia, and also where the name of this blog comes from. Somehow I am drawn back to this Russian enclave. Oddly enough my grandpa printed out my entire blog and gave it back to me in a binder. He thought it was important to add to his meticulous records, and he enjoyed my updates, or at least claimed to.
The above picture is of my father and grandfather, enjoying one of the last days of summer. We moved a bench from beside the house to the center of the grass and it was one of the last days I spent listening to my grandfather's stories - as if he wanted to share them one last time while his memory, mind, and voice were all clear enough to let him. He could remember more about what happened in 1940 than I can remember about last week. I take comfort in knowing that my grandpa will be with me, in some form or another, at home, or as I leave home. I just have to deal with the fact that he won't be reading my blog and printing it out for me anymore.
