Goodbye Great-Grandpa

Nearly two weeks ago, Kaia’s great-grandfather passed away. Since that time I have been struggling with how to articulate my feelings about his demise. He had been very ill for over a year, more than once coming to the edge of death only to be pulled back by a strong will to live—and modern technology. Even before his body had started its rapid decline, from nearly a decade ago his once sharp mind had been eroding as well. By the time he passed away on December 10^th, he was a physical and mental shell of the man I have such fond memories of as a boy. I was mentally prepared for his death and, admittedly, at times wished that it would come sooner in the hope that it would relieve some of the turmoil that my mom and grandmother felt watching him teeter between life and death cradled tenuously by the crutch of life supporting machines. Yet now I am feeling overwhelmed by emotions that I did not expect to have to wrestle, and it is making it nearly impossible to write. I suppose that it is a combination of things—the holidays, the return home of Kaia’s grandme, a writing rut, Kaia’s mama’s continued overwhelming work schedule—but there is this creeping malaise and longing for familiar comforts that is dragging me down making it very difficult to string together the kind of words that I want to honor my grandfather’s life. From the remembrance of the unconditional love that he gave to me, I feel these pangs of guilt that Kaia is so far away from his grandparents and family at this time. I know that it is cliché and the roots of my emotions are embedded in cultural rituals that precipitate such timely feelings, but there is no denying it.

My parents made the conscious decision to raise me and my sisters in an area that was close to family—and, specifically, our grandparents. From an early age—about the same age as Kaia—I was essentially living with my grandparents while my mom worked and finished her degree and my dad built his dental practice. While my grandma slipped me money to call her “mommy” at the supermarket and introduced me to the entertainment that is daytime television, my grandpa was already teaching me the intricacies of one of his undying passions—baseball.

Next to the clear memories of the unconditional love he showed me—from quitting smoking at my birth to being patient with my fishing misadventures--baseball is the lasting gift that I will carry with me from our life together. In some ways it is the stories that he shared with me from his own playing days as a star centerfielder, but more so it is the memories of our physical time together—sharing the ritual of oiling a baseball glove, teaching me how to keep score, tossing the ball to each other in the front lawn—that I carry with me and that I will someday share with Kaia. With my dad being a star football player in his own right, my upbringing very much revolved around sports, and my grandpa was a big part of this. I suppose that this is one reason that I still hold onto my love for baseball and the simplicities of the game. Baseball is a constant reminder of my youth and the times I shared with my father and grandfather. I suppose that countless other men share similar feelings about the game and their elders, yet this does nothing to diminish the power of these emotions and experiences.

I don’t know if Kaia will go on to participate in athletics or enjoy sports at all—and if not, that is just fine. But there will be sometime in his life when we sit down and he can look at old photos of his great-grandfather, not the ones where they are together and great-grandpa is a weak old man, but the shots of him as the lone, vigorous Japanese American on the pre-war all-star baseball team who rapped out doubles with the best of them. Or perhaps we will listen to the taped interviews I conducted with him later on in his life where we discuss the details of the old Sacramento leagues where only Asians played ball.

My grandfather was a big part of my life and I miss him. In fact, I have missed the man who taught me how to grip a baseball for many years. Yet now I take some comfort in knowing that, out there, somewhere, he’s back on the diamond, manning centerfield and running down those balls hit into the gaps. And I’ll keep my glove well groomed with neat’s foot oil, waiting for the day when I can pass along some of the gifts he taught me to his great-grandson. Thank you for sharing your life and passions with me grandpa. May you always find the sweet part of the bat. I love you.