Leather
12 days ago, my grandpa, Leroy Powers, died unexpectedly from lung cancer. And, of course, as soon as my fingers are coming in contact with the keyboard I have no idea what to say. So this will probably be a rather random assortment of thoughts and musings on my part.
It's odd how little I was affected by his death. I have yet to be totally devestated upon receiving news of a death. Maybe this means I have the emotional range of a cockroach, but I think, rather, it simply means that I've been preserved from having to cope with the pain and death of someone really close to me. See, my grandpa just wasn't that close to me, or really to any of us kids...or so I thought. Therein, I think, lies the real tragedy.
A couple of days after we received news of Grandpa's death, my dad and my Uncle Jay went up to Billings, Montana, to clear out his apartment. What they brought back was somewhat startling.
Before I describe more, you should understand the sort of person we knew Grandpa to be. He was very tall, with a somewhat gravelly voice, always drank black coffee and had big silver belt buckles, as well as a somewhat cantankerous personality and, so I've heard, a rather biting sense of humor. When we were little, he scared the daylights out of us by threatening to make our pet rabbits into a stew. "Yeeep," he'd say "I could suuuuure go for some rabbit stew. Doesn't that sound good, guys?" And we'd stare, bug-eyed, back at him. Of course, he never did eat those rabbits. They continued to be cute, fuzzy, and very good at multipying. But that's another story.
Anyway, we saw our grandpa as a gruff, sometimes scary but never mean sort of guy. So when Dad came back from Montana with boxes and boxes of Grandpa's stuff, we--or at least I--were/was somewhat surprised at what we found. Apparently, Grandpa was a leather maniac. He would take countless pieces of woodwork and cover them in ornate pieces of leatherwork that he got from I-don't-know-where. Grandpa was an artist, in his own way. Strike one for previous opinions of him.
One of the more ornate works. If it were up to me, I'd call it Transportation Suspension No. 1
Strike two involves what was featured in most of that leatherwork. Most, if not all, of his pieces had either pictures of us kids or our names--in big, metal letters--worked into them. Most notable of these was a massive cedar chest that was absolutely covered in all patterns and colors of leather, with my name and those of my siblings peppered across it. Grandpa was sentimental, in his own way. Strike two.
An unfinished work involving, I think, my little brother Michael.
Me being who I am, these discoveries didn't shock and astound me, to be honest. But they did get me to think. I realized how tragic it is that all this time, this man whom I called Grandpa was just as human as everyone else, but I never got the time to really know that. I could have; we were making plans to bring him over here to the Tri-Cities, to a hospice house or perhaps our own house. But the rug was pulled out from underneath those plans due to Grandpa's unexpected death. And, once again, divine mercy spared me--I can only assume for the better--from having to witness the death of a loved one firsthand, and from becoming attached to that person before he was taken. I had been bracing myself mentally for that experience, and then it turned out not to matter.
I don't know why Grandpa went the way he did, but I take some consolation from the fact that it was the way he was meant to go. It's also somewhat reassuring that he died on the feastday of Our Lady of Guadalupe. In the end, all we can do--and should do--is pray and remember. Which is what I intend to do. And if all of you who read this post will pray for him too, well, it can only help.
Grandpa and Dad, waay back when. Wasn't my dad cute as a kid?
It's odd how little I was affected by his death. I have yet to be totally devestated upon receiving news of a death. Maybe this means I have the emotional range of a cockroach, but I think, rather, it simply means that I've been preserved from having to cope with the pain and death of someone really close to me. See, my grandpa just wasn't that close to me, or really to any of us kids...or so I thought. Therein, I think, lies the real tragedy.
A couple of days after we received news of Grandpa's death, my dad and my Uncle Jay went up to Billings, Montana, to clear out his apartment. What they brought back was somewhat startling.
Before I describe more, you should understand the sort of person we knew Grandpa to be. He was very tall, with a somewhat gravelly voice, always drank black coffee and had big silver belt buckles, as well as a somewhat cantankerous personality and, so I've heard, a rather biting sense of humor. When we were little, he scared the daylights out of us by threatening to make our pet rabbits into a stew. "Yeeep," he'd say "I could suuuuure go for some rabbit stew. Doesn't that sound good, guys?" And we'd stare, bug-eyed, back at him. Of course, he never did eat those rabbits. They continued to be cute, fuzzy, and very good at multipying. But that's another story.
Anyway, we saw our grandpa as a gruff, sometimes scary but never mean sort of guy. So when Dad came back from Montana with boxes and boxes of Grandpa's stuff, we--or at least I--were/was somewhat surprised at what we found. Apparently, Grandpa was a leather maniac. He would take countless pieces of woodwork and cover them in ornate pieces of leatherwork that he got from I-don't-know-where. Grandpa was an artist, in his own way. Strike one for previous opinions of him.
One of the more ornate works. If it were up to me, I'd call it Transportation Suspension No. 1Strike two involves what was featured in most of that leatherwork. Most, if not all, of his pieces had either pictures of us kids or our names--in big, metal letters--worked into them. Most notable of these was a massive cedar chest that was absolutely covered in all patterns and colors of leather, with my name and those of my siblings peppered across it. Grandpa was sentimental, in his own way. Strike two.
An unfinished work involving, I think, my little brother Michael.Me being who I am, these discoveries didn't shock and astound me, to be honest. But they did get me to think. I realized how tragic it is that all this time, this man whom I called Grandpa was just as human as everyone else, but I never got the time to really know that. I could have; we were making plans to bring him over here to the Tri-Cities, to a hospice house or perhaps our own house. But the rug was pulled out from underneath those plans due to Grandpa's unexpected death. And, once again, divine mercy spared me--I can only assume for the better--from having to witness the death of a loved one firsthand, and from becoming attached to that person before he was taken. I had been bracing myself mentally for that experience, and then it turned out not to matter.
I don't know why Grandpa went the way he did, but I take some consolation from the fact that it was the way he was meant to go. It's also somewhat reassuring that he died on the feastday of Our Lady of Guadalupe. In the end, all we can do--and should do--is pray and remember. Which is what I intend to do. And if all of you who read this post will pray for him too, well, it can only help.
Requiescat in Pace:
Leroy Kelsey Powers
June 13, 1936--December 12, 2006
Leroy Kelsey Powers
June 13, 1936--December 12, 2006
Grandpa and Dad, waay back when. Wasn't my dad cute as a kid?
Grandpa and sister. Once again, the cute level is high.
I love you, mi abuelo. If I had to choose one word to describe you, it would be leather. Stiff on one side, soft on the other. And very cowboy-ish.
I love you, mi abuelo. If I had to choose one word to describe you, it would be leather. Stiff on one side, soft on the other. And very cowboy-ish.
posted by James at
2:05 PM
