This weekend is going to be a tough one. Last year, on July 4th I got the phone call I had dreaded that whole week last year. My mom called me while I was sitting at dinner in Quincy Market in Boston with the Welch's and Schreiner's to tell me that my grandpa had passed away. My grandpa had Advanced Parkinson's disease. The whole week before I left for Boston was spent sitting by his side up at the nursing home while he seemed to just be sleeping and was on comfort care. It was the longest week of my life.
Coming home to his passing was a wake up call. Not being in Oswego when it happened made the whole thing seem as if it were a dream or was not real. The wake was the day after I got home from Boston and the funeral was the following day. I still wear the necklace Jon bought me in Boston. Inside it says Grandpa, 07-04-2008. The necklace is shaped like a heart with blue glitter inside because that was my grandpa's favorite color.
My grandpa and I became really close when I started college. He always told me how proud he was of me and that I was doing something great with my life. Even though he could not write anymore my grandma would always sign his name's in the cards they sent me at school and always mentioned how proud he was of my accomplishments. This made the begining of the summer tough. I couldn't tell him face to face that I had finished a third year of college and only had one more year left. I couldn't tell him face to face about my new car, or my summer trip to Ohio. I did go out to the cemetary and told him all these things, and I knew he was listening.
I love summer the best now because of all the butterflies. There is a story to the butterflies and my grandpa. My grandma was walking from her garage to her house after the funeral and after everyone left her house that night, when she felt something land on her hair. My uncle Danny said “Mom, don’t move.” It was a butterfly. It just sat there, in my grandma’s hair. Then it flew over to my cousin Katie’s shoulder, then my uncle’s, then back to my grandma’s head. My grandma proceeded to say “It’s okay Arlyn. I’ll be alright. I love you.” Then the butterfly flew away. To this day, every time I see a butterfly I think of my grandpa. There was even one time at school I was lost and a butterfly flew with me the whole way back to my apartment!! (I was out running with my housemate and she had to go home so I kept going and got lost!)
I know he is watching over all of my family and my grandma and that he is in a better place now. I just miss him a lot and love him and I know he is up there saying "Way to go! I'm proud of you!"
RIP Arlyn M. Cloonan - July 4th, 2008
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