I wanted to do this right away, but I just did not get a chance.  I wanted to make sure I could devote the time and really make it good.  I’ve reflected a lot over the last month, though.  So now all my thoughts have been gathering slowly, but surely.  Probably all the best stuff came into my head right after he was gone though.

    It was a little unexpected I guess.  I had been preparing myself for losing my Grandmaman at some point, because she was diagnosed with cancer.  But when I look back Grandpapa’s health and body was failing him. 

    I did feel initial regret when I heard the news.  Regret that it had been awhile since I had seen him last. I guess there are excuses that could be mustered up, like how he was sick and quarantined and then I was sick, then Anderson, then myself again.  But I keep thinking back, and wondering if there was an opportunity that I had passed up.  But it really isn’t worth it to dwell on past decisions and to fill our minds with regret.  I can only change myself in the present, not he past.

    This was the first grandparent I had ever lost.  I was able to keep composed and didn’t cry a whole lot.  Part is denial, I think.  That part of the grieving process, where you don’t really believe it.  And maybe I don’t believe it, because it is so unfamiliar to me.  I cried when the service was over and they took the casket out of the church.  That felt final.  But I keep picturing their apartment, and I just imagine him there, sitting in his chair.  But he is not.  And I will slowly realize it, as I visit my Grandmaman and as holidays pass without him.  .  It is almost the same as how time has frozen in their house that they sold years ago.  In my mind, his chair is still on the veranda, Grandmaman’s sewing room is still overflowing with fabrics and unfinished projects, the bar is still stocked with the fixings for a Manhattan.  It is hard to let go of something that had been a certain way for so long.

    Another reason I can’t cry, is that every time I think of him, I can’t help but smile.  I just have so many fond memories.  And when I see his face in my mind, he is smiling too.  He was always smiling.  I think that is what was hardest for him in the end, he was in pain and it was harder to smile, and that wasn’t who he was, and I’m sure he didn’t like that he couldn’t smile as much.  We all knew that he always smiled, but as I prepared the slideshow of his life, and looked through many photos of all the stages of his life, that smile was always there,  And we all noticed it as we watched the photos dissolve into each other on the TV screen.  Being around people he loved brought him much joy.  And even though he didn’t talk a whole lot, he had this quiet sense of joy that you could just feel.  You just felt good to be around him.

    Grandpapa didn’t complain.  A virtue that unfortunately I don’t have (yet).  He had a sense of humour, and was a big tease.  I remember seeing a quote once, that read something like, “Tease those you love, ignore everyone else”.  That is the essence of the Valade family.  We like to tease eachother, tease ourselves, and we like to laugh together.  Keeping a light heart and sense of humour, sure makes it hard to complain about life.  And complaining is just wasteful anyways, it really doesn’t accomplish much. 

    The priest who did the service, actually had known the Valade family when they were young and raising their boys, so he said a wonderful piece on Grandpapa.  He talked about his legacy and how he all lived on in each of us.  And the more I think about it, the more I see it.  Even though Anderson won’t get to know him the way we all did, he has Grandpapa’s influence in his life.  Grandpapa raised my dad and made him a certain type of man. Like Grandpapa, my dad places a high value on family and is a hard-working, honest man, who is fair and has a sense of humour and doesn’t complain.  My dad has taught me those same values, and where I need a little work, I at least found a mate that has those traits and can help instill them in our children.  Like my Grandpapa and my dad, I was able to find someone to share my life with who possessed those same values.  John is always smiling and he never complains and he has a great sense of humour.  He is also a hard—working, honest man, who places a high value on his family.    

    Here are some little memories of Grandpapa, going back to when I was a child.  I think it is these little nuances that make up the fabric of a person.   

    He snored.  It wad so loud that when I would stay at their house as a child, I could hear his roaring from down the hall.  And then in the morning I would see him in the hallway in his white v-neck undershirt/t-shirt and pajama pants (that probably Grandmaman sewed) and he’d have this long piece of hair touching his shoulder on one side.  His comb-over had fallen out of place, and of course as a child is was very funny to see Grandpapa with “long hair”.  And there was only one bathroom in that house on Crestmoore.  So you really had to make sure you beat him to the bathroom, or you’d be waiting a long time. 

    I loved eating the Manhattan soaked orange slice and maraschino cherry out of his drink glass when he was finished a drink.  He always had a few Manahattan’s before dinner, it was a daily ritual I think.  He always stood at his bar in the basement, even is he wasn’t having a drink, he just liked to stand there, watching TV.  I would wonder if he was comfortable standing that long and I would ask why he didn’t sit down and he said he liked standing better.  He had a little foot stool that he would rest one foot on.      

    He would make me my own “drink” with 7-up and grenadine and cherries.  It would be in a tall, thick rock glass that kind of looked like it was made of frosty, thick ice.  I bet you could throw that glass at a wall and it wouldn’t break.

    He wore moccasin slippers.  So does my dad.  And John too.  We got a little pair for Anderson at the French River Trading post.

   He could make Grandmaman laugh so hard that she’d  be in tears.  This skill has been passed on and their sons can bring about the same reaction in her, if they say something funny enough.

   He used to smoke wine-flavoured Colts mini-cigars.  They were always in his shirt pocket.  I loved the sweet smell of them (right out of the package, before they were burning).  I’ve smoked a few with a beer here and there.  I don’t like the time commitment of a real cigar.  I also like the taste of Manhattan’s.  Once as a teenager, I mixed vermouth and orange juice with a few friends and they thought it tasted awful.  I was like, hmmm, not bad.  I guess I have a soft spot for the taste of vermouth, from the booze soaked fruit.

    One story that was told at the funeral that I enjoyed was about how much he loved Christmas.  He loved the traditions a French-Canadian Christmas: midnight mass, followed by opening presents and staying up late.  I don’t know if that is French-Canadian or not, but that’s what they did.  His name was Jean-Noel, which does in fact translate to John-Christmas.   He was always the Pere-Noel of Christmas, handing out the presents from under the tree.  When the boys were young and when he got a paycheck in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he would return home from work with more toys for the boys.  Grandmaman, would be like “Jean-Noel, we already have enough”.  That so much reminds me of something John would do and he does.  He’s exactly the same about Christmas.

    I think Christmas will be hard this year.  We will miss him.  But I can’t help feeling grateful for all the time that we had.  I am so grateful.  I had all four of my grandparents and their health at my wedding.  I was also able to share my firstborn with them.  And for all that Anderson will not get with Grandpapa, the Valade family will be able to fill in and teach him what it means to be a Valade and a part of Jean-Noel Valade.