five years.

today marked the five year anniversary of my grandfather's death. we, the grandchildren, affectionately called him jiddo, the lebanese word for grandfather. as the oldest of my grandparent's twenty-eight grandchildren, i was blessed beyond measure to have had such a close relationship with my grandfather and grandmother growing up. their lives and ideals were, and continue to be, my go-to guide for life and living in this crazy world.

so, when i woke up this morning, i marveled at how i still felt his absence pulling at my heartstrings, these five years later. not in a i'm mourning, i can't get out of bed way, but in the way that says, take your time, move slowly, how has it already been five years? but why would i marvel at that? yes, time does heal, but after the the death of a loved one, and for me my grandfather was the father that i never had, time only moves how you think and reflect and treasure.

these days, i've had my jiddo at my side talking to me. a lot. saying things to me in his voice, his intonation, placing the emphasis on words and phrases the same way he did at the kitchen table the last time i saw him five years ago, right before i moved to denver. i've been a stick in the mud debbie downer about my unemployment status, and my living in a new city without the friends i left in boston. still, life is good. i'm fortunate. too much of the time lately, it's been easy to lose sight of the good angels and luck and fortune i have in my life. it's so much easier to live in what you don't have and what you want.

this is where those gems that parents and grandparents say come in. those gems that don't truly resonate until you're out of the house, on your own, staring into a vat of wonder and unknowns. these ism's resonate now, and i'm sure will continue to resonate in different ways as i grow and learn and come up against different, wacky odds. it's just a matter of hearing them.

1. Don't get discouraged.

he'd just say it, exactly like that. easy enough, right?

2. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters.

every evening, after my mother and i moved out on our own, for as long as i can remember, he'd call our house and ask "are you okay?" and follow it up with a "i just want to make sure you're okay." when i was younger, this was a sign of protectiveness on my grandfather's part. now, i just see it as truth. i'm okay, and that is what matters.

3. You make a decision, and you make it the right one.

i've said this one every day, maybe more than once each day, when fighting with myself over the decision to move to here. we're here, and we'll make it work because our decision brought us here.

the evening after my grandfather's funeral, we (my grandmother, and some aunts and uncles) were sitting around the kitchen table, and my grandmother was opening letters from generous old friends, old clients and community members, sharing their stories and fondness for my grandfather. at one point, my grandmother went into the other room, and after some time came back with a folded piece of yellow paper from a legal pad, so glad she had found it. "it was in one of his suitcoats, i knew it was somewhere because i saw him carrying this around even last week." she opened the paper, and there it read a list of names of his parents, brothers, and friends, all whom had passed away, that he wanted to pray for. each day. his large, spool-ly cursive with a fine black ink pen. this list-making--a silent reminder of who went before him, of what he had the power to remember.

his name is on my mental list, of course, and for now, i'll continue to hear what i can hear, and refuse, relentlessly to forget any of it. these voices, older and wiser, are what we've got to keep living, learning, and growing from. i'm just lucky i get to sit here, at my desk after midnight, hearing his wise voice speaking--a voice far wiser than my own. yes, time heals, but time also gives you that much more room for remembering. yes, i absolutely must live my own life and learn from it. but, as i do that, it's nice to know i have a wise grandfather pushing me along and forward, so that i'm remembering but not dwelling, marking my beautiful days.

*photo taken at my grandparent's 50th anniversary party. isn't my grandmother so gorgeous?