Saying Goodbye (if that's possible)

Edgar T. Lajoie

3/8/21-7/14/13

Edgar Lajoie, known as Ed or "Big Ed" to some, was known to me as Grampy. He was born in Woonsocket, RI in 1921, and was a chubby French Canadian baby. Big Ed cheated death many times in his life, but the first was when he was born. He was born unresponsive and wrapped in a blanket, so that doctors could attend to my great-grandmother, who was bleeding.  Knowing, even then, he was destined for great things and a long life on this Earth, Ed started crying, only then attracting the attention of doctors and proving he was not only alive, but healthy. The world would forever be changed now that Ed Lajoie had entered the mix.

Simply put, my Grampy was a badass. Talented. Charismatic. Fun. Generous. As a teenager, he was incredibly athletic. A three-sport varsity athlete. Baseball was his sport of choice, and he was offered a contract with St. Louis in 1938, but had to turn it down because, at 17, his father would not give him permission to play. My grandfather, never one to throw all this eggs in one basket, simply threw out his glove and never played baseball again. I suppose this was a mixture of incredible disappointment plus his easy-going personality--I'm sure, even then, he knew that he had options.

Now I said that he rolled with the punches. Didn't throw his eggs in one basket or take setbacks too seriously. But there was one exception--one instance where my Grandfather went all in and never looked back. My grandmother, Stella. Grampy worked with Grammy's father in the factory. As he told the story, he was actually giving my great-grandfather (his future father in law) a ride home from work one day, when my grandmother crossed the street in front of them. Grampy said something like, "Who's that girl?" immediately followed by some statement of his intent to marry her someday. To which my great-grandfather replied, "That's my daughter." When Grampy saw something he liked, he went for it. They were married May 16, 1943,  and stayed married for 60 years, until my Grammy passed away in 2003.

Between them, they had two daughters. My aunt Denise was born in 1947 and my mom Robin in 1957. They were grandparents to Denise's two sons, Jay & Kevin, and to my brother Chris and I. Jay (my cousin) had a daughter Jesica in 1984, their great-granddaughter. And Jesica had a child in 2000, Evelyn, their great-great-granddaughter. In 60 years, they saw five generations. I regret that my grandfather will not have the opportunity to meet Penny, my brother's daughter, who is due in November. Part of my heart sinks at the thought that she'll never know Grampy.

For most of my life, Grammy and Grampy were retired. Jet-setting from Florida to Maine with short stop-offs in Hawaii and Woonsocket to visit with their daughters. I spent a week most winters in Florida with them, and a week or two most summers in Maine. Grampy tried to take me fishing more than once--but as alike as we were in some ways, I never had the patience for fishing. My grandfather was an avid hunter, fisher, marksman. He competed in the Pan-American Games as a marksman. And he used his outdoor skills and generosity to show me how much he loved me.

He built this swing for me when I was 3 years old. I still remember how awesome it was to swing there and look at the mountains. That swing was one of the happiest places on Earth. 

He carved/cleared a few short trails through the woods. He named one after me and my mom "The Robin Laura Trail" and one after Denise and Jesica. I remember feeling so proud going down that trail. With a walking stick Grampy "made" me. If I got bored, he might say, "Take a walk down your trail." And I did. Many times. Remembering those days is both what makes me happy and sad today--I know how very lucky and blessed I was to be his granddaughter, and yet so sad that I won't ever hear his voice, laugh, or jokes again. Sometimes those emotions exist together, you know? 

Few things make me more emotional day than the picture you see above. Grampy and I in the Adirondack chairs. He placed them at the top of the yard, so you can really see the view in all its glory. Maine was his favorite place in the world. 

When I'm there, whether he was there or not, I can feel him in each creak of the floor, every ridiculous piece of decor (Beer Steins, Billy Big Mouth Bass, you name it) and each time I take in the view. My parents are putting the cabin on the market soon, and it's nearly heartbreaking to realize that this piece of my Grampy will someday be gone. But things do change in life. And I need to hold on to my memories and the things he taught me. 

Anyone who knows me well knows I love games. Cards especially. And my enthusiasm is unwavering. Well that didn't come out of nowhere--my zest for fun is something I learned DIRECTLY from Big Ed. And it's a huge part of him I carry forward. He was so funny. Always making people laugh, a great storyteller. I've been told I have a dramatic flair this way too, and though I'm sure it won't hold a candle to Big Ed's--I'm proud to say it's part of him that's become a part of me.  He is also the only other person in my family (other than me) who is as social as I am. And my mother and father tell me that I definitely take after him in this department. My Grampy made and maintained long friendships with ease. He was known by many and loved by many.  

I will keep him alive by remembering the lessons he taught me: 

He showed me what unconditional love is. 

And on May 16, 2003, the day of their 60th anniversary, it was painting his wife's toenails. 

Because she was too sick and weak to do it herself. 

He was so proud of his family. 

And I was so proud to be able to know him. 

I feel like not everyone is as lucky and blessed as I was. 

I know they weren't. 

He was so patient. 

Even when I wouldn't let go of Mickey. 

He was resilient. 

When Grammy died, I wasn't sure what would happen to my sweet Gramps. 

But he rallied. Embraced his life. 

And was there for me, in all my big moments and accomplishments. 

I must admit to crying a bit upon realizing he will never see me get married or have children of my own. I believe he's watching me now--I have to believe that. 

It was hard watching him begin to slow down. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's several years ago.  I worried every day that my Grampy wouldn't know me anymore. That he would lose his personality, lose himself. The picture above was taken Fall 2012, and as you can see, he hadn't lost either of those things at that point! He was still every bit the guy with the "I'm Fat, You're Ugly, but I can Diet" T-shirt. It was hard to believe Grampy was a mere mortal--he survived being "almost" stillborn, malaria, dyptheria, whopping cough, cancer, and recently, a heart attack and stroke in the hospital. But Ed isn't immortal, despite our assumptions that he was. 

I remember seeing this picture, from 1984, of Grampy visiting his father (then also 92 years old) in the nursing home. I remember thinking my Grampy could never look that old. He was too strong, to robust. He was my Grampy! He would NEVER die. And in some ways, he won't. Because he is a part of me that I cannot deny, and would never want to lose. The best parts of me are reflections of him.

I want to finish my saying Thank You to Grampy. For being so loving, so patient, so resilient, so fun. For showing me unconditional love, and showing me how to shake things off. For making the swing, for making my trail, for loving me through my ugly and annoying years, and for supporting me without fail. Thank you for the hugs and kisses, for taking me raspberry picking, and for sitting with me on the Adirondack chairs. For letting me borrow your car, for giving me mace the day I left for college, for giving me your last piece of Big Red gum. For showing me how cool sunglasses look. How to play cribbage, and for being "the claw" when I was a kid. Thank you for showing me how not to sweat the small stuff, to prioritize the big stuff, and for all the things I've forgotten.
I know I'll always miss you. But I was the luckiest granddaughter in the world. And I choose to keep your memory alive by being happy and making my life as full as possible. I love you, Grampy!