It’s funny what strong emotions and reactions just a few notes of a song can elicit. This is never more true than when I hear Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. In an instant I’m swept back to the 1940s and encircled by swing-dancing G.I.s and their leading ladies fashioned in high-waisted pencil skirts and perfectly tailored bow blouses. I wonder what it must have been like to live in that era, a time which, by today’s standards, seems so pure and innocent, when staunch patriotism was a given and big band music was just hitting its stride. I admire the notion of such unity and endless possibility. I think of my grandparents.
Duncan Kenneth and Carolyn Sue (nee Grove) Moore
With the recent passing of both my paternal grandparents within just five months of each other, and having no prior experience with the death of a loved one, I’ve had to face some difficult and previously unexplored feelings. It’s more than just grief; it’s guilt, regret, curiosity, and even a little envy.
Guilt
I can’t seem to shake the enormous amount of remorse I feel for the countless times I was indignant about having to visit my grandparents. What did I want to go there for, it’s always so boring, I don’t know what to talk to them about, they can’t relate, etc. Visiting my grandparents was always a chore, something I did to placate my parents. I especially loathed birthday parties at Grandma and Grandpa’s because they dragged on for hours. I’m at my grandparents’ house oohing and ahhing over some trinket I couldn’t care less about when I could be at Teen Club flirting with Jason Ratliff. This is SO unfair. Oh, the misplaced priorities of a teenager who doesn’t yet know a thing about what’s really important in life.
Regret
As if the guilt didn’t sting enough, I’m also left with the painful realization that I missed out on such valuable and interesting insights into my family background, world history, and life in general. I can read and research to no end on any of those topics, but the real-life wisdom of someone who’s lived it, that’s priceless. And I let it slip through my fingers. As a lifelong rabid seeker of information, I had invaluable resources at my disposal, and I chose to tune out. For that I can never forgive myself.
Curiosity
After my grandmother’s funeral, as we sorted through all that was left of a couple’s life together, a life that saw more than fifty joyful years of marriage together, four proud sons, unbreakable family ties, and countless friends, I was left with many more questions than answers. What was Grandma like before she had children, what made her laugh, what kind of music did she listen to? I’ll never forget the pang I felt when, going through her possessions after she passed, I found a cassette tape carefully labeled in her always-flawless script: Jim recorded this for me from his own album. The Eagles – Hotel California. My grandmother and I had both enjoyed the same album, and had both been introduced to it by my dad. How much more did we have in common that I didn’t know about? I never bothered to ask, and now I’ll never know.
Likewise, I’ve come to realize how little I know about my grandfather. He was soft-spoken, gentle, and kind, but there was always a mischievous sparkle in his eye that made me believe there was much to be discovered beyond that tenderhearted smile. I wish I could have gotten to know more of his sense of humor, which is undoubtedly at the very heart of my own father’s and uncles’ wisecracking dispositions. I’d love to know more about actually fighting in WWII. Wasn’t he ever scared? Furthermore, my grandpa had always shown great interest in my writing, more so than anyone else in my life. He was always asking about it, what had I been working on and would I please send him something? But I never did. What a tremendous opportunity to make someone proud, and I missed it.
Envy
Even with all the misspent chances to learn and grow from my grandparents, I will always know that they truly cherished one another. The happiness, comfort, and love they felt for each other was undeniable as I leafed through the aged photographs of the different stages in their life together: honeymoon, homes, various holidays, growing family, and significant milestones they shared with one another. To have such a special bond with someone, to have created such a closely-knit and adoring family, to have lived such fulfilling lives, and to have had so many stories to tell, for this I am envious.
I may have missed many opportunities to learn all I could about my grandparents, and I will never know as much about their lives as I truly wish I could. But I can imagine. And every time I hear In the Mood, I won’t stop myself from envisioning that they’re off together somewhere, dancing.
