My Grandfather's Jacket

Today is the kind of day that is too chilly for just a shirt (need pants too, ha!) and too warm for a coat. It's jacket weather. And I wanted a kind of nicer jacket, heading out the door for church, so I grabbed my grandfather's jacket.

When my grandpa, my dad's dad, died several years ago I asked for one of his sweaters. It reminded me of him. He always wore these Mr. Rogers style button down sweaters, and I often borrowed them, so when he died, I wanted one to remember. It still smelled like him, in a way that probably would have creeped someone else out, but I liked it. Even the bad smell of a person can sometimes be sentimental, you know.

So when my granddad, my mom's dad, passed away a few years ago, I asked for his jacket. My grandpa wore Mr. Rogers sweaters. My granddad wore jackets. Like a tweed suit-coat, I guess. My grandpa was short and funny, and had a full head of white hair that he combed straight back. My granddad was tall, mostly bald, and more serious. I don't think he was really serious by nature, but my grandma, his first wife, had multiple sclerosis for my entire life, so for many years I saw him just caring for her. And that was a serious job.

I do remember once he accidentally put antifreeze on his rose bushes. I always teased him thereafter about putting antifreeze on the roses and fertilizer in the car. And he laughed. He had a great laugh, and a phenomenal smile.

So today I wore his jacket. The lining of the left sleeve was held in place by some hand stitching and 3 tiny safety pins. And in the pocket was a piece of paper. It was a photocopy of some handwritten notes belonging to my oldest cousin. I vaguely remember him wearing the jacket on the day of the funeral. Either that, or my mom tucked the paper in the pocket for me. A gentle giant, it said. He remembered Granddad before Grandma got sick, remembered him wrestling, laughing, talking with him as a child on a road trip.

I remember the gentleness too. And the fixer-upper thing. He was a mechanical engineer. And he was always improving things. That pair of shoes is okay, but it would be better if it had some ventilation, so he cut slits in the sides. My grandma's wheelchair was a marvel, a collection of different improvements, so much that the guys spent half a day trying to get it back to the way it was supposed to be after she went in the nursing home.

Eventually I also remembered, wearing his jacket today, with my ears itching and nose running, that they had a cat. But I wore it a little longer, anyway. The memories were worth a little discomfort.