I'm also 100% okay with that. I don't think I NEED 100% of what I want. I just want it. But, I'm not a petulant child. So, it's okay if I don't get it.
But, for me, the trouble lies in determining which part of the pie is least important. What am I willing to budge on? What can I live without? It's not really a matter of settling for something less than I think I deserve, or even a matter of compromising, it's more a matter of happiness. I can give things up and still be happy, but what are those things? I don't really know. And, maybe that's one of those things that you never really know until they slap you in the face---or, I'm a moron. The world may never know (If it's me, and I'm the moron, go ahead and let me keep living in my idiot bliss).
I've always wanted to write about my grandparents. I've told this story to some people. For those of you who were fortunate enough to have known my grandparents, I'm sure you can also corroborate what I'm about to say.
***
My grandparents loved each other. They loved each other in this very real and very visceral way. It wasn't the type of love that you see in a gross sappy romance. It wasn't the love that you read about in fairy tales. It was real love, bruised and bloody, but also fierce and unrelenting.
My grandfather was an Air Force and Marine veteran who fought in the Korean War. My grandmother was also a Marine. They were always Marines, something they'd never let you forget. They met and married while in the military and both went to school for Political Science. They were young and very different from one another, but love was all like, yup. This is how things are going down.
Now, I'm sure my perspective differs from that of others. I am not their child. I did not know them in their more formative years. All I have to go on are stories of their youth and my own observations, which spanned about 28 years of my life.
My grandparents had and raised 6 sons and 1 daughter, and formed this crazy Chicago Hawaiian family, one that indulged in both American culture and Hawaiian culture. And, I know that they were never perfect. I'm sure my grandmother yelled and threw things much more than was necessary and that my grandfather probably just ducked and quietly rode out the storm most days. They'd bicker. They'd pick at one another. I'm sure they had habits that drove each other up a wall. My grandmother would constantly suck at her teeth, trying to get at who knows what. My grandfather would often nod off mid-conversation. They were what I'd refer to as adorable.
My grandfather's wardrobe largely consisted of Hawaiian shirts (and polos) and my grandmother was a fan of a good pair of black slacks. My grandfather was always looking for the next crazy get rich scheme and filled the basement of their house with things like Oxy Clean or Orange Glow or unprinted Hockey Jerseys, and my grandmother always went along with it. My grandmother liked to do craft fairs and sell Hawaiian wares. She played the ukelele and danced the hula, passing her knowledge down the line to her children (and trying to pass it on to some of her more uncooperative grandchildren, like myself -- I'll Hukilau right off stage left while no one is looking). And, my grandfather always went along with it. He'd sit behind craft fair tables telling stories about his youth, about Wisconsin. He'd give advice to others (and he'd usually tell me to go become a lawyer).
I have this really funny memory of sitting at one of those craft fairs. Some woman had come up to the table and was talking with my grandfather. My grandmother was so jealous. Like, how dare that random woman speak to her husband. It was very funny to see her get flustered, also slightly terrifying. But, you're looking at two people who had been married 40 years. There was trust there. But, she just didn't want another woman flirting with her husband.
My entire life, they refereed to one another by using gross pet names (I say gross, but only in this context because I, of course, do the same thing which is decidedly NOT gross) like babe. My grandfather would often refer to my grandmother as H.K., which I didn't figure out were her initials until much later than I should have -- a little slow on the pick-up there. But, then again, I forget that grandparents actually have names. They always held hands. It was disgusting, and also I loved every second of it.
Near the end of my grandmother's life, she sort of lacked a filter of any sort. And, I warn you that you may not want to read ahead -- I certainly didn't want to overhear the conversation when I did, but in retrospect it's definitely okay that I did. We were sitting in the living room. I don't know who else was there. It may have been a few family members or I may have randomly knocked on the door with a car full of my friends -- something that I did often when I was in college. I was always excited about it, like "Hey guys, you wanna go to Chicago and meet my awesome grandparents?!". I'm weird. Get over it.
Anyway, we had just eaten pizza. I'd show up. They'd order pizza, regardless of whether or not I was hungry. They were sitting in chairs across the room from one another and my grandmother was in a mood of some sort. The conversation, across the room, while I was sitting there went sort of like this:
Her: You don't love me anymore.
Him: Of course I do.
Her: Then why don't you touch me down there anymore?
Him: I do, sometimes.
I am sure I cringed. I'm sure I was wriggling and that I thought it was the grossest thing to hear. Ew! Ew! Ew! Grandparents are like Barbie dolls. But, after that fact, you're looking at a dying woman in her 70's having a nonsense spat with her doting husband.
Like, they really and truly loved one another right until the end. She passed away, and he was fairly healthy, not spry, but healthy. After she died, he was on a steady decline. He made it longer than I had anticipated, but not by far. His heart was broken. His partner was gone. But, he held on because they had built this super awesome family with an abundance of love, much of it aimed right at him, 7 kids and their significant others, 13 grandchildren and 2 great grandchildren.
***
Now, I know that lots of people have stories like this. There's this attainable end game that we're all seeking, and this one is mine. I want an imperfect, but everlasting love. I definitely don't want all of what they had. But, what I do want is what they felt for one another.
And, it's not that this is some sort of metaphor for my life or poetical waxing. It's just this thing that's always bouncing in the back of my head. Like, it's real. It's there. I've seen it. I have proof. And, that's where I want to end up some day.
In the end, I will not be a princess with wealth and fortune and everything I've ever wanted. I'll be an old woman sucking at her teeth, trying to get out some chicken from lunch, sitting in a comfortable chair across the room from someone who has, does and always will love me despite my many faults.
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