Superman

I, not quite eighteen, sat there—staring. The pain I felt was incomparable. Accompanying me was no one, yet the house was full all weekend. People coming in and out, offering their condolences to the entire family.

The frames hanging in front of me were old and blanketed in a layer of dust; however, letters from the United States Presidents along with their pictures never lose their magnificence. My grandfather stood proudly in each one of the pictures: reminding me how he resembled a super hero.

But why now? Why now was this wall, this office, so important to me?

The answer is simple. My idol, my grandfather, the greatest man to walk this earth in my eyes, worked there. The relics of his accomplishments remained. He made it his own. It was my grandfather’s office, and for the first time, it felt like the only thing I had left.

It seemed as if the fight lasted forever, and in some ways, it did. For more than twenty years and my entire life, Grandpa battled melanoma, blowing past all the odds. The fight continued everywhere he went, through everything he did. Only the good Lord knew when enough would be enough.

Three days prior, we realized what was soon to come. Mom, Dad, Robert, and I all agreed it would be acceptable missing a day of work and school. We had our own reasons for wanting to see him one last time, before it was too late. When we arrived at the lake house, the extended family welcomed us. The melancholy mood was thick enough, the air could’ve been cut with a knife. It distressed me seeing him like this; however, I knew if I didn’t, I would never live with myself. I walked into the room, but Grandpa needed his rest. I gave him a hug and let him be.

I wandered outside to the dock. As the sun glistened off the lake, reflections danced on the surface. The boat cranked up beside me, and Grandpa said, “Grab your ski, BZ, let’s get on the lake before all the other boats.”

Without questions, I grabbed my ski and my life jacket and jumped in the vessel. As I glided across the surface of the lake, I felt like everything was perfect, similarly to every time Grandpa pulled me behind the boat. I slalomed around the lake a few times before dropping the towrope and coming to a stop in front of the house. Grandpa drove up, and I pulled myself into the boat. We cruised slowly around the lake as we did so many times before.

Grandpa spoke of how proud he was of me, before offering key life insight. I thought, nothing could compare to this day with my grandpa. Once the boat was docked, we went to the kitchen to prepare our blueberry oatmeal for breakfast. We sat on the porch eating—staring out over the lake, completing our daily ritual for the summer.

The sun glistened; I was back on the dock, alone, gazing at the reflections. I saw the boat, which hadn’t been used in over a year. I glanced back and saw my brother walking to the dock. There wasn’t a single word spoken when he arrived, yet we were comforted by each other’s company. Both of us reminiscing about the long summer days spent on Grandpa’s lake.

Reality hit me; Grandpa would never drive the boat again. I turned around—gave my brother a pat on the back, and left.

As I walked through the living room, I caught a glimpse of a picture from a year before. It was of my grandparents and me, at my last career football game. I remembered the love my grandparents shared in watching me perform. I could think of only one thing: the deal between my grandpa and me. The previous year, in the High School State Wrestling Tournament, I earned third place, and my grandparents were unable to see it in person.

After walking off the mat for the last time of my junior year, my mother handed me a phone. It was my grandpa from the hospital. He finished his treatment for the day but wouldn’t rest until speaking with me. He explained how devastated he was, unable to support me at the tournament. I promised it was all right, and we made the deal: the following year, my senior year, he would be in the front row as I wrestled for my state title. February 22nd, 2014, was the date—the date of the State Championship the following year and the date I will never forget.

I came reality as my mom informed me, Grandpa was awake.

Once in the room with him, I closed the door. I asked how he felt, and for the first time in my entire life, he did not reply with, FAANNNtastic! I knew the end was near. I had so much to say but couldn’t organize my thoughts well enough to get any of it out. I hugged and kissed him before sitting down beside him in silence. I began to cry. He grabbed my hand, reassuring me everything would be all right. He said, “I love you BZ.”

I sat still for another moment before telling him how I looked up to him and how important he was in my life. He remained strong through our entire conversation: once again reminding me of a super hero. How could one man be so strong? Especially in his given situation? As I stood to leave the room, I reminded him of our date. I said, “Front row, February 22nd—I will see you there.”

He left me with the same eight words he always did, for as long as I could remember, “BZ, I’m glad you got to see me.”

“I’m glad you got to see me, too, Grandpa.” I replied, as I always did, and I walked out.

The rest of the day flew by—a blur. The next thing I knew, I was at home, in bed, preparing for school the next day. How could I go to school like this? Thoughts bounced between my ears far too rapidly for there to be any room to learn anything for the time being.

The following night, Dad and I ate ribs and discussed how magnificent of a man Grandpa was. I told him I didn’t want Grandpa to be in any more pain. I couldn’t stand to watch him suffer any longer. As I wrapped up my sentence, my mom walked through the door, tears racing down her cheeks. Dad and I knew. The three of us hugged and thanked God for welcoming Grandpa into his kingdom.

As the sun set on the night of November 4th, my guardian angel was born—I knew I would never again be alone.

As my grandfather took his final breath, he lunged his hand toward my grandmother’s and looked her in the eyes the best he could. With this, he told her how much he loved her one last time—no words came out. The twenty-two-year bout with cancer finally ended. He was relieved of all pain and entered eternal paradise.

Late that night, when we arrived back to the lake house, nothing was the same. I walked into Grandpa’s office, sat at his desk, and simply stared.

There was only one thing going through my mind: Superman was gone.