Love, your Monkey.

This guy? His name was John Betista C. He was a hard worker. He fell in love with Alice. They got married in the winter. It was a double wedding with Alice’s sister. She wore a crushed blue velvet dress.

They had twin boys. Two girls. Then John A. that’s my dad.

From what I hear from older cousins John Betista C. and Alice loved each other, they raised a family, and over the years that family grew.

John C. was an accident child. He was 10 years younger then the youngest sister, and 16 years younger then the twins. My grandmother besides herself with 4 children already.

Being the youngest, my sister and I are about 10 years younger then any of our cousins. So we saw a different John B. and Alice. We saw a man who drank. A lot.

And Alice who was feisty and free spirited. The two once had love, but by the time I knew what love was they never showed it around us.

I often thought that they never did love each other.

Separate bed rooms. Different schedules. Even vacations were planned doing their own thing. Traveling with family, but separate.

I wondered about their lives together. Obviously they must have loved each other at some point. I mean 50 plus years together, and 5 children later?

I was close with my Grandma Alice. She was fun, and we saw her every Sunday at church. Then would have lunch and go shopping as a family. My Grandpa John B. didn’t attend church. I never held it against him. To each his own.

And some Sunday’s we would go back to their house with chicken, or Grandma would make her yummy dinners.

It was then I had my most memories of Grandpa John B.

He would yell at us.

“Don’t talk at the table! Mangia!!”

“Don’t mess with my dogs! You get them SO upset! Your such monkeys!!”

He loved those dogs. They were poodles. Always poodles. Coco and Cleo were the two when I was a kid. My heart broke when my Grandma just gave them away. We never got to say good bye.

Some Sunday’s my mom and dad would run somewhere with Grandma Alice, and Grandpa John was left to watch Frances and I. He would take out his teeth and tease my sister with them! He also told her the furnace in the hall closet was a monster. I would laugh, and so would he. At my sisters upset expense.

I remember his drinking was getting bad. To the point where Grandma Alice wouldn’t buy his beer for him. So he would walk 3 miles one way to the store to get his beer.

I remember he loved westerns, feeding his birds, and I remember their covered porch. It had wind chimes from all over the country hanging from the ceiling. My mom and him would hold up their arms and make them all go at once.

I think of my Grandpa when I hear wind chimes. How my mom, his daughter-in-law brought out his happy spirit.

I remember when he was sick. I remember Easter Sunday. Grandpa was reading the paper in our living room on Richmond Street. I went and sat by him. I was 17. We read from the paper, and randomly talked about the news. It was probably the only conversation I remember having with him. That didn’t involve yelling, or the word Monkey.

We were normal. Grandpa and Granddaughter talking. Like I’d always wanted.

Soon after that, Grandma had to have Grandpa put into a nursing home. He wasn’t able to care for himself, and she couldn’t do it either.

The home was just a few miles from their house.

We as a family would go to see him each Thursday. We realized his memory was fading. And he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

We would practice days of the week, draw him pictures, and just try to understand simple things. I remember when we would leave, he would wave out the window. We called it the ‘Pope’ wave. He didn’t know us anymore. But he said he like the company.

Grandma found more and more excuses to not visit. Maybe it was the nice lady down the hall from Grandpa that he called his girlfriend. I’m sure it broke Grandma’s heart. But for so many years they didn’t even seem to care. And now it mattered? I don’t know what she felt. But at the time I was angry at her for being so selfish. But now I understand how that could hurt so much. But maybe if she tried harder? To visit more?

My Grandpa John B. had called my dad ‘Sport’ as a nick name, that I remembered before he went into the home. Not sure where it came from or why. I also can’t imagine how hard it was for my father to watch his dad disappear. But physically still be here. All those memories, erased. All those stories, gone.

I remember one of our last visits. I remember SO many times before, we all would gather around and say goodbye to Grandpa. We told him we loved him, and he would say thanks for stopping by. Like we were just a nice family who made a new friend.

But that one last visit. We were walking out, and after we said our goodbyes and were walking out we heard “SEE YA SPORT'”

For a brief moment my Grandpa John B was back, my mom had her father-in-law back, and most of all my dad had his father back. Just for a moment…

I believe that with love, and enough of it you can change things. You can maybe have that moment with someone who has forgotten for years. I remember that moment, I often picture my Grandpa with his poodles, I remember the guy in that picture above.

It makes me want to love Spaghetti more and more. To NEVER let him forget, to never let us get to a point where we are living separate lives. To live this short life like everyday is our wedding day. To always love. To never forget.

My biggest fear in life is forgetting. I blog, I take a zillion photos, I scrapbook every moment. I fear the most that my story won’t be heard. I want this in my life.

For Spaghetti to understand that I am the lucky one.

For Bagel and Weaky to understand that I love them more then my life.

And for my children to know my story, for Spaghetti to fully understand the love in my heart. For my family to know how much I want to tell our stories. Of my parents, my life, my sister, of me.

Where did this all stem from you ask? Well if you’ve given me the courtesy to read this far then I must tell you that it is 1:14 am (SO past my bed time) and I just finished watching “The Notebook” I read the book last year (yes I live under a rock) and finally saw the movie on t.v.

Sure I cried for the love story. It was amazing. But I sobbed for the memories of my Grandpa John Betista C. flooded my memory. And I needed to blog this before tomorrow.

I love and miss you Grandpa. But of all things you gave me, the day before your wake I walked into your back yard to see a girl raking leaves. She introduces herself as Scuz. (of course NOT her real name) and she my cousin from Arizona. I had heard SO much about her, but never met.

We were sisters from that day forward. So I thank you for that.

Goodnight.

Feisty.