It was 0730 and cleaning stations was called away. I lazily stood up and made my way forward ten frames to the female head. I swear this was the thousandth time I'd had to clean that thing. The problem with being a girl in the Navy is that you can never get out of cleaning the toilets - there just aren't enough other girls to share that joy with. Biedermann and I were going to break in our new cleaning supplies that day, so she grabbed the toilet wand I grabbed the scissors and started trimming the swab. One of the most disgusting things on a ship is an uncut swab. They never fully dry, which means they're always awkwardly damp and terribly smelly.
This was Groundhogs Day all over again. Same stuff, different day. Every day we did the same thing - we woke up, we stood watch, we cleaned. Every day the Chiefs did the same thing too - they supervised and inspected. So when my Chief and First Class walked in I didn't think anything of it and kept on trimming. When they asked Biedermann to step out, I knew something was up and I sat down my scissors.
I noticed the paper Chief was holding in her hand. My mind rushed to a few worst case scenarios, and to this day I can't figure out how I didn't see it coming. It's not like I didn't know Grandpa was sick. Chief said she was very sorry, but Grandpa "passed away in Hospice" and she handed me the paper which she had read from. It was the AmCross message my mom had sent. AmCross messages are dreaded pieces of paper that Sailors get when something terrible happens at home. I held that paper for a moment and then crumpled to the deck, crying.
That memory came back to me as I reached for the CD my dad had left me. It's February now and Grandpa had died in May. I wanted to wait until I was alone to watch this. I needed to be free to cry and remember and laugh and cry some more. Nine months at sea with 5,000 people had afforded me no time alone, but I was alone now. I pushed the CD into the player and after a few moments of trying to figure out how the darn thing worked, managed to get the video running.
The music began before the pictures and I knew it wouldn't be long before my cheeks would be wet and salty with tears. Pictures began appearing and then floating off the screen, and I wondered if this was what people saw when their life flashed before their eyes. I didn't know the man on the screen. I mean, I knew those ears, they were the same ones I saw every time I looked in the mirror - the ones I inherited from Grandpa - but that man wasn't Grandpa. He was thin and young, and that man had hair. I wondered what Grandpa had been like when he was younger, before his name was Grandpa or even Dad, before his belly got plump and his hair turned gray and ran away. Was I anything like that man in the pictures? 83 years of life had been crammed into 5 minutes, so the man I never knew quickly aged into the man I loved so much. Memories and emotions flooded in, and when my heart couldn't hold it anymore, the levy broke and my tears poured out.
That wasn't the first time I cried for Grandpa. The first time I cried was when I realized I'd never see him again. I called him from a Sailor phone while I was somewhere near Asia. He didn't sound right and neither did anyone else in my family. That was the first, but not the last time I cried for him. I prayed daily that I'd get to see him one more time, but in my heart I knew I wouldn't. I called a few more times after that, and as his voice got weaker my sadness grew stronger. Grandpa was one of my favorite people in the world, and now he was sick and I was stuck. My heart has never ached more. After every phone call I would hurry to my rack, or the head, or an empty space where I could cry for only a short while.
Now my tears were flowing freely and I could cry as long as I needed. It was 9 months later but I was finally mourning the loss of one of my best friends. The pictures kept popping up and floating away and now I was hurting worse because I was on the screen. Me and Grandpa - the way I would always remember him.
As I journeyed to Thailand, my family journeyed to Grandpa's bed side. The last call I made to him was the hardest conversation I've ever had. I knew it was the last time I'd talk to him. Mom was crying, Grandma was crying, Matt was crying, and Dad couldn't even talk. I held back my crying when Grandpa was on. His voice was quiet and shaky. I told him I loved him, he said he loved me, and then I lied and told him I'd talk to him later - I never did.
The slideshow ended with a picture of me and my younger brother Matt in our uniforms. When I saw that, my heart felt glad. I knew - in that moment - that Grandpa was proud of me, that he understood, and that he forgave me for not being there when he needed me the most. The screen turned black and the music stopped, my sobbing filled the air. I grabbed my phone and found the voicemails I had saved 'just in case'. His voice was soothing and sweet and he called me Meagy just like usual. It was the perfect way to end my night. I turned everything off - the phone, the TV, the lights - and I climbed into bed. I cried myself to sleep, and it was exactly what I needed.
