A Second Chance

I’d like a do-over, a second chance. All of my grandparents have passed away. My maternal grandmother died shortly before I turned three from a heart attack, and her husband died when I was 14, the summer before I started high school, due to liver disease. My paternal grandma died three years ago in August in her sleep, and her husband of 60 years followed shortly after in October the same way. When I say I want a do-over, I mean that I want the chance to appreciate these people. I was not quite old enough to fully understand them or what they each had to offer me when they passed.

I only have one memory of my Grandma Barcheski, the one who passed when I was very young. I can remember digging in her purse for some gum, Juicy Fruit specifically, and taking a piece once I found it. I recall my mother telling me that wasn’t polite to do, and I needed to ask first next time and Grandma just said something along the lines of “Oh, she’s fine. I have plenty to share.” I really wish I could remember more of her, I wish I had time at all to glean wisdom from this woman who raised my mother. I grew up with my Grandpa Barcheski around the most, as the other set of grandparents lived in Missouri. My mom tells me that when she was growing up, he was very stern and he expected a lot. As I knew him, he was pretty laid back. He donated a lot of money and did a lot of volunteer work for the Variety Club of Iowa and he worked for Iowa Realty for a period of time taking pictures of houses for ads. I remember riding around in his car with him reading off addresses so he would know where to go next. He was fiercely protective of me too, I remember that. If I wanted something, big or small, he got it for me or promised it to me. He made sure that I was taken care of. One of the last things he said before he lost his ability to speak completely was about me; wanted me to have his leather jacket because I looked cold. I didn’t appreciate the things my grandpa did for me, I wasn’t old enough to understand that in those moments he was showing his love and teaching me. I wish I had the chance now to ask him about his life, ask him what he knew and what he had seen. He traveled so much and he knew so many people, I can only imagine the knowledge this man held. I wish I had the opportunity to thank him, because I am certain I didn’t do it enough while he was here.

While I saw my Grandpa Barcheski more, I think I was closer to my father’s parents. One week of every summer since I can remember, I would go down to their home in Missouri and hang out with them. They lived just over the state line, about 20 minutes from Unionville and 40 minutes from Kirksville. They lived on a large piece of land that was surrounded by pasture and forest on all sides and their home was a restored and remodeled school house. The home that I grew up in was the home that they had lived in with their four children and numerous foster children. My Grandpa Green dug the basement out by hand of that house, and proceeded to do the same for their Missouri home. Grandma cooked and when she wasn’t cooking she always had a project to work on or cleaning to do. My grandma could be a sharp woman at times, but I knew that she cared and I knew that she loved me immensely. I wish now that I could ask her about her life growing up. About her childhood; about falling in love with my grandpa. I wish that I could thank her for introducing me to the Church and for giving me a significant amount of money to go on my first mission’s trip. This woman was an essential key to my salvation, and I rest despite all of these wishes knowing I will see her in Heaven again one day. While my grandma could be short and quick tempered, I never heard my grandpa so much as raise his voice. He was one of the most gentle and genuine people I have ever known. He had these little phrases that would just make you smile even if you were in a terrible mood: “You sleep like log?” and “You sure are a pretty girl”. I can still hear the inflection in his voice when he would say “In Jesus name, Amen” when he would pray over a meal. Until the day he died, despite the Alzheimer’s and the constant pin-pricking pain in his shoulder, he was sweet and smart and witty. As with my grandma, I wish I could ask him about his life and about the places he saw when he was a soldier. I wish I could ask them all for advice now and then. I wish I could have had that type of relationship with all of my grandparents. I’m sitting here running through the memories and they still sting sometimes; they still are bittersweet. But the truth is that I did have time with each and every one of them, and I have a memory of every one of them, which is more than some can say. No, my grandparents didn’t live to see me be baptized, graduate high school, or start college and they won’t be around to see me get married and have my own children, but they live in my heart- no matter how cheesy that sounds.

I think I can learn a lesson from every single one: Be generous and pour out your heart to everyone you meet. Take care of the people you love with a fierce loyalty. It is better to build and make something from scratch than take the easy way out, because it will always give you a better sense of accomplishment and it will build character. Always remember to smile and be the person everyone can count on for a boost. And above all else, trust and rest in God always.