How I will remember you, Grandpa Charlie.

My Grandpa Charlie

When I think of my grandpa, I remember my birth story. I was born premature, two months early to be exact. I was tiny, is what everyone said to me. My grandpa, with his giant hands, would reenact holding me. He would say, “You were so small, I remember holding you in the palm of my hands”. He would lift his hands up and place them in front of my face.

I remember growing up, staring at his hands, his fingers, his finger nails being in awe of how huge his hands were. He had hands like The Hulk.

June 16th, 2025 my grandpa passed away. A day after Father’s Day. A day after I learned that he was in hospice. I wanted to see him but struggled with actually doing it for many reasons.

1. I didn’t want to see my dad, grandma, or any other family member.

2. Last time I saw my grandpa, his hands rubbed me the wrong way. A way that didn’t make me feel like he saw me as his granddaughter, his Bribee. A way that took away the safety his hands once held.

3. I didn’t want to see another grandparent on their deathbed.

   
   

I was grappling with all of this, not knowing that time was running out.

Then at 3:38am I received the text from my dad

“Your grandpa died this morning. FYI” sent with a picture of my grandpa thin and fragile.

Not the same man I grew up with. Not the same man with the beer belly, head full of gray hair. and a chubby face adorned with a gray mustache and glasses. He wasn’t the same man I pictured in my head.

When I first heard about his death, I was numb. I didn’t know how I felt. I wanted to cry but the tears didn’t want to fall. I wanted to scream, to shout, to grieve but my body said not yet. My brain said, I’m not ready. All parts of me had paused.

All I could think or muster was, “I hope he’s fishing with a beer in his hand.” That man loved him some beer and fishing. A task I never got to experience with him.

One thing everyone in my family knew but never wanted to admit was, my sister and I were my grandpa’s favorite grandkids. He loved us DOWN. Always made sure we were good, even when it came out as judgy or a little mean. He wanted to always make sure we were good.

Now, almost a month after his death. The pain I was searching to feel is bubbling up to the surface. Memories of him and moments shared have been playing in my mind nonstop. So here I am writing.

Growing up my nickname was always Bri Bri but coming from my grandpa, it sounded like BriBee.

I remember…

He LOVED eating his ice cream with a fork, which honestly is the greatest idea ever.

He loved fishing and gardening and taking care of his family.

He wasn’t a perfect man. Was definitely a functioning alcoholic but he was someone who stood in his truth.

He was honest with his words with no filter and oftentimes he called you on your shit to the point you wanted to cry. But that was him.

I remember picking at the moles on his body. Specifically pulling at the one huge mole on his back, determined to pull it off.

I remember sitting with him as he watched Animal Planet, Discovery channel, and the Georgia Lottery.

I remember me asking him how come he never took me or my sister fishing with him and him turning around and buying fishing rods so we could go fishing together.

We never made it. I never got to fish with him.

No one talks about the constant pain and guilt you feel going no contact with family. The pain you feel choosing yourself because your family never thought to choose you. The pain you feel when you miss out on key memories because you’d rather feel safe than judged and ridiculed.

I miss the ignorance of a child’s mind. Not knowing that although I was surrounded by love, I was also unsafe.

Despite not having a relationship with the people I once called family, I will forever love them. Little Bri will forever hold a space for them in her heart.

Grandpa Charlie, I will always remember you in your baseball cap, oversized blue shirt, cargo pants, and boots. I will always remember you coming back from a successful fishing trip and placing LIVE fish in the sink waiting for grandma to clean them. I will always hear you calling my name, Bribee. I will always remember your big Hulk hands. I will always remember traveling with you to movie theaters watching you fix on popcorn machines, in awe of this skill you taught yourself. I will always remember you bringing out the cotton candy machine at family reunions. I will remember it all.

This is how Little Bri will always remember you. I truly do hope you are somewhere fishing, enjoying a beer and chewing your tobacco. I hope you are at peace. I hope you died knowing I will always love you, with all of my heart.