Purple Grapes

Grapes. I remember the taste of grapes on my tongue as I sat with him. Soft and squishy in my mouth. Sweet yet sour simultaneously. Specifically purple grapes not green, those were too sour for his sensitive mouth. As he sat in his wheelchair with me on his lap I looked up into his big blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight.

“Tessie teenie pay attention to this little trick,” he said. I watched as he put a grape between his lips and then sucked it in so it made a loud “shwoop” noise. As my three year old self giggled with delight my parents looked on with humor hidden with disapproval.

I continued to giggle while saying, “Again, graaa-poppie again,” because I couldn’t quite pronounce great yet. He proceeded to show me again and then taught me how to do it myself which I took great delight in as he was my role model at the time.

It was February, 14th 2004, four days after my sister had been born. My dad got the call and even though Jules had just been born he left for Pennsylvania. My four year old self did not understand what was going on. “Why is daddy leaving? Where is he going? I want to go with daddy.” I whimpered as I watched him get in the car.

“When daddy gets back he will explain everything Tessie, I promise.” answered my tired mother who was holding my crying sister while attempting to keep me from escaping the house. Three days later when my dad pulled in the driveway I ran outside to greet him. He picked me up and spun me around like he always did when he came home.

“Daddy, where did you go?” I asked while looking up into his soft green eyes.

“I had to go help Nana, Great Poppie had to go away, so I had to help her.” he said and I watched as the tears formed on the corners of his eyes.

“Daddy, what do you mean? Where did Great Poppie have to go?” I questioned him with my voice with my piercing eyes staring up at him.

“He had to go away, you won’t be seeing him again.” he responded solemnly.

When my mom and dad used to live in Boston my great poppie would go visit them often at their apartment. Every time he would arrive he would have a new baby tomato plant to give them. Tomatoes were his favorite fruit, and he made sure everyone knew that they were in fact a fruit. My mom had long run out of room on her balcony for all the tomato plants so the new one had to go in the bathroom next to the window. This didn’t bother him though as he was mostly concerned about making sure that my mom would never run out of tomatoes. She tells me this story every time he comes up in conversation, but I never got tired of it.

On the ten year anniversary of Great Poppie’s death we brought good morning geraniums to his grave in Scranton where he was laid to rest. These were his favorites flowers. As we all stood looking down at the sweet flowers different memories flew through our minds. For me, my mind went back to those days in the nursing home, the only setting I ever saw him in. The grapes, the soft blue eyes that sparkled, the tenderness he implored.

Back to the grapes. The clearest memory I have, the most important memory, my most cherished memory. Purple grapes not green. The trick followed by my parents’ humor and disapproval. This is my tribute to you Great Poppie. I will forever hold you in my heart, I will forever cherish our limited memories. I will forever remember the purple grapes.