It’s strange, the things you learn about your family members once they’re gone.

My grandmother passed away quite suddenly last week, following after my grandfather who left us just months ago. When my grandfather died, my family had no choice but to put my grandmother in a nursing home, as her mental condition was quickly deteriorating. She’d confuse us for strangers, other people, sometimes forget us completely…

What else can you do, except try and smile and poke fun at the situation? At least, that’s the way I try to deal with almost every serious happening in my life. Smile, make a joke, laugh it off, and just try to make the best of things, no matter how sad things are.

My grandfather worked as a detective in Elizabeth, NJ for many many years and when he grew too old to walk the beat, became a security guard to keep himself busy. Despite his passion for the law, he adored mob stories, reading crime novellas by the bucketful. When he retired, his security guard job found him, ironically, running security for a gang of union workers that were most definitely in the mob, who would often let him in on poker games, letting him have a slice of that daydream of his.

He worked long hours during his time as both a detective and a security guard, and didn’t get to see my grandmother as much as he wanted, occasionally missing birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, and the like.

This past weekend, I learned how he made up for it. How he made the best of things.

When I arrived home to NJ from Philadelphia, there was a mass stack of notes sitting on the kitchen table in my parents’ home. My mom had discovered them under my grandmother’s bed. A collection of poems, written on absolutely anything my grandfather could find, to my grandmother, spanning nearly sixty five years of marriage.

Sixty fives years! No one stays married that long anymore. People these days seem lucky they last sixty five DAYS.

Anniversary notes written on dry cleaning tickets. Birthday cards written on paper plates. Valentine’s Day letters scribbled across old parking violations. Needless to say, I was incredibly moved.

I’ve uploaded a handful of these notes, most of which are from the 80’s, to my Flickr account since they can’t all be in the possession of my various family members. Unlike the love between my grandparents, paper doesn’t last forever, so I’m hoping to preserve these notes somewhere on the interweb and through photos. Maybe you’ll be inspired to tell someone how much you love them. My grandpop did, whenever he could, in the sweetest, simplest of ways.

I’ll be taking more when I go home next. I’ll miss them both terribly.