If We Were Vampires

Is time running out a gift?

“Love you, Grandpa. See you soon.”

“Love you, too.”

This is how my last in-person conversation with my Grandpa B ended. The day before, I had invited him to join me for a morning driving range session, and he was excited; he had recently purchased a used Callaway “Utility” club from a garage sale and wanted to take it for a spin. Despite it being out of his way, he offered to pick me up so we could ride to the golf course together.

Our conversation ranged from Bernie Sanders to Bitcoin to Phil Mickelson’s attempted coup d’etat of the PGA Tour. This potpourri of topics was typical to our interactions. So was getting into a drawn out debate about at least one of the subjects. Even without my grandmother there to moderate, we somehow avoided turning our quality time into an episode of Hardball with Chris Matthews, his favorite talk show. We were happy to be playing our favorite game together on a sunny, summer morning in northern Michigan.

Unfortunately, I never did see him again. To make matters worse, I had passed up an opportunity to see him two months prior to his death - the week before his birthday - to spend quality time with my now ex-girlfriend. This blunder was the first thing I thought about after learning about his passing.

I took a drive to let out my frustration. I had recently discovered Jason Isbell’s song titled If We Were Vampires, and remembered its discussion of death, so I played it.

If we were vampires and death was a joke
We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke
Laugh at all the lovers and their plans
I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand
Maybe time running out is a gift

Realizing that my grandpa was no longer a vampire, my self-directed anger turned into hard-to-control sobbing. I wanted to remember how I felt, to make sure I never made such a terrible mistake again. So, I listened to the song a few more times. As I was listening, my experience with him at the driving range resurfaced. I was overwhelmed again, but this time with gratitude.

“Love you, Grandpa. See you soon.”

“Love you, too.”

I can only recount a handful of times he said this to me, all of them after the doctors told him he would die from COPD if he didn’t quit smoking. He also started saying it to my siblings, and his daughter, too. He also began expressing himself through painting, finding classes at a local library and senior center to further explore his interest. He began displaying his artwork prominently throughout his homes, and even had his work shared publicly at a local art gallery.

As his behavior changed, so did my perception of him. He no longer wore a cape, his fangs were gone, and his shadow came back. I placed more importance on my time spent with him, including a higher tolerance for his affinity for long-form debate. I stopped pretending he was a vampire, and started embracing his humanity.

Nothing will fully absolve me from not visiting him on his birthday. Nor will I ever stop missing him. But, I am grateful for the time we were able to spend together and the way our relationship changed over the last several years of his life. And, for how it changed my perspective on death.

I agree, Jason, time running out is a gift.