I know and have known a lot of Johns in my life; it is something I’m very honest about and is a known fact about me. My grandfather on my mom’s side, however, will always hold a special place in my heart. I usually tend to avoid my Snapchat memories in early May and tend to either drown myself in finals or stay as close as possible to my friends. Roughly four years ago, my grandfather, Papa, or John Monaco, passed away. He was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis and put on oxygen early on in the COVID-19 pandemic, which made it incredibly difficult to spend as much time as possible with him before something we all saw coming but didn’t want to admit would happen.
It always hits me the second I see the photo saved to my memories of me and one of my baseball little sisters from an away baseball game, taken seconds before my mom received the call that things weren’t right, and we needed to be at Nonnie and Papa’s house as soon as possible. It feels like I’m transported back to that week of my life where time seemed to stop. Each year it gets a little less painful, and I am more easily reminded of the fond memories of my grandfather, who always greeted me with a sing-songy “the most beautiful girl that there is” and introduced me to loving pistachios (the ones where you have to crack the shell open to eat).
This year, my Snapchat memories brought me a treat. Six years ago, I took a silly video of my brother. We had gone out to eat after my brother’s little league baseball game with my grandparents. In the video, although mixed in with other voices, you can hear Papa. It’s always difficult to think about how the former chemistry teacher wasn’t there to help me pass chemistry, see me graduate high school, or choose the college that he went to for a period of time. Part of me thinks that’s why I felt so connected to St. Bonaventure’s campus seeing as I didn’t know this information until after I committed.
So, for now here is a small list of connections, associations, and memories I have of my favorite John (sorry to my boyfriend and brother).
When I was younger, my grandfather would give me a dollar and claim that it came from a money tree that grew deep in the woods of his backyard, where I have still yet to find.
Back when my family owned a house on Cayuga Lake, my grandfather would be up before everyone else, and despite the protest of my grandmother and parents, I would sneak into their usual room. Papa would open the one window without a screen and help me climb onto the roof and watch the sunrise. Sunsets are pretty and all, but a sunrise will never not remind me of my grandfather in the most beautiful way.
Birds and oranges in Nonnie and Papa’s backyard. Plastic golf balls, fished out of the gutter or run over by the lawn mower. Lots of memories of a rusted cart attachment to the John Deere lawn mower that my brother begged Papa to take us around in even if he had just finished mowing the lawn. The concept that everything in my grandparents’ house was fixed first by my grandfather or an emergency call to an expert. The mentality that if something wasn’t broken it worked perfectly. The basement that although always the same temperature never felt creepy despite all the tools all over the place. Papa’s outlandish stories that always made me give him a judgemental look. Teaching me about betting on football games and how football was played. Playing golf until it was no longer possible. A grandfather with the utmost amount of patience, love, and personality for all his grandchildren, children, and anyone who was family or pretty close to family. Seeing friends as family, because that’s exactly how Papa saw each person that came into his life.