Staring at the wall

He lost his brother. A quiet man to begin with, he stopped speaking. He sat on his bed and stared at the wall. His brother was gone.

This grieving, depressed man was my grandfather. Grandpap Kirsch. I was fourteen when he passed and I didn’t know him that well. But after he died, when our family drove up to PA to visit my grandma, I missed him. I missed seeing him sitting in his comfy recliner in the corner. He smiled but never said much. He ate dinner with all of us but then would disappear either to his bedroom or outside by himself. My mom thought it was strange and called him a loner, and it took me many years to understand that he was an introvert. He needed that quiet time alone to recharge. As an adult, I heard stories about him and his marriage with my grandma. And I learned that if the personality test was available back when he was alive, he probably would’ve tested as an INFJ. Like me.

It’s no surprise that a quiet, sensitive soul like my grandpap had difficulty dealing with his brother’s death. Plus, he came from an era when men weren’t supposed to cry or express their feelings. He was born, raised and lived his entire life in western PA. A country boy who grew up to eventually work as a coal miner and a woodworker. He was also active in his church and took care of the birds in a local park. There’s a sign in that park today that honors him and his work called the Louis M Kirsch Memorial Bluebird Trail.

I regret not knowing him better. I would love to talk to him, listen to his stories about his childhood, his relationship with his brother, being a shy, awkward teenager, and why he was attracted to my grandmother (who was originally a city girl and told me once that she agreed to go out with him because he dressed funny and she felt sorry for him). But, though opposites, they married, had six children, nineteen grandchildren (I’m number nineteen) and I’ve lost count of the current number of great-grandchildren. 

So what is making me sit here and write about him now after so many years? That story about him staring at the wall. That’s something I’ve heard more than once. He and his little brother, Freddie, were so close that he was never the same after he died. And that has been making me think about my grandpap. Because I’ve stared at the wall before. I’ll never know how he felt as he stared at the wall and wouldn’t talk. But I’ve stared at the wall, quiet with my heartbreak, grief and hopelessness.

Maybe this is something that is common for introverts and INFJs. When we’re empty and dark inside and no words will make a difference, we just sit there. We just stop. We stare at the wall, at nothing, because that’s how we feel. I can picture him to this day and I want to put my arms around him and allow that simple gesture to comfort him. 

Louis M Kirsch has been gone since 1988. He was born in 1899. That’s a long life and I wonder how much of it he truly enjoyed. My dad and my aunts and uncles said he was a strict, tough man, but they respected him. He was a good provider and raised his kids with good values and morals. They were all there for him when he was sick and bedridden during those final months. But were they able to help him during that time when he stared at the wall? Did they try and help him? Did my grandma put her arms around him and tell him she was there for him? Did she make his favorite meals or pray for him?

I don’t know. Knowing my family and what I know about my grandpap, I believe he had to go through his depression on his own. I think he probably brushed off any offer of kindness or help. I believe he stared at that wall and cried inside for his brother, missing him, wanting him back, wondering how he would go on without him. Maybe he prayed. Maybe he talked to God. Maybe he just needed time. 

I like to think he was reunited with his brother after he passed from this life. I can see him young and smiling and embracing the brother he grieved so long for. Happy.

Yes, I see him smiling and happy. No longer staring at the wall.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. –Revelation 21:4