The Life-Size Drawing

by Jenna Hensel

“He died last night.”

My dad told my sister and me this at 5:00 a.m., the morning my grandpa on my dad’s side passed away. My sister broke down into big sobs, and I cried quietly, my small body shaking in my mom’s arms. I was seven years old, I didn’t know what dying meant.

“Grandpa is watching down on us from up in the sky,” said Mom, hugging me close. “He’s always with us. He’s watching us from Heaven.”

Image credit: Alexander Grey on Unsplash

I knew what Heaven was from my church classes on Sundays: the happy place in the sky we go to when we die, joining God in his holy kingdom. But Grandpa was the first person I knew who died. I didn’t fully understand what it meant to leave Earth and float into Heaven in the sky.

I knew that Grandpa was sick. The last time I saw him was in the hospital, when my entire family visited him. The grandchildren lined up, and each one kissed him on the cheek, saying, “Bye, Grandpa.” But I gave him a hug—I thought that he needed one because he looked so tired, lying in his hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around his head, his tan skin now a shade of gray, lighter than the gray crayon in the Crayola box. Now that Grandpa was gone, I understood that he was alive the last time I saw him. . .  and now he wasn’t. But what did that mean?

Grandpa being gone left a hole in our family. That same morning, my family and I went to my grandma’s house; she didn’t have a husband anymore. She lived alone now. I could feel my grandpa’s absence in the air; there was no sound of his loud, happy laughter that filled the room when he was here. I wouldn’t play ball with him in the basement again because he was gone, and my eyes watered. We always played ball. Every time we played, bouncing the ball back and forth across the basement, I would laugh so hard that my eyes would get wet. All of the adults were sad, talking quietly in small groups. When Grandpa was there, the room was fun, with everyone talking and telling jokes. There weren’t any jokes that morning. It was quieter and lonelier.

I wanted to help my grandma so she wouldn’t be lonely. A few days before at school, we made life-size drawings. One person laid down on a large roll of paper, and their partner traced their body outline. After the partner completed the tracing, the person brought their outline to life by filling in a face, hair, skin tone, clothing, and shoes. I decided to make a life-size drawing of Grandpa for Grandma. So, I asked for the long roll of paper, laid down, and Mom traced an outline of my body. One of my uncles saw Mom tracing me and went to get Grandma, but I quickly said I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to bring Grandpa back to life for Grandma by creating something that would keep them together, even though she couldn’t see him anymore.

I colored Grandpa’s smiling face, curly gray hair, and gave him a long-sleeve, sunny yellow shirt with blue jeans. I thought that outfit would make Grandma smile. On the shirt, I put a pocket over the right side of the chest, where I thought Grandpa’s heart was, and drew a heart, Grandma’s heart, over the pocket. Even though Grandpa was gone, Grandma’s heart would always be with him.

My grandma loved it when I showed her the finished drawing. “Thank you, Jenna, thank you,” she whispered, squeezing me into a tight hug. She taped it to the outside of her bedroom door, where everyone who visited her could see it. I thought that it was nice they would be together every morning and every night, starting and ending every day together.

Later that week, we dressed in black and went to a church for what was called a funeral for Grandpa. Grandpa didn’t wear black a lot—but everyone at the funeral was wearing black, including me, and there was a lot of hugging and crying. The church was a Catholic church, with high stained-glass windows that reflected a lot of colors, a pretty altar at the front, and kneelers resting against the backs of chairs for people to use. While the priest was talking about Grandpa joining God, I wondered who the man lying in the coffin was, and I kept looking at him. He wasn’t smiling—Grandpa was always smiling—and he looked like he was sleeping, and he wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Grandpa always got on the floor to play with me and would scoop me up into a big hug every time I saw him. He was always moving around. The man in the coffin couldn’t be my grandpa, could he? No, he couldn’t be.

After the funeral, I kept thinking about how I couldn’t see Grandpa anymore, and the events that happened after he died. We went to the funeral for Grandpa, so the body in the coffin had to be him—who else could it be? I cried and tried to figure out the puzzle of how he was still connected to us. His body was on Earth, in the ground, with us; he was not. I would never see him again, but when he died, Mom said he would always be with me. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit together. How could Grandpa be connected to me and in Heaven? How could he be in two places at once?

A few nights later, my parents and I went to Barnes & Noble to pick out books, a common trip for my family. It was nighttime, and the silver stars shone in the dark sky. Then, I knew: Grandpa was looking down at me from behind the shining stars. I looked up at the sky, pointed, and said to my mom, “Look, Grandpa is up there.” I understood what it meant to die: Grandpa is not on Earth, but he lives on in our hearts. I would always remember him, his laugh, playing ball, and him scooping me up into the air. I would never forget him. He is always watching from the sky and sending me love. I felt happier.

*

Twenty years later, when Grandma transitioned from her condominium to an apartment at an independent living facility, Mom told me that Grandma kept the life-sized drawing of Grandpa that I made for her in her hope chest. She did not display it at her new apartment. I’m not sure why she took it down, and I’ll never ask; I don’t want to cause her any pain. But I’m grateful I was able to make something for her to help her grieve and hopefully not feel lonely. Her heart is connected to Grandpa’s heart, just as I drew in my drawing of Grandpa. Grandpa is in my heart too, and I have faith every day, knowing he is watching over me from above, guiding me down the right path.

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Jenna Hensel

Jenna Hensel’s work has appeared in redrosethorns journal and the Minnesota Law Review. She holds a BA in psychology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a JD from the University of Minnesota Law School. When she's not writing, Jenna enjoys hiking, backpacking, exercising, spending time with her family, and reading.