Find Another Way

Listen to the song, Find Another Way, while you read the story.

My grandfather died in June 2008. I remember where I was sitting when my sister called to let me know. I’d started teaching a few months earlier, in West Oak Lane, in Philly, and I was sitting at my desk, alone, about to leave for the day. She said, Grandpa died. He went to work, was feeling good, and when he was leaving, he fell over, I guess his heart stopped, and that was it. They couldn’t bring him back. It ended as quickly as it began.

My grandpa and I had a good relationship. He was a stand-up guy, a hardworking man who took care of his family. A veteran of the US Navy who served in WWII. My dad’s dad. I have a lot of memories, but the 2 most vivid are the times he and my grandmother took me to Eagles games when I was a kid, drove down from Hazleton, met my Uncle Drew and his girlfriend Cindy who lived in Philly, we did that like 5 times, saw the Panthers twice, the Browns, Saints, and someone else. They’d call me up early in the morning Sunday, ask if I wanted to go, and pick me up a few minutes later. We’d go out to eat, walk around the city, hang out at my uncle’s place, and they’d drop me off in the evening. I loved it. The other was when I was starting 10th grade, had no new clothing for the first day, and somehow he knew, and showed up the day before and gave me $50 to go get something. My friend Jay took me to the Frackville Mall and I bought a pair of jean shorts and a few rock tees, one was a tye-dye Woodstock shirt that I ended up loaning to Jay, who pissed his dad off, and his dad ended up ripping the thing right off of him. Never paid me for it or anything, so I couldn’t get a new one, so I just borrowed shirts from Jay and his twin brother Gary. It meant a lot to me, that my grandpa knew I needed something, or that he could help in some way, and he did.

My son Jack and I went out for ice cream after his tee ball game today. My wife, Kate, and younger son Sam, were home. Ever since the start of the pandemic, 14 months now, whenever we’d get takeout, trying to create fun whenever and wherever we could, we’d eat in the back of the SUV with the hatch open. That’s what Jack and I were doing when I saw him.

My grandfather.

I didn’t say anything to Jack, because it made no sense. I was sure it was him, but he was dead so obviously I wasn’t sure it was him. I stopped talking. Jack was saying something about he and I hiding in the huge garage across the street, and I just watched, to be sure it was him.

It was. Only he looked a little different. He had a beard. Otherwise, he hadn’t changed much.

We were in Old City, near where my Uncle used to live, and I was hit with another memory of my grandfather. When we were leaving my uncle’s place after one of the games, my grandfather was pinned into his parking spot with the cars in front and behind right up on his bumper. I wasn’t from the city so I hadn’t seen anything like that before. He tried inching back and forth a few times, but got nowhere. He said, hold on, and started slamming his car into the cars to move them out of the way. As he left the spot, a woman ran out, yelling at him, that’s my car, that’s my car, you wrecked it.

He put it in park and got out and said sonofabitch parked me in.

He said he was sorry and would pay for any damages, and gave her his number and we left.

When I saw him today, he was with that woman. I remembered her long blonde hair, she still has it, looks the same. That’s how I really knew it was him.

But I saw him in his casket. We buried him. We said goodbye.

How is this possible?

Jack kept saying Daddy, and after about 10 times I answered him. He said are you listening, and I said I was thinking about something. I think I saw someone I know.

Who?

A guy who looks like my grandpa.

Didn’t he die?

Yeah. He did. A long time ago.

They pulled out and we followed. I told Jack we were spies, FBI, following KGB, and he was way into it. He loved that game. Don’t let them out of your sight, I said, looking back at him in the rearview mirror. He didn’t like getting messy when eating, and I could see he had ice cream all over his face and hands, and he was looking for a place to wipe it.

Here. I tossed him a baby wipe from the glove box. Wipe the rest on your shirt, it’s no biggie, I said. You can change when we get home.

They’re turning, Daddy!

We turned as well. We talked about how long we could follow them, wondered where they were going, whether we’d catch them and what we’d do if we did.

I don’t know, I said. We’ll have to see. For now, just keep watching. Keep observing.

They didn’t go far, parked at 3rd and Race, and went into a shop.

I couldn’t find a spot, but didn’t want to drive around and risk losing them, so I parked illegally on the corner, across the street, and behind them, and we watched.

This is so awesome, Daddy. We’re like real spies.

Pretty much. I said.

What do you think Mommy will say?

I think (she’s going to flip when I tell her my grandfather is still alive and living in Philly and we’ve been following him around all afternoon) she’s going to think we’re super cool and creative.

She’s gonna think we’re crazy, he said.

We laughed, and hi-fived, but Jack never stopped observing. He takes his work seriously. He is perfectly balanced, almost all fun all the time, but with this underlying focus, this ability to lock in and get it done, whatever IT is he’s doing.

Like, with LEGOs. He’ll sit there for 1 or 2, or 3 hours happily working on something until it’s finished. Or with school, the first 8 months of kindergarten were virtual because of the pandemic, and he just did it. Woke up happy, got ready, sat there in his room and worked, participated, on his breaks he’d set a timer with Siri and go right back to it when he was done. When we’re outside playing Star Wars or Avengers or agents or spies or whatever, he’s so into it, always wants me to be as well, and I try, but I’m not a kid anymore, I’ve been conditioned for 42 years to be something else, but I want that so much, to stay at least somewhat connected to a younger, more carefree, creative, fun version of me, focused only on what’s right in front of me, but playing doesn’t come as easily anymore. I wish it did. Or with music, or art, he’ll laser focus on his drawings and he won’t let go until the end, or even watching a show, whatever he’s doing, he’s doing 100% until he’s done. And that includes giving his mom and I a hard time. Hah! He’s an amazing, kind-hearted, humorous, good-thinking, endlessly playful kid, but he definitely busts our asses sometimes, messing with us, choosing not to listen to see how we react, being rough with his little bro, cousins, and friends, complaining about not being able to do something he wants to do, getting pissed about not being able to play more or stay up late, but even with that he’s all in.

I told him that I loved all of that about him, we’d always say, we love everything about you, and he said mmmm hmmmm, and told me to be quiet, to pay attention, his words were stay focused, and then he said, there they are, Daddy!

Stay here, I said.

What? Really? He laughed, but looked like he was about to cry.

Yeah. I’ll be right back.

No, no, no. Take me.

He was right. I couldn’t leave him there. What am I thinking? What if this pulled me away longer than a few seconds or if I had to chase them or something?

Minds don’t work well like this. Bodies don’t either. Mine sure as hell don’t. I was all over the place, too many things at once. Part of me is bursting with anticipation, elated at what I’ve discovered, or uncovered, my grandfather is alive and well, 96 by now I think, he’s walking down the street right there in front of me, while another part is confused and scared, freaking out, wondering if I’m losing my mind- he’s dead, this can’t be- another part of me is overflowing with excitement about what a great story this is, how it will make my family feel, make us whole again, bring us closer, or maybe not, while another part is happy just being with Jack, having fun, all I ever wanted, while another is focused on keeping all of this from him, keeping him safe, something I’d always promised I’d do. I don’t want to lie to him, don’t want to frighten him, don’t want to hurt him, or confuse him, or- in this case- traumatize him. That can’t happen. I can’t let him know what’s going on. I don’t even know what’s going on.

That’s the thing, that’s why this is so strange, why I’m so out of sorts. I’ve always kept my head on straight, even at times when I shouldn’t have been able to, when the stress- good or bad- is real, when it’s intense- when a loved one isn’t well, when someone you care about dies, when work gets really bad and you feel trapped, that’s just how I’m wired, I’m steady, I keep it together, but here I was lost, all over the place, pulled in so many directions, I didn’t know quite how to handle it. So I just kept going, don’t overthink this, trying not to get caught up, letting the thoughts come and go, I just went.

And for a while they kept coming, all of these thoughts, one after another after another, raced through my mind, and then I started thinking about my family again, how some of us have grown apart. We live 5 blocks away from each other, but I hardly ever see my brother. I haven’t seen two of my sisters in years, and not because of the pandemic. Nothing bad ever happened either, there was no singular moment where things went wrong, there was never a blowout, and it wasn’t an accumulation of small things that slowly tipped the scale and drove us away from one another, we just grew apart for no other reason but because that’s who we are. I’m usually pretty good at not letting it bother me, staying focused on the good stuff in my life, on what I have rather than what I don’t, my family, my friends, my health, the things we do together, but once in a while I think about how nice it would be if we were all still together.

At least I have Kate’s family now. We’re all close, see each other all the time. We’ve been in a bubble with her parents, brother, and her sister’s family- her husband and 3 kids- ever since we found out it was safe to do that, about 3 or 4 months into this thing. I think that’s what saved us.

I turned back, and unlatched the buckles on Jack’s car seat. Hurry. Hurry! We gotta go!

They walked slowly up to the front door of a new construction condo. We ran, and as we did, I yelled, Hey! Wait! Grandpa!

He turned around, and before I could say anything, as though he’d been waiting for this, expecting it, he said, Hey, Mike. You found me.

A lot was said, and I don’t remember much of it. I experienced the gamut of emotions, him not so much. The woman, Hillary, was his girlfriend, and this was not news to her. He’d told her everything, not right from the start, but early on in their relationship.

He loved us all, but wanted out. I figured I only had a few years to live, and didn’t want to die before I tried it.

Despite the enormity of the situation, how bizarre it was, how unfathomable that this was actually happening, and how locked in I was on my grandpa, and what he was saying, how he looked, how this had happened, part of me felt terribly because Jack had no clue what was going on, and I just kept shushing him, saying I’ll tell you later, because I didn’t want to let go of this moment, because I didn’t know if I’d ever see my grandpa again.

Go play, I told Jack. I’ll explain later. I promise.

I arranged for everything, he said. I knew I had to go, so I found a guy who could help take care of everything.

The body? What about that? Who was that?

It wasn’t real. I don’t know how he did it. You only say a look alike. Remember, Mike? I went to work and never came home. Nobody ever saw my real body.

Basically, he paid a guy to erase him.

At this point, I was losing it, I’d lost it actually, my head was spinning, totally overwhelmed. I just told Jack to run down the block and check for other spies, and report back. Every time he returned I said to do it again, and added a little something more for him to do along the way.

I didn’t know what I’d tell Jack. I couldn’t explain this to him. What am I gonna do? I thought.

I yelled at my grandpa, or whoever he was now, Max something instead of Michael Fozel, and told him how messed up this was, only I used way more colorful language though. He acknowledged it. He owned it.

It wasn’t easy. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do, and also the worst, and in some ways, the best, but I had to go. I flipped when he said it was the best, and he apologized, and tried to explain himself, saying it was the best for him even though it was awful for everyone else. Even if it didn’t go well for me, I had to go. He said. I didn’t know how much time I had left. I gave 70 years to that life, and that’s a nice, long time.

You would have had to say goodbye anyway, he said. I figured, what’s the difference if it’s now or later?

I yelled more. And for a while, that helped. It felt like I was really letting him have it, getting him back, but that feeling didn’t last. I quickly realized it didn’t matter what I said, or how I said it, or whether or not I said anything at all. He had moved on. There was nothing I could do to change that, and I could see it in the way he reacted. He didn’t flinch. He had prepared himself for this day, and simply stood there listening, with an easy feeling on his face.

I don’t know what it was, but somehow, he got me to see where he was coming from, and although it was deceitful, horrible really, it made sense, in some perverse way.

He gained control over his life, and death, something few of us can say, and he’s right, we would have had to say goodbye eventually.

It took more than a few minutes for me to get to this point. We talked for over an hour, no masks either since we’d all been vaccinated.

He asked me not to tell anyone else, and I agreed. What good would come of it if I told my grandma, my dad and mom, my uncle and aunts, my siblings? He had a new life in a new place, without us. He’d been dead for over a decade. And we already said goodbye. We’d all moved on, too.

I asked him if I could see him again, and he said it’s probably best that we don’t do that.

He was right. I knew it the second I asked, as the words left my mouth.

We left without hugging or anything. I could tell in his eyes, by the way his mouth moved after he said goodbye, that this wasn’t easy for him, at least that’s what I told myself. I bet it was hard for him to see his great-grandson and not speak to him or hold him, or play with him like he played with us, and to see me, too.

I promised my grandpa, Max, that I wouldn’t tell anyone.

I promised I’d never lie to Jack.

I had a choice to make.

If I kept my grandpa’s secret, I was complicit, just as deceptive and dishonest and cruel as he had been.

If I kept my promise to myself, and to Jack, I’d break the promise to my grandpa, and open up a whole new world for the rest of my family and I, with no idea where it would take us, or how it would end.

On the ride home, Jack kept asking me what was going on, who was that, why did we talk for so long, was it really my grandpa?

I tried not to answer, to stall, to change the subject, so that I could have more time to figure this out. I wanted to talk to Kate, maybe tell her, see what she thought, but that would also be breaking my promise. And would it be worth it to tell anyone, wouldn’t it bring more pain and suffering, than good? Would telling someone, and being honest, outweigh the pain it would cause?

Jack is smart. He knew something was up.

Who was that, Daddy? Tell me. Was it really your grandpa or were you joking?

…

Daddy? Daddy? Was that him? I thought you said he died a long time ago. Was that him? Daddy? Was that him?

…

Daddy?

Yes. It was him.

I told Jack the truth, in the most kid-friendly, loving way possible. I said that my grandpa tricked us. Which he did. That he wanted to finish his life in a different way, in a different place, with different people, after a long life with us, and he chose to go away in a really strange, dishonest way, that never ever really happens, maybe only in movies and shows. But I still had good memories of him, and aside from this he was always good to me, and to our family, and people make choices, I said, and we should always try to see where they’re coming from, even if it doesn’t make sense to us. And that with my grandpa, there were more good memories than bad, and that’s what matters. And I promised Jack I would never leave him or his brother or his mommy, that I loved them so much, and I loved our life, and that we would always be together.