Post by Lexi on Apr 10, 2008 16:43:04 GMT -5
“So how did it happen Grandpa Frankie?” asked the adorable 5-year old of his aging grandfather.
Frank Iero grinned weakly at his grandson. “You’ve heard this many times, m’boy,”
“But I want to hear it again!” the 5-year-old demanded, so much like his grandfather years and years ago.
“All right, then,” he gave in.
Frank stared thoughtfully out the window at the pouring rain, letting his thoughts gather, and remember the memories from years ago.
The faint opening tune of an old, old song wafted up from the radio by his feet.
“It all started with one man,” Frank began.
He said, “Son when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the d**ned?”
Just a single, insignificant, hazel-eyed man, struggling to find his place in this world.
Will you defeat them? Your demons, and the non-believers, the plans that they have made?
But to the eyes, hearts, and souls of many, he was more.
One day, I’ll leave you a phantom, to lead you in the summer.
He was their hero, their savior.
To join the black parade…
He was everything.
I’m just a man; I’m not a hero,
But they had forgotten that he too made mistakes.
He too was not perfect.
They turned their backs on him, jeering at him, and taunting him, calling him a fake, a liar, a coward, when they thought he couldn’t hear.
And then he had had enough.”
“Do you still remember him, Grandpa Frankie?” the 5-year-old asked, tilting his head to one side.
Frank sighed.
How well he remembered.
The screams, the loud, piercing noises that rent the air, inhuman sounds wrenched from his very throat.
Looking down at his friend, his companion, the man he regarded his brother, his life’s blood seeping from the deep, jagged cuts on his beautiful, pale wrists.
The funeral.
Everything was black. Everything was dark.
It all seemed hopeless.
So hopeless…
“I still do,” Frank replied, the familiar lump rising in his throat.
The door to the elder’s room opened, to be followed by a dark-haired woman.
“Come on, Tony, Grandpa Frankie needs his rest!” the woman said, holding out her arms to the little boy.
“See ya, Grandpa!” the boy waved cheerfully as he was being scooped up into his mother’s arms.
“See you soon, dad,” the woman smiled at Frank, closing the door shut behind her.
Frank sighed again.
How he missed him…
Making a choice, he rose up from the rocking chair and pulled on his coat.
The walk to the cemetery was short, punctured only by the occasional children playing across the street.
Now, looking down at the white marble, Frank smiled.
“See you soon, old friend,” he whispered.
Anyone who might have heard him might have thought he was talking to the trees, or simply whispering to the soft, swaying grass.
But those who knew him better would have known he was speaking only to the white marble, engraved:
Frank Iero grinned weakly at his grandson. “You’ve heard this many times, m’boy,”
“But I want to hear it again!” the 5-year-old demanded, so much like his grandfather years and years ago.
“All right, then,” he gave in.
Frank stared thoughtfully out the window at the pouring rain, letting his thoughts gather, and remember the memories from years ago.
The faint opening tune of an old, old song wafted up from the radio by his feet.
“It all started with one man,” Frank began.
He said, “Son when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the d**ned?”
Just a single, insignificant, hazel-eyed man, struggling to find his place in this world.
Will you defeat them? Your demons, and the non-believers, the plans that they have made?
But to the eyes, hearts, and souls of many, he was more.
One day, I’ll leave you a phantom, to lead you in the summer.
He was their hero, their savior.
To join the black parade…
He was everything.
I’m just a man; I’m not a hero,
But they had forgotten that he too made mistakes.
He too was not perfect.
They turned their backs on him, jeering at him, and taunting him, calling him a fake, a liar, a coward, when they thought he couldn’t hear.
And then he had had enough.”
“Do you still remember him, Grandpa Frankie?” the 5-year-old asked, tilting his head to one side.
Frank sighed.
How well he remembered.
The screams, the loud, piercing noises that rent the air, inhuman sounds wrenched from his very throat.
Looking down at his friend, his companion, the man he regarded his brother, his life’s blood seeping from the deep, jagged cuts on his beautiful, pale wrists.
The funeral.
Everything was black. Everything was dark.
It all seemed hopeless.
So hopeless…
“I still do,” Frank replied, the familiar lump rising in his throat.
The door to the elder’s room opened, to be followed by a dark-haired woman.
“Come on, Tony, Grandpa Frankie needs his rest!” the woman said, holding out her arms to the little boy.
“See ya, Grandpa!” the boy waved cheerfully as he was being scooped up into his mother’s arms.
“See you soon, dad,” the woman smiled at Frank, closing the door shut behind her.
Frank sighed again.
How he missed him…
Making a choice, he rose up from the rocking chair and pulled on his coat.
The walk to the cemetery was short, punctured only by the occasional children playing across the street.
Now, looking down at the white marble, Frank smiled.
“See you soon, old friend,” he whispered.
Anyone who might have heard him might have thought he was talking to the trees, or simply whispering to the soft, swaying grass.
But those who knew him better would have known he was speaking only to the white marble, engraved:
Gerard Arthur Way
Apr. 09 1997 – May 31 2008
A loving husband
A great friend
An inspirational man
Be yourself. Don’t take anyone’s nuts, and never let them take you alive.
-Gerard Way
Apr. 09 1997 – May 31 2008
A loving husband
A great friend
An inspirational man
Be yourself. Don’t take anyone’s nuts, and never let them take you alive.
-Gerard Way
