Grandpa

Growing up I was the only child for about 5 blissful years. We lived with my grandparents before we bought our house in granite and I spent a lot of time over there on weekends. My grandparents spoiled me heavily, maybe because I was an only child and they felt bad and thought I needed extra attention, I don't know, but I am so glad they did. 

My earliest memory is of my grandpa picking me up with his big imposing hands and sitting me on the counter, where I still only met his shoulders. He looked at me with his dark eyes and slicked back black hair and said, "Don't eat this. It's not food."

He promptly turned around and I weasled my little chubby fingers into the side of the box, dipped my fingers into soft, white powder and hastily shoved them into my mouth, just as my grandpa was turning around. Baking soda tastes horribly.

He just laughed and didn't say anything. 

He must have known I'd be a rebel.

They had these apple trees in the back yard that I remember being so incredibly large and knotty and grey and one of them had a lower hanging branch that was just perfect for my 3 year old hands to hang on to. Grandpa would pick me up, and tell me to hang on and push my back so I could swing back and forth, gleefully.

I would hide under the kitchen table when he got home from work. He would come in through the garage door with his big sea foam green coffee mug and throw it down and immediately say, with his big booming voice

"Where's Sara?" 

Which sent me into fits of giggles until I would run out from under and proclaim that I was there the whole time.

He always let me put his shaving cream on his face, which I thought was pretty marvelous. I can't imagine that I did it very good but he never complained that I missed any spots.

They took me across the country in a Cadillac. Several times. 

I think I was 3 or 4 the first time and I have vivid memories of us running into the room and yelling 

"Ok, test out the bed!"

I would run and jump to my hearts delight and scream that it was a good one and we could stay at that hotel.  

We saw the Grand Canyon, SeaWorld, Disneyland, both oceans, San Diego Zoo, Mount Rushmore and the Sequoia National Park. I learned what a lightning bug was and that they cannot be kept in a jar and brought back home, I learned that if you say 'please' just right, he will let you sit in the front seat in the middle, I learned that you are not allowed to say, "Dear Lord Jesus!" when you are upset (that's strictly for Grandmas) and I learned that even if you spill chocolate milk all over Grandpas new white boating shoes, he still will hold your hand to cross the street. 

In my memory, my Grandpa was a hugely tall man with greaser style black hair and big black mustache, he was a spitfire with a quick tongue and a sharp wit. The smell of badly brewed black coffee and salt water taffy brings his face, as I remember it, swimming quickly to the forefront of my brain. These last few years have been somewhat regrettable on my end. Life has a way of moving quickly when you don't realize it and the day to day activities and chores and practices and homework swim by without any thought to anyone else. I would talk to my Grandma on the phone and catch up on all the family gossip and send Grandpa my love occasionally but seeing the people I had spent so much time with in my early years with seemed to slip through my fingers. 

A month ago I received a phone call from my Dad saying that Grandpa was seriously ill and they were putting tubes in his lungs because he felt like he was drowning. I called him and he was calm on the phone, "No, don't come down, they're going to put me out so I won't be able to talk to you." I told him I loved him and was shocked at the voice I had heard on the phone. Where was the boom? It was quiet and soft and so different. 

I went down the next day and stayed for 7 hours along with numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren and 5 of the 6 children. He was completely sedated and basically in a coma like state. I went in by myself and was taken a back by his appearance. White as a sheet and so thin. I couldn't handle it and quickly touched his hand and said I love you and ran out. I came back for the rest of the week every night and did the same thing pretty much every night. 

This last Friday I went and visited and he was up and talking and looked wonderful. A little color back in his cheeks and he was saying he was excited to get back home and feel better. 

Yesterday I was sitting in Steve's room waiting for him to get off school, playing with Summer when I got a text from my step mom. I responded and had a sense of foreboding, my stomach was sick. My Dad called and said that they had done all they could for him and that they were on their way to the hospital. 

I cried the whole way there. Each step of the way, just telling myself,

I was just driving. 

Now I'm just parking.

Now I'm just on the 6th floor.

Now I'm just walking. 

Each and every step of the way was painful and each and every step of the way I was more and more heart sick.

I went into his room and it was full of people. My dad, my step mom, aunts and cousins and my grandma sitting in a chair next to him. My Dad asked if I was going to say hi and I just couldn't get the words out. I'm not great with emotions other than happy or angry. Crying and being sad is not a strong suit of mine.

I ran out and cried into my sweatshirt for a few minutes trying to get it together so I could go and say goodbye. My Dad came and collected me and said "Sara made it Dad! She flew in on a helicopter but she made it!"

I walked around to his bed side and squeeked out some "I love you's" and some "remember when's?" I gave him a big kiss and squeezed my grandmas shoulder and hid behind her chair and cried for 2 hours. Listening to my dad tell him he was never a burden on the hunting trips in his later years, listening to my aunt whisper that he was her hero and watching my grandma wail that she never wanted it to be this way was inexplicably hard to watch.

The nurse came in and gave him a high dose of medication as per his request, to keep him comfortable. I finally moved seats and sat where I could see my Grandpa and the amount of people at his bedside, whispering final goodbyes. I sipped on coffee, just for something to do. My head was splitting and my face felt raw from all the tears. I sat and watched his heart rate go from 150 to 120 to 90 to 70. He was fading very quickly and it was incredible the amount of love and bittersweet sadness that engulfed all of us in the room. 

He passed away quietly and comfortably with everyone he loved surrounding him. 

My grandpas early years, I know little about and I'm upset that I didn't get a chance to ask him about his childhood or his time in the military or anything up until before I was born. It's a fools game to think that the people you love will always be there because one day you might wake up and they're not. 

Love the ones you're with and love them well.

I would end this with something passive like Rest in Peace Gpa, but I know he's not resting. He's up there stretching his big, broad back, flexing his arms and kicking out his legs. He's fishing on a big heavenly lake, with mountain views and catching the shit out of some angelic fish. 

At least that's what I imagine. 

                                                             Cheers.