
This past Wednesday, July 21, 2010 I sat up in bed weary but awake. My phone was ringing and I knew before answering it that my Grandpa had died. Numbness settled in over my sleep-deprived frame but with that numbness a peace blanketed my feeling of loss. A peace that only comes with a knowledge of the truth that my Grandpa is still alive. A peace that comes from knowing he is free from the broken frame he had been living in. A peace that his mother was there waiting to wrap her arms around him and to show him the colors…oh the colors he must be seeing. Being color-blind is a badge of honor that I have always worn with pride because it was one of the few things that I had in common with my grandpa, something so individual to him that I could connect with and understand. I was the city kid who would come on occasion to visit his grandpa on the farm. I wasn’t the state-champion wrestler or the macho hunter or the sweet and flirty granddaughter that simply by existing worms their way into your heart. I was the city kid who wasn’t sure where he fit in or even if he did, so to have any sort of connection to this icon of a man was something you clung to. My grandpa was often compared to John Wayne and to hear his stories you would believe that his life was better than anything Hollywood could have come up with. He was a simple man who taught my mom, and I guess in turn, myself how to tease and laugh. He was immensely positive and quick to laugh. I will never forget hearing him tell the story of his family going to their neighbors to watch TV on a Sunday evening, as they couldn’t afford one themselves. Upon sitting down on their neighbors bed his mother realized she was sitting on a mouse and not wanting to be rude and say anything, instead placed all of her weight on the poor mouse smothering it…needless to say she didn’t get much out of the program that evening.
On Sunday we drove down to Leamington to visit my grandma and prepare for the funeral the next day. Driving into that little forgotten town my heart was flung back into the memories of my youth. Of jumping off the cliffs into the river below, of wild thunderstorms that would light up the fields of freshly cut hay, of riding to the store in the back of my grandpa’s pic
k-up. My children will never know this town like I did…it will never be the refuge that it was for me. B was great the whole weekend and wanted me to experience all the feelings and the memories. She could sense when things became difficult and would quietly take my hand in hers not saying a word but letting me know she was there.
The funeral was beautiful. My mom and Aunt Lori and Uncle Mark recalled the memories that truly captured my grandpa. Perhaps the most difficult moment for me was watching my frail grandma say goodbye to her sweet husband before they closed the casket. Theirs wasn’t a perfect marriage and my grandpa caused her a lot of pain but they loved each other immensely and stood by each other through the good times and the bad. It was in that moment, as I held my wife’s hand that I looked around the room to see other spouses holding each other and my eyes were opened to the eternal truths that we can be together forever. I couldn’t help but think of the pioneer hymn that was celebrated this same weekend… “and should we die before this journey’s through…happy day…ALL IS WELL” I know the truth and I know that soon my grandpa will be holding his arms wide open to envelope my grandma in his arms…together again…All is well!
On Sunday we drove down to Leamington to visit my grandma and prepare for the funeral the next day. Driving into that little forgotten town my heart was flung back into the memories of my youth. Of jumping off the cliffs into the river below, of wild thunderstorms that would light up the fields of freshly cut hay, of riding to the store in the back of my grandpa’s pic
k-up. My children will never know this town like I did…it will never be the refuge that it was for me. B was great the whole weekend and wanted me to experience all the feelings and the memories. She could sense when things became difficult and would quietly take my hand in hers not saying a word but letting me know she was there.The funeral was beautiful. My mom and Aunt Lori and Uncle Mark recalled the memories that truly captured my grandpa. Perhaps the most difficult moment for me was watching my frail grandma say goodbye to her sweet husband before they closed the casket. Theirs wasn’t a perfect marriage and my grandpa caused her a lot of pain but they loved each other immensely and stood by each other through the good times and the bad. It was in that moment, as I held my wife’s hand that I looked around the room to see other spouses holding each other and my eyes were opened to the eternal truths that we can be together forever. I couldn’t help but think of the pioneer hymn that was celebrated this same weekend… “and should we die before this journey’s through…happy day…ALL IS WELL” I know the truth and I know that soon my grandpa will be holding his arms wide open to envelope my grandma in his arms…together again…All is well!



