Memories of Grandpa

Last week we lost a member of our family, my parents' dog S. S was a pure bred German Shorthair bird dog that we had had since before I left home for college. He was a good dog - so much so that my dad was often asked if he would allow S to sire a litter of purebred pups. Sometimes Dad would take the pick of the litter as payment instead of the usual stud fee. So my parents are also the proud owners of S, Jr and S III, who we call Jr and III.

S's death has really made me think a lot about my grandpa - so much so it's been keeping me up at night. Grandpa passed away December 8 after a long bout with emphysema. Though he'd been living with the illness for quite some time, his passing happened pretty quickly. He was on oxygen all of the time and was so tired that he often stayed in bed. The only time he took the oxygen off was when he had a cigarette out on the back porch (the only place in the house my grandma would let him smoke) or outside on the deck.

My grandpa was a great bear of a man - tall with broad shoulders and strong arms. He was a farmer all of his life except for a stint in the Navy during WWII. My dad farmed with him, so I saw Grandpa almost every day during planting and harvest and about every other day in the winter and summer. He gave the biggest, best hugs and would always have peppermints in his pocket which he would share with me. Occasionally he would let me ride on his lap in the tractor so I could drive. He loved his family deeply but was a strict disciplinarian and did not tolerate bad behavior from his grandchildren. As I grew older and heard more of my dad's stories of his childhood, I began to understand the hard life Grandpa had led and how the war had haunted him many years later. I respected the man, his love of the land and his love for his family.

I went home to visit over Thanksgiving, but Grandpa wasn't feeling well and was in bed the entire time the family was over for dinner. Since I didn't get to see him on Thursday, I made it a point to go over Saturday morning when he was usually up. Thankfully, he was out of bed and I visited with both my grandparents for a couple of hours, just them and me - kind of a rare occurrence considering other family members were usually around when I talked with them. I was so glad I got to spend that time with him because that next Tuesday I got a call from Mom saying that Grandpa had collapsed. They had taken him to M-ville where his heart had stopped but they revived him and took him to ICU in StJ. He was on a respirator because he could not breathe on his own and was in and out of consciousness but stable.

He made it through the week, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to make the five hour trip home that weekend to see him in the hospital. I didn't know if I wanted to see him hooked up to machines and I figured I'd have to just turn around and head straight back for the funeral. Karl convinced me that I had to go see him, something for which I will be eternally grateful to Karl. I drove towards home Friday with a stop at the hospital on the way. Mom and Dad were there and were ready to take Grandma home, so I just briefly got to see Grandpa and decided I would come back the next morning so Grandma would have a ride.

I spent basically the entire weekend at the hospital. Saturday I sat in with him and my aunts for a couple of hours. At one point he opened his eyes and looked at me. I don't know if he knew where he was but he tried to sit up and get out of bed, pulling the tubes and IV's as he did. The doctors decided it would probably be best to sedate him so he wouldn't get so agitated, so on Sunday he was pretty much out of it. The family had decided before I left that Grandpa wouldn't want to be kept alive by a machine and they would remove the respirator on Monday. Before heading back to St. Louis, I went with my mom into his room one last time and held his hand. The reflexes in his hand caused him to lightly squeeze and then release my hand. I nearly lost it as I knew this would be the last time I would see him alive. I kissed the top of his head and told him goodbye. Monday morning at nine they turned off the machines. He passed away about nine that night.

I drove back home Tuesday for my third trip home in as many weeks. The funeral was on Friday and during the minutes before the service, when they closed the doors so the family could see their loved one for the last time, I touched Grandpa's hand. It was cold as ice - nothing like the last time I held it in the hospital. I walked back to sit down and my dad grabbed my same hand as I passed and held it as I stood behind him. Eventually I had to let go, then I kissed him on the top of his head and took my seat as the service started.

My father is a very sensitive man and my mom relayed to me that Dad had cried the entire time he dug the hole for S's grave. I had seen him cry at the death of other dogs we had during my childhood as well. Those thoughts reminded me of those precious moments after Grandpa's burial service when Dad, Mom, my brother and I stood hugging each other in a circle, crying and mourning together. I miss my grandpa.