Death was never part of the original plan. Despite how many times you have faced it (and in comparison, I'm not saying I've faced it a lot, but certainly more often and more intimately than I'd like to have faced it), death's coming always feels like an intrusion. And that's because it is an intrusion on what was designed to be a perfect world. The consequence of free will gone wrong.
But that's not really what this post is about. This post is about Grandpa Jerry, because such a man ought to be remembered well and often.
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| One of my cousins, Heidi, Grandma Dolores, Grandpa Jerry, and me 6 years ago. |
A prime example was the game he made for us in his wood shop called "Cat Poop." It was simply a square piece of wood, about 6"x6"x1" On it he had used a wood burner to make a circle with an "X" through it, and then drilled 5 holes. One at the center intersection of the x, and one at each place where the x met the circle. And then one quadrant of the circle was labeled "cat poop." I got 2 golf tees, and Grandpa got 2 golf tees, and we moved them around the circle. It was a simple game, and not exciting at all - until Grandpa let me force (because he could have won every time) one of his tees through the "cat poop." The face of horror he would make before taking his peg and slooooowwwwwwlllllyyyy dragging it through the cat poop. He would pretend to gag, cough, splutter, hack, and otherwise verbally dramatize what any 7 year old imagined it must be like to walk through cat poop. Let me simply say, it was amazing!
Grandpa's woodshop. Now there was an amazing place... Full of saws, hammers, nails, a wood burning stove and all manner of dangerous things for small children, yet we all got to play there with him and learn how to make things. He had a big clamp in the middle of his work bench that he would put a small piece of lath or other thin wood into, and then he'd set us up on a stool and let us saw bits off. We painted, swept saw dust, nailed things together, put wood in the stove, and learned to use a wood burner in that blessed workshop. He was always making or building things - small things - for us to enjoy.
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| My mom and her dad at my wedding 10 years ago. |
It was somewhat rustic (not in the cute rustic sense, but in the truly rustic you-have-to-bring-your-own-water-to-drink-for-the-weekend kind of sense because the running water there wasn't good to drink), complete with an outhouse (though there was a fully-working bathroom and kitchen inside the 3-bedroom single-wide). And on the weekends in the summer we spend our days there in our swimming suits, waists wrapped with life belts. We swam, dug "lakes" into the small beach that we used cut pieces of old hose to move water between. We "cooked" in the wooden kitchen Grandpa made for us, collected rocks, walked all over the pasture, and fished (of course) with Grandpa. And poor Grandma spent many an afternoon untangling the fishing line of one grandchild or another. Grandpa always grilled supper, and at about 3 every afternoon we had a "snack," usually a small candy bar from the drawer in the fridge where they were stashed.
One time, Heidi and I went on a walk with Grandpa to a far part of the pasture where we'd rarely been before. There was an area that had broken up granite piled, for no reason apparent to me, and one of the pieces said "MOTHER" as if it were a tombstone of some kind. As we walked, a mouse ran across the path. Heidi and I, of course, screamed, because what else does a girl do when she sees a mouse? Grandpa valiantly used the only weapon he had to defend us: a fly swatter. I don't know if the mouse actually died from all the swatting, but at the very least it was the worst spanking of his little life!
We all learned to fish from Grandpa, how to bait a hook, how to pick up a worm, where to find the best night crawlers, and we were introduced to scores of fishing lures. We'd go out in the paddle boat, and he'd take us to the brush piles where the fish were biting. Any keepers we caught would go into "the cage" a 2'x2'x3' cage of sorts that Grandpa built to keep fish in the lake alive but caught, until the last hour we were at the cabin. Just before we would leave to head for home, Grandpa would climb down off the low dock into the knee-deep water and lift the cage onto the dock. The fish would flip and flop like crazy, but he'd reach in fearlessly and pull one out. The fresh fillets were scrumptious when Mom fried them up a day later!
Often when we arrived at the cabin, Grandpa would have something new to share with us - the steering wheel he'd mounted on a board so we could "drive," a set of old golf clubs and balls to whack around the pasture, a water balloon launcher and mount he'd made so people didn't have to hold the launcher to make it work, a "plumb shooter" (small piece of lath nailed to the dock that we used for hours to launch wild plumbs into the lake). Most things Grandpa had for us were not expensive, didn't require batteries, and weren't really all that impressive, except the experience of using them with him was terribly impressive.
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| Grandpa with Connor, the only great-grandson he got to meet. He has 5 great-granddaughters as well who he enjoyed immensely. |
A delight for those of us in my family (who grew up without cable) was that Grandma and Grandpa had cable. We watched more than our fare share of Cartoon Network and VH1 PopUp Videos there. But Grandpa (and Grandma and our parents) made sure we weren't TV zombies for our whole visits. He played cards with us, took us for walks, and got us treats at Chuck's (I'm not sure if it really was, but my memory is that it was an ice cream store). He filled a refrigerator box with leaves and put it underneath the very low eave of his shed, then helped us climb up the fence, onto the shed, and jump into the leaves. He taught us how to play Cricket (not that I remember the rules now...) and a card game I inherited called Touring.
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| Lily and Grandpa playing at Mom's house. Notice the purple hair Lily is sporting, and the green clip on the top of Grandpa's head. |
When grandkids started having kids, Grandpa got to enter the worlds of littles again. I remember the day we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa in their much smaller house (as they'd downsized to something they could better manage). Grandpa's health was starting it's slow decline. His back gave him frequent pain, his eyesight was going due to macular degeneration, his heart wasn't operating at full capacity, and I noticed he was really slowing down. I'd brought Lily for a visit (Connor wasn't yet born), and at one point Grandpa got up without a word and went into the other room. He returned with a plastic tray filled with brightly colored fishing "worms" - the squishy kind of plastic lures without hooks that are brightly colored and often have sparkles in them and tails that twirl. He gave the worms to Lily and I'm telling you, those worms have seen more play time than any doll in that house.
Grandpa thought about play. He invented new ways to use normal stuff that kids just loved. He wasn't the kind of person to reach for or try to talk to a grandkid right away. More likely, he'd wait for the kid to come to him, or he'd just go get something and start playing until the kid couldn't help but come play with him.
Despite the fact that my mom's family had a cat while she grew up, Grandpa was not particularly fond of cats. So of course every time Grandpa came to our house when I was growing up, my cat would hop onto his lap and settle in for the duration. I can't say I ever remember him rolling his eyes, or exactly what he said, but it was clear the cat was unwelcome but wouldn't be removed by Grandpa. He was a patient man, a very, very patient man!
If you've made it this far in this post, you either love me a lot to have read all this, or you're a family member or friend who loved Grandpa as much as I did. If you had the privilege of knowing him, it was impossible not to love him. I've been trying to figure out exactly what it was that I learned from Grandpa Jerry, and I think I've come to the point of acknowledging that because of the time he poured into me, I learned a million little things from him. But common among the million little things, I learned a few big things.
- That it's not the stuff or the money or the location or the age that make relationships really wonderful. It is the time invested in what the other person finds enjoyable or important. Hunting for rocks on the sandbar was never important to Grandpa but I was important to Grandpa, and it was important to me so he'd swim with me while I hunted. Fishing, honestly, was never important to me, but it was important to Grandpa and Grandpa was important to me, so I'd fish with him and we had a wonderful time.
- That play, at all ages, is important. The very last time I saw my grandpa, age 86, as he lay in his hospital bed in his living room a few weeks before he died, played with my daughter. She brought him worms on a plate, in a cup, on a platter, and he pretended to eat them. And he loved it. And she loved it. Play is good for the soul. I get wrapped up in my "priorities" and forget sometimes to just play with my kids. That should always be a priority.
- That the simple things are good enough. When we took walks with Grandpa through the pasture in the afternoons, we'd pick up walking sticks along the way and poke the cow pies we came across to see how fresh they were. I'm talking a stick and a cow pie. That's it. Oh, and a granddaughter and a grandpa. That's all it took to have a marvelous time.
- That family is terribly important and worth the investment. Grandpa and Grandma have spent their lives pouring into their family, and it shows. They have kids who know who they are and where they belong in the world, and grandkids confident in the love of their grandparents. There has never been a question in my mind (and I'd wager in the minds of any of the grandkids) who wondered if Grandma and Grandpa would love and accept us. They always have and always will.
- That sacrifice must be made, so it's important that you make it for the right things. Grandpa served our country in Japan during the Korean War. Sacrifice. He told me about times when money was so tight but they still put away for retirement. Sacrifice. He and Grandma sold the cabin, their home of 57 years, Grandpa's truck and many other things before anyone could ask them to because they wanted to be able to care for themselves as much as possible and not be a "burden" to anyone (as if we would ever think of them as such!). Sacrifice. He suffered greatly in his final days, but still found joy spending quality time with his family. Sacrifice. And the way Grandma has cared for him so faithfully. SACRIFICE.
To close, I guess I'll just say that I feel so very blessed to have Grandpa Jerry for my grandpa. His legacy lives on through his kids, their kids, and their kids' kids. There are so many more memories, lessons, and life with Grandpa that I have loved and will cherish. And until we meet again one day, I am thankful for the gift of memories and that all those memories associated with Grandpa are so very sweet to me.
