First of all, I must admit how fortunate I have been to have all my grandparents in my life nearly four decades. And even more fortunate, that they were all remarkable humans and loving role models of the type of person I could and strive to be.
But to lose this grandparents first is possibly the hardest. Nothing at all against the other three. This man more than pretty much anyone else was who I looked up to, loved, admired, and wanted to be like. And approved by.
It's been especially difficult, as an unbeliever, to lose someone. Death is final. I don't hold out for a hope that he is rejoicing with those who died before him and preparing a place for those of us left behind. Keanu Reeves of all people said what I believe in an afterlife. When asked "what do you think happens when we die?" He thought for a moment and said "I know that the ones who love us will miss us."
I felt many things after his death. Pain that he believed I was on the wrong path, that I was wicked, deceived, or unhappy. The last thing he said to me was "I hope you feel the love of the Lord." I wanted him to accept me as I am. I know he did, but losing him while believing so differently in life and death made the pain especially acute. I felt a strong sense of unfairness. I believe that this man deserved heaven more than anyone I think I've met. But I think his consciousness ceased at time of death, and the only life he has left is what those who loved him and miss him remember.
I want to write about my memories of him, as a way to keep him alive, honor his memory, and to deal with the pain of losing him forever.
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Memories of Grandpa
I don't have this memory, but I have the memories of having it recounted to me many times. That in the magical time of childhood I can no longer recall, I asked to have my haircut "like grandpa." To have no hair on top and hair on the sides. I regrettably got my wish (but my wish to be a millionaire Chinese doctor has yet to come to fruition), but this I think illustrates my admiration of this man. Since before I can remember, I looked up to him literally and figuratively as the coolest and most wonderful person in my life.
He was a loving grandparent who spelled love "t-i-m-e." He would play hide and seek with me often. Even when other adults sought his attention. He made me feel special and important. We would act out Disney scenes together, such as the crocodile chasing Captain Hook. I would "tick tock... tick tock" as he ran around in terror to be saved by Smee. Or the less than politcally correct scene from song of the south of Brer Rabbit vs the Tar Baby, and the subsequent trip to the Briar Patch.
He was a builder and could make and fix anything. Sadly, my clumsy klutz of a self was unable to pick up much of his craftsmanship. He was a gardener and I mostly enjoyed the (literal) fruits of his labor, at least once eating every single berry he had grown, much to his chagrin.
He was a builder and could make and fix anything. Sadly, my clumsy klutz of a self was unable to pick up much of his craftsmanship. He was a gardener and I mostly enjoyed the (literal) fruits of his labor, at least once eating every single berry he had grown, much to his chagrin.
He never showed anger. I don't know if he was capable of it, tho my mother and her siblings can probably attest otherwise. He was meek and serene and seemed like whenever someone needed help he was there. Not in a reluctant or even eager way. In a matter-of-fact way. Charity and service was who he was.
He used to pay me 5 cents for every 2 snails I killed in his gardens. So I guess I earned some of the devoured plums, peaches, tangelos, nuts, and berries. I bought G.I. Joes with my money. I remember at least once a trip to the toy store and buying a toy with all nickels and pennies.
Another example of who he was: He was his wife's husband. I never before or since have met a man so devoted and in love with his wife. His example is one I try to (probably not always successfully) extend to my own spouse. One could see and feel the love he had for his beloved, in the service and care he always provided to her.
I remember taking trips to the store where he would explain the technology of automatic doors, and trips I'd take with cousins in the back of his Nissan pickup truck.
He was for the longest time the smartest person I knew. My parents would often have him help with homework, as he seemed to know just about everything.
He was a giant most of my life, it was surreal when I finally surpassed him in height. I'll probably never come close to his stature as a person. But he's been and always will be a standard and a goal to hope to measure up to.
I remember countless piggyback rides and rides on his shoulders, the nursery rhymes and songs, the stories he'd read. He had a literal wall of books in his home, and I'm fairly confident they were not for decoration. He was well read and read often, and taught me a love of learning and reading.
He was the most fit and healthy person I knew, without ever seeming like a health nut. His health wasn't an obsession, it was taking care of the body he had. He did calisthenics every day, and I would often join him running up and down the stairs and stretching. Yet another reason it's shocking he died. His body was well worn but cared for like an antique clock that kept the time despite its gears aging. He'd take us to the beach and was this older/old man getting in the waves and body surfing.
I remember him taking us on hikes in the beautiful canyons nearby where we lived. I remember going camping with him. His knowledge of and respect for nature passed on (at least some of it) to me.
I remember that he would eat literally anything if it meant it wouldn't go to waste. His neighbors would give him their grass clippings that he could use as fertilizer for his amazing garden.
I remember the respect and admiration anyone who met him had for him. Even adults I could see who were confrontational, difficult, rude, unliked by many, etc. all liked him and treated him well. And he always treated them better.
He built me a frame for a clubhouse I was so eager to build and then quickly gave up on when I realized the work involved. But he never made me feel lazy or guilty for it. I don't think he ever said anything to me about it.
I remember stories of his ingenuity, from using a pump and a hot metal roof to solar heat a swimming pool, to designing the California aqueduct. Designing homes for his family, my parents family, and friends and others. I remember stories of his career and talent/skill largely going unnoticed due to crappy management, but his stoicism and gratitude for life that never seemed to tarnish his ego or outlook.
I remember him flying to Texas to help my family and to be with me when I was undergoing chemotherapy. I remember his palpable love and concern in what was the hardest part of my life. I remember relying on him and his unwavering support and love.
My brother and I used to tease him that, while appearing always happy or at least never angry, we never heard him laugh. We'd try and try various attempts at humor and always be met with a placating "Heh, heh. Ah yes." And then I remember the surprise and delight in finally hearing him not just laugh, but burst out laughing/guffawing/loling at... Dilbert. I couldn't ever make him laugh, but Scott Adams sure could.
I remember that not only was he intelligent, he was wise. He was compassionate. And I think the intelligence and wisdom drove that compassion. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he taught himself so many things and was so smart so he could care for his beloved wife and help others. Or maybe in his studies he learned that the only thing worth being is compassionate. He was both, and I like to think one influenced the other.
He was faithful. Devoted to his church and its teachings, convinced in the divine nature of the Book of Mormon and the divine calling of Joseph Smith. When I came out of the atheist closet, he was the first person who seemed willing to talk to me about it. (Admittedly, this was after he literally 'called me to repentance,' which wasn't as helpful to either of us as he probably would have liked). But when we finally talked one one one, he didn't preach at me like those in my stake, or contend/argue with me like friends I lost or damaged relationships with, or pretend like nothing had changed like others did. He sat down with me for several hours and asked me how I felt and what I thought, and listened. Sadly he didn't convince me one way or the other, nor I him. But he was respectful and kind and really heard me, which I needed.
I don't know if there's life after death. I don't believe there is. However, I do see the appeal. I wish there was evidence for it. I think that, whether he's in heaven or his remains are in the ground in a cemetery, he made the world a better place for anyone who met him, and many who never met him. Heaven can be had on this earth with more people like him. I don't know what happened after he died, but I know I love him and miss him.
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