Everyday Stranger

The Lucky Ones

I am one of the lucky ones.

We have all lost someone close to us. For me, personally, I have lost two people that were of such key importance that the map of the world doesn't look the same without them. One of them was a great love, named Kim. The other was my grandfather, my mother's father. He was like a father to me, and the most stabile source of male nurturing in my life. He died 5 years ago, and I was so, so lucky. Lucky because unlike some of us, that grieve and mourn and wish we could have told that person how much they meant to us, I got to do it.

The last time I saw him was in a hospital bed in Atlanta, Georgia. The sun streamed in through the windows, and the room looked bright. He smiled at me, as best he could, and held me hand with his good arm. He's going to make it. I thought. He always has us thinking that he's on the edge, then he lives five more years. This time will be no different.
I kissed his forehead. "I love you so much, Grandpa."
He smiled, and waved as I walked out. "I love you too." I heard him call.

But two weeks later, I got the phone call.

Five hours later, my mother, sister, grandmother, uncle and I stood around my grandfather's bed as he lay dying. They pulled his life support, and we watched his residual, shallow breaths become softer and softer. It continued for some time, as he breathed what they called "shank" breaths-and his every exhalation was marked by a death rattle. The whole thing was unreal. These adults standing around a room. We cried, but not constantly. My grandmother held my grandfather's hand. I looked at my grandfather-he was so pale. His eyes were closed, and his face was unshaven. His toes, peeking out from under the blanket, were purply-black.

Five hours passed in agonizing silence, and finally I watched as the monitor flickered down to 0. How ironic, that the same electronic pulse that I had relied on to tell me that he lived was now telling me that I had a lifetime of Christmases without him. That no longer would he tease me, comfort me, or give me advice. Suddenly, the one man in life that I had always loved and who would never have ever let me down was gone. And I wondered if anyone would ever love me like that in my life. All at once, I never wanted to have someone love me like that. How does you go on, after living with and loving one person for 50 years, only to have them leave you?

My grandfather's eyes rolled open. My grandmother leaned over him and whispered that she loved him, and that it was ok to go. Then she closed his eyes.

And so it was that I watched my grandfather die on Father's Day.

Two days later we gathered around under a canopy at a military cemetery in South Carolina-my grandfather had been a career US Army man. The Honor Guard stood nearby. The mourning party was small. My grandmother sat sobbing in the front row in front of a flag draped coffin. The Carolina sun beat down on our backs (how could it be that there was no rain on the day of our pain?), and I felt a sense of discomfort in that other people (the funeral director, the Honor Guard) had the ability to watch our family's drama, to partake in our personal pain. All I really wanted was to bury my grandfather in private. The minister still had not shown up, and was over thirty minutes late. I heard my grandmother, moaning, asking when this was going to end.

Good question. I thought, and stood to speak to the funeral director. He was on a walkie-talkie, and he turned to me, a slight look of panic on his brow. "Do you know how much longer the minister will be? I don't think my grandmother needs to be put through this, do you?" I asked.

He nodded, and looked at his walkie-talkie. "It appears there was a mix-up." He said softly. He strode over to my grandmother, and kneeled in front of her. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, but it appears there was a mix-up with the minister. He's not coming. Perhaps someone in your family could say a few words and lead a blessing?"

At this my grandmother began crying harder. I found myself at breaking point. I stood, and walked to the front. My mother, holding tightly to my stepfather's hand, looked up in surprise. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew to trust my auto-pilot and go with it.

I cleared my throat. "I'm not a minister, and so I don't know God. I don't know God, but I do know my grandfather."

I looked up at the others, sitting silently in the two rows before me. My grandmother, mother, stepfather, and uncle. My sister, and my uncle's wife and baby. My grandparents' friends, the Lambs. The funeral director, and the head of the Honor Guard.

"My grandfather was the best possible man that ever was, and ever will be. He was the most loving, secure, stable man in the world. His responsibilities to his family, his country, and above all, to his wife, were what made him the backbone of this family. He never turned from his duty, whether it was the call to go to Korea and Vietnam, or the call to take care of his family. I don't know how many times in the past that he was there for me and my mother, or uncle. And God only knows that he was there for his wife every day, in every way."

I felt the tears, warm and cleansing, spill down my face. I felt the heat of the sun coming through the back of my black sweater, searing my skin. "You see, they don't make men like him anymore. Men who gave up everything for everyone. Never in my life will I be able to find a man like him, and I don't know that I'm going to try. I have lived my entire life knowing that he would be there for me, no matter what, and under all circumstances. He was the kind of man that people instantly respected, and that we always loved.

"And so the fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands here today, my advice to you is to practice. Practice being like my grandfather. Practice everyday and in every way. Try to be as wonderful a man as he was, and your family will thank you for it.´"

I looked around the audience. Everyone was crying, just as hard as I was. My grandmother was sobbing, and ever my sister, usually the most stoic of us, was unhinged. I noticed, with no small degree of wonder, that even the funeral director was crying. In the back row, Mr. and Mrs. Lamb clutched one another, and cried. I looked at the draping wisteria that tumbled next to a cluster of graves. Everything was so unreal to me: Was I really here? Was I really delivering the eulogy for my grandfather?

I turned to the Honor Guard, still staring at me. "Do your military stuff now. It's time to bury my grandfather." With that, they began to play "Taps" and bear his coffin to his grave.

I looked up, and saw my grandmother1s hand reaching for me. I dropped to my knees in front of her, crying like there was no tomorrow. "That was beautiful, Baby. No minister could have done a better job." she whispered.

"I was just babbling. It was awful. I'm so sorry, Grandma." I bawled. "Tomorrow I'll think of a thousand other things to add.

I think about that day sometimes, when I least expect it. Grief is like any other poltergeist-it haunts you for a while, but sooner of later you have to exorcise it in order to go about your daily living. Sometimes, I am haunted by every word I said. But I am also glad that I had the chance to honor his memory in the way he needed, deserved, and would have wished for.

My grandfather is never far from my thoughts, along with the last words he ever said to me: "I love you, too."

It's like a gift.

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at October 2, 2003 03:47 PM | TrackBack