As many of you know I lost my grandpa about a week ago, and as I plan to attend his funeral this weekend I find myself reflecting. Grief is such an odd thing isn’t it? Somehow I feel that our own grief can feel more or at least different than those around us, because if everyone was feeling the same how is it that the world still spins on? That sounds quite dramatic now that I’ve put it in words. It’s just that he was doing well and I just saw him and now he isn’t here anymore. I’m not at all saying that I loved my grandpa more than anyone else in the world because I know that all my siblings and cousins adored my sweet grandpa, but we did have a special bond. Now before that sounds snobish or like I’m the best or whatever, let me explain.
I am the third child out of five siblings. I have been born into a very intelligent and somewhat mild mannered family. I’m not saying I’m stupid or anything but academics have never really been my jam, I never enjoyed school and I am not mild mannered. Now obviously no one told me that the way I am was wrong but as a child you tend to think that what you’re surrounded with is normal and I was so different than my family. Back then I couldn’t see the huge benefit of my kind family, but thinking about it now if I’d had had a sibling more like me we probably would have been at each other throats all of the time. My siblings can put up a good argument but they’re not so hotheaded as I can be and I see that as a blessing now.
I always felt incredibly loved but now I think I unconsciously felt like the odd man out a bit. Which brings me to my point; my grandpa valued and even encourage the very things that I thought made me odd. Grandpa Wally valued and praised me for my tenacity, spirit and feistiness. He taught me that I could learn even when I didn’t believe it of myself. School was very hard for me as a kid, I continuously struggled with reading all through elementary school, and that struggle made me lose some confidence in learning. Grandpa didn’t care that I couldn’t quite read yet, it didn’t matter that times tables were the hardest thing in the world, he believe that I was capable. As my siblings and cousins will remember that he would let us ride his horse Tera by ourselves when we were only about 3. Granted we were in a small corral, and she was the perfect kid’s horse but it did feel like I was being trusted to be in charge of a huge animal. I’ve always liked being in charge and though I was no better a rider than my siblings, in my head I was and that gave confidence.
I remember going up for about a week every summer as a kid, with either my family or my cousins who are similar ages. My grandparents have owned a farm in Idaho for my who life. To give you an idea of my grandpa he is a little bit of a quiet John Wayne type. A good ‘ole cowboy, not much of a talker and a hard worker. He was 87 when he passed away and just this last summer he raised cattle like he has every year. It was only about a month ago that he sold some of his land because “irrigating 13 acres might be getting a little tough”. One tough cookie right?:) Well on these summer visits grandma would usually plan some fun crafty thing that we could do inside with her and I remember always asking “but what’s grandpa doing?”. She’d usually reply with “he’s going out to irrigate” or “feeding the cows”, no matter her answer I always told her that I’d head out with grandpa. I now realise that she could’ve taken that offensively but I never stayed in long enough to find out. I would run out to the corral where the four wheeler was parked, but before we could go out and about it was always my job to open the gate while grandpa drove through. He’d wait while I closed the gate and then I’d jump up in front and pretend to steer as he drove. After a few years he started letting me drive. He taught me about how the irrigation worked, he taught me how to catch a fish and not long after he told me that I needed to learn how to gut it. He let me ride Tera out in the pasture and even out on the road following him as he rode Rascal. He had me drive his truck back and forth between the barn and the house so I would know how to drive a stick shift. Once when he was about 80 he even struggled with a bucking horse to keep her from rearing up while I was on her. Admittedly I probably shouldn’t have gotten on a horse that I knew so little about but by the time I thought about it more I was already in the saddle and she was rearing up. I know I could have suffered worse injuries had grandpa not grabbed the lead rope and wrestled with her to stay near the ground while I jumped off. She did back up onto my leg before I could get off the fence and I had an amazing bruise for weeks but it would have been so much worse without grandpa’s help.
In later years he prayed for my health at every prayer. He held my hand and sang “Michelle, my belle, these are words that go together well” while I laid half conscious on the couch. When I came to a little more he looked at me with a tear in his eye and said “We just love our Michelle so much.” He didn’t even mind the flight of stairs he had to climb to visit me when I couldn’t leave my room.
It was only a few months ago that I had a terrible nightmare that Grandpa Wally died. It shook me up pretty good, but then because I was thinking of him I wrote him letter, just a simple thank you for being an amazing grandpa. After he received it he called me to tell me how much it meant to him, and if that wasn’t enough he drove 4 hours from their house to mine just to see me. There was another day maybe a week after that visit that he came down and spent the day with me. We watched ‘True Grit’, the original one with John Wayne obviously and then after that he took a nap in the chair in my room and I took a good nap too. I know that sounds silly but it was one of my favorite days with him.
My grandparents were even here for Christmas this year. They usually live in Arizona for the winter but they happened to be in town and so grandpa got to see most of his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We sat around the piano and sang Christmas carols one night. It was so lovely because my grandpa has always loved singing. About a week before he went into the hospital I talked to him on the phone told him how well I’ve been doing. I had been playing the guitar before my mom had come in with the phone so she asked me to sing for my grandparents. I played “Hey Jude” and then said goodbye. Oh how I wish I would have savored that conversation more. When he was at the hospital in a coma my mom went to be with him and I asked if she would put the phone up to his ear. I can’t remember what I said but I was told later that he wiggled his toes in response. Less than a week later my dearest friend and biggest hero slipped peacefully away to heaven.
My heart broke. It ached and I cried. Late into the night I listened to old recordings of grandpa singing. I felt peaceful about his passing, which I had thought would make the grief easier, but it still hurts. The person who helped shape who I am isn’t on this earth anymore.
As I cried something kept nagging at me, what was the song that grandpa and I sang at my sister’s wedding? For the life of me I couldn’t remember. I got up and looked in my music binder, where the wedding songs are separated out from the other music. I opened it and was reminded that the song was Love Me Tender by Elvis. As I read the lyrics, these words came through to soothe my soul in my grandpa’s sweet singing voice:
Love me tender,
Love me long,
Take me to your heart.
For it’s there that I belong,
And we’ll never part.
Love me tender,
Love me dear,
Tell me you are mine,
I’ll be yours though all the years,
Till the end of time.
So this is a long way to say I love you Grandpa Wally.
~My favorite picture of us together, along with his barrel racing
spurs that he gave me a few years ago~
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