I've been thinking a lot about my grandparents this week. Tomorrow marks six years since my Grandpa Deur passed and this is the time of year that three of my grandparents left us to take up residence at a much higher altitude. Below is something I posted on my old site a number of years ago. It's startling to think that it's been much longer than it seems that my grandfathers passed away.
My grandmother died when I was in high school. It was my first experience with cancer and it was uncomfortable to see someone you love in that condition. I never felt I gave her a proper goodbye. Years later visiting my grandfather in the hospital I had a feeling I would not see him again. I made sure I left him with a kiss on the cheek and a "Love you Grandpa". In a bit of a different way I felt I showed the same thing to my other grandfather walking myself into one of his epically detailed stories (mentioned below). He was not sick but I had a feeling my time with him was becoming limited. It proved to be the last time I would see him.
I've written other things with them in mind and using the verses used to honor them. This is the one though that includes them all.
February 2, 2005
Recently, upon hearing the news that a loved one had passed away, I began to wonder what their final thoughts might have been before moving on to their mansion in the sky. It's been said that when tragedy strikes suddenly, someone’s whole life passes before their eyes. But when the road home is not so sudden, what do they choose to dwell on? It's difficult to speculate, but when someone has significantly more life experiences to remember than I, I'm sure it is a wonderful trip. I like to think that any discomfort they may be feeling at that time fades away and is replaced by a smile on their heart.
I would anticipate that when my time comes I may spend more time remembering little details than big events. Sometimes dates and times loose their special significance when separated by time and space. I've often been accused of remembering far too many details about my experiences (a gift from my Grandfather). I hope that my time remaining will be anywhere near that which was given to the three grandparents I've lost. I hope my memory bank has grown significantly before my time arrives. In the meantime, here are the details that remind me of them...
Grandma DeBruin passed away during my high school years. Plenty of time for special memories, many of them that surfaced long after she had gone. What a treat to remember something years later and smile as if living it for the first time! I picture the sea shell net in her basement and looking for great grandpa Van Gilst in the wide army photos hanging on the wall. I even got the chance to meet him, Grandma's father. We would visit him in the nursing home in Pella, run to his dresser and find ourselves digging in the upper left hand drawer. There we could always find a seemingly infinite supply of pink peppermints and lemon drops. I still think of him every time I consume either of these tiny treats.
And I think of Grandma every time I golf, or camp, or eat applesauce. She took each of us out to the golf course only once a year (and my golf game is still as good as it was in junior high), but it was my first introduction to the game. I recount in my mind her endless practice swings and the "new word" a cousin used after a bad swing. She claimed never to have heard the word before and I agreed, though I think we both had. Despite my dislike for camping (not a real outdoorsy guy), I'd muster up the desire to go to the annual grandkids campout at the farm. Shooting bottle rockets directly into the pond was only part of the draw. I also think of her every time I eat applesauce remembering the homemade version she would make. It is still infinitely better than anything I've tasted from the store. And when I decorated the Christmas tree this past holiday season I hung a few of the ornaments she had made for me with special pride.
More recently I lost the smile of my Grandpa Deur. Separated by the distance of a state line, I was not with him at the hospital during some of his more difficult days. When I did visit, it was a "good day" and the smile I expected was there. It was one thing he put on every day. It seems odd to say that you think of one person every time someone smiles, but he's there in a smile more often than not. He was always ready with a clever one-liner and punctuated every sentence with that smile. I'm fairly certain he even smiled and winked when yelling at the dog. This past Christmas season I was disappointed not to have had the chance to sing "Angels We Have Heard on High". I don't know if it was his favorite holiday tune, but I remember sharing a book with him at church and singing it together when I was much shorter. I loved the chorus and hanging on to the "Gloria" as long as breath would allow. I would come up short and he would smile at me. It's a little harder to sing it now.
And now I will never look at an atlas again without a twinkle in my memory. I remember Grandpa De Bruin recounting an entire car trip from Iowa to Alaska that he had taken with Grandma. Once someone just married into the family was cornered with a map and an incredible memory for detail. Every stop, every road, every site. When you're newer to the group you don't always know that taking a simple interest can turn into an hour commitment. And that's when you find yourself alone in a room with an atlas and a mind that doesn't forget. This Christmas, not knowing how many opportunities I would have left, I decided to show that interest with complete awareness of the time I was committing to. I just listened. I even prompted the conversation knowing full well it would not be a short one. But were it not for Grandpa, how would I ever know that a rod was 16 1/2 feet? And who would I have to blame for my own lengthy stories, if not for a relative who has obviously passed the trait along (to a slightly lesser extent). The maps are his. So are hotdogs, marshmallows and the World Series. They were all staples of his annual birthday party.
I'm sure there will be more details that come and few that sneak away as time moves along. There are others, living and gone, that are remembered often when little details and memories sneak into my daily journey. Songs and places and the smallest things bring the ones I love to the front of my mind.
And when my time has come and I find them waiting for me, I will have new stories to share. And I can ask them what it is that reminded them of me.
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