Tribute

The date is December 20th. 5 days before Christmas.

This day of 2008 my grandpa passed away.

Writing this a year ago would have been tragic to my heart. But as the saying goes, time heals all wounds.

I got a call that morning from my mom, saying, "we are going down to the hospital(mind you again--he had been in there since early November)--grandpa isn't doing well. We will let you know when we know something.

It was blustery and snowy and cold. Dad told me not to put the kids in the car and drive down. It would be too unsafe. So I rocked on my hands. Mom called, "he is doing better--sitting in bed--joking around--knows who we are."

Hours go by, then Dad calls. I know something is wrong. Dad says, "Missy, he's not going to make it through the day." I reply with my voice cracking, "Mom said he was fine...better...what the heck?" and then I break down. "Dad, God, I thought I was ready for this. I mean I knew the end was near. I have known that since almost 2 months ago. I thought I was ready."

Dad got off the phone--but not before I was asked to call my siblings. In between sobs, I explain to them that the old man isn't going to make the night. The man that had hands the size of baseball mitts, a silent belly laugh, and a love of ice-cream was not going to make it.

How can this be? I know we all get old. And we all have our time. And he had been calling out for Jesus for weeks--saying he could see the light, but couldn't get there. Hallucinations? perhaps? But weeks before when he had grabbed my arm and told me, "I can see the GD light, I just can't get there", I thought the arm would snap in two. The dog still had tons of fight at that point. Strength I cannot even put into words. Scary strength.

Mom called back, "He's doing better again. He is coherent." I think...what the heck kind of rollercoaster am I riding? My head is going to spin off of it's axis. Please let me off the ride. But the ride continues. "Wow." I say. "Who is there?". My mom says, "Kenny, Karen, Greg, Me and Dad, ahh Cherie, but she went to make a call. And Sharon just got here. So the kids are with her."
"Oh." I say dumbly. "Well, I am going to go. I told the kids I would take them sledding, and I need to shovel the driveway." "Ok. We will call if anything changes." mom says.

So I get the kids bundled, and I mean bundled. They are like fat little marshmallows, hobbling and bobbling like those bobblehead dolls on your dash. You can only see the slits of their eyes.

I shovel, shovel and shovel some more. We have like 18 inches of snow, or so it seems. Maybe only 8.

We slide down the little hill down the block aways. And slide, and slide. Allen comes home from work by this time. He gets his clothes on to join us. It has been over an hour. Sub-zero temps. Kids are like over stuffed Popsicles. They beg to go inside. Allen gives me "the look". I am insistent that we slide some more. It is hard work, and cold. The wind stings, and it takes you breath away. But not as bad as the pain I am suppressing by dragging that plastic sled up and up the hill.

Finally, I relinquish. Allen and the kids get their way. We can go in now.

I look at my phone. I have 5 missed calls.

The man who made snowman, sang all day long, ate ice cream every chance he got, and put his cold hands on your neck when you sat in your spot next to him at lunch, had made his last snowman, sang his last song, eaten his last treat, shocked me once again. This time, though, the shock was not from the seemingly icy hands, but from the sheer loss of him.

In 1976, the year my parents were married, he had a heart attack. Mom had to fly home from Idaho--they told her he may not make it then. He had so many other battles that he had fought and won (cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer's) that it seemed silly that in the end what finally took him was an infection!

I got the courage to return the call. Dad answered and his voice broke,"Missy, he's gone."(I have heard/seen my Dad cry twice in my life...this was one of those times...the other was when his Mom died in 1994)

Who goes outside and shovels the driveway, and then like an insane person, makes their 1 and 4 year olds remain outside until they are begging for mercy. I do. Plain and simple.

Earlier in the fall, I had a dream with Grandpa in it. He kept telling me over and over that he was waiting for Sharon. Until that day, I had no idea what that meant.

Creepy? Maybe. Or connected? That's what I hope for. Connection! Enough connection to the people around me that if I draw their name for Christmas, I know what to buy them!

The next 5 days were a blur. We had a funeral to plan, and attend, along with the memorial service, and then Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Christmas Eve was always a huge deal at my grandparents. Last year, we were all too tired to care.

This year will be sad because Grandpa is gone, but I will care.