Earlier this year, my grandfather went into remission from his cancer. And we thought everything was over. The fear, the pain, the worry. But then, around April, he called me one evening. The cancer was back, and this time it was in his brain. And terminal.
I fell apart on the phone when he told me. I wanted to be strong for him, but I couldn't. Philip walked in right after, and I handed the phone to him so Gran'dad could tell him too. After we hung up, Philip held me, and we both cried.
We tried to go down every weekend we could to spend time with Gran'dad after that. At first, we could pretend that everything was ok. Nothing was wrong; he had lots of time left, the doctors just didn't know it. But then, the weekend of my grandparents' 61st anniversary, Gran'dad went downhill, and fast, while we were visiting. Suddenly, he was in a hospital bed on hospice. Suddenly, he could no longer feed himself or get up and out of bed without assistance. Suddenly, he couldn't get up at all.
For three weeks, I drove down as much as I could. While there, I fed him when he wanted food, I slept in his room so I could give my mom and grandmother some relief, and I did everything I could to tell him how much he meant to me. The last time I saw him was Wednesday, June 29. I told him that he was an awesome grandfather and that I loved him. He told me he loved me too. He asked me which car I came down in, and I told him I had brought Philip's, joking that it was because it had cruise control and didn't take as much work to drive as my truck. He laughed, and it felt like old times. Almost.
He went down even more over the following days, and we knew it was only a matter of time. Our prayers had long since changed, turning to "Please don't let him suffer any longer." He no longer reacted to anyone touching him or saying his name, and my mom asked us to please not come down on July 4th, since he looked so bad. She didn't want us to remember him that way.
July 3rd started off on a high note. My brother, his girlfriend and my sister were staying with us for the weekend, and we decided to go to Hurricane Harbor. Afterwards we came home, and Philip grilled steaks out back. My friend Kelsey came over, and we all ate dinner, then played a game of Cards Against Humanity. We were wrapping up the game, and the last card had just been read, when my mom called. It was midnight. I looked at the phone and my heart immediately dropped. I knew what she was going to say.
Gran'dad passed away at 11:40 PM on July 3rd, although hospice could not officially call it until they arrived, and so his official death date is July 4th. It's almost funny, since he had two birth dates too, after the doctor wrote the wrong day on his birth certificate.
By now, his viewing, burial and memorial service have come and gone. Days I didn't think I'd be able to make it through are in the past. I had the privilege of speaking at Gran'dad's memorial service, and I managed to make it through that, as well. I shook the entire time, but I did not cry. I'm going to finish this post with the words I spoke there. There aren't enough to talk about how amazing my grandfather was, and these just are the tip of the iceberg. But I think he knows how much he meant to me, and to our family.
For Gran'dad:
I don’t have to tell anyone here that my grandfather was a great man. If you attend First Baptist Church, you might remember a recent Sunday where he stood at the front of the church and everyone prayed over him. Afterwards, he told everyone thank you for the prayers and that they helped him get through the last few months, but he also reminded us all that there were others suffering that needed our prayers too – others with brain cancer, others with other illnesses. Never one to want to be a burden to anyone, he always wanted to make sure everyone else was taken care of first.
He was selfless. When I lived in College Station, I always knew that I could call him for anything, and he would do what he could to help me. A lot of those phone calls centered around the riding lawnmower I had. I can’t tell you how many times I called him to ask him how to get the mower to start. If he couldn’t help me over the phone, he’d drive down to my place and take a look at it. One of those times, he ended up having to come down and load up the mower while I was at work to take it to a specialist in Brenham. I told him that morning to watch out – we had a couple of feral mama cats and eight feral kittens. Well, he got to Brenham, and guess what he found…a little feral kitten hiding in the mower. He called me and asked if he needed to bring it back, knowing what my answer would be. And when I said yes, he drove the hour back to my house, kitten in tow, just to make me happy.
He and my grandmother indulged my love of animals, ultimately buying me a horse that I still have today. I think most of my family thought and hoped that I would grow out of the horse phase, but when I didn’t, he tried to help me turn it into a business. While that didn’t work out, he was so excited for me when I decided to go to grad school and when I ended up getting my current job writing for a horse magazine. He has always encouraged me, and I owe a lot of who I am today to him. For example, my large vocabulary at an early age could be traced back to him reading the entire newspaper to me when I was little – complete with advertisements. My often too opinionated ideas might be from him telling me the sky was purple just so I learned how to speak and argue my opinion. And because he discovered a kindred spirit in his love for trucks, I knew from an early age more about Ford and Chevy models than I ever thought I’d need to. He always made me believe that no dream was too big, that I was smart, and that I could do anything I could put my mind to.
Last year, shortly after the cancer diagnosis, I was blessed to not only have my grand-dad at my wedding, but to have him help my dad walk me down the aisle. I thank God every day that he was able to get to know my husband Philip, and vice versa. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life after losing my grand-dad, but I do know that I will see him again, and a large part of that is thanks to him, too. It was while I was with him, after all, that I prayed to accept Jesus as my savior. I’m glad he is no longer in pain, and I’m glad he’s home with the Lord. I know he was excited about that part. So to my grand-dad: you were a wonderful, dear man, and you will be missed very much. But I know you’ll be one of the first standing there waiting for me when I get there. And we’re going to have a lot to talk about – there will be a lot of news, and advertisements, to catch up on, after all.
I fell apart on the phone when he told me. I wanted to be strong for him, but I couldn't. Philip walked in right after, and I handed the phone to him so Gran'dad could tell him too. After we hung up, Philip held me, and we both cried.
We tried to go down every weekend we could to spend time with Gran'dad after that. At first, we could pretend that everything was ok. Nothing was wrong; he had lots of time left, the doctors just didn't know it. But then, the weekend of my grandparents' 61st anniversary, Gran'dad went downhill, and fast, while we were visiting. Suddenly, he was in a hospital bed on hospice. Suddenly, he could no longer feed himself or get up and out of bed without assistance. Suddenly, he couldn't get up at all.
For three weeks, I drove down as much as I could. While there, I fed him when he wanted food, I slept in his room so I could give my mom and grandmother some relief, and I did everything I could to tell him how much he meant to me. The last time I saw him was Wednesday, June 29. I told him that he was an awesome grandfather and that I loved him. He told me he loved me too. He asked me which car I came down in, and I told him I had brought Philip's, joking that it was because it had cruise control and didn't take as much work to drive as my truck. He laughed, and it felt like old times. Almost.
He went down even more over the following days, and we knew it was only a matter of time. Our prayers had long since changed, turning to "Please don't let him suffer any longer." He no longer reacted to anyone touching him or saying his name, and my mom asked us to please not come down on July 4th, since he looked so bad. She didn't want us to remember him that way.
July 3rd started off on a high note. My brother, his girlfriend and my sister were staying with us for the weekend, and we decided to go to Hurricane Harbor. Afterwards we came home, and Philip grilled steaks out back. My friend Kelsey came over, and we all ate dinner, then played a game of Cards Against Humanity. We were wrapping up the game, and the last card had just been read, when my mom called. It was midnight. I looked at the phone and my heart immediately dropped. I knew what she was going to say.
Gran'dad passed away at 11:40 PM on July 3rd, although hospice could not officially call it until they arrived, and so his official death date is July 4th. It's almost funny, since he had two birth dates too, after the doctor wrote the wrong day on his birth certificate.
By now, his viewing, burial and memorial service have come and gone. Days I didn't think I'd be able to make it through are in the past. I had the privilege of speaking at Gran'dad's memorial service, and I managed to make it through that, as well. I shook the entire time, but I did not cry. I'm going to finish this post with the words I spoke there. There aren't enough to talk about how amazing my grandfather was, and these just are the tip of the iceberg. But I think he knows how much he meant to me, and to our family.
For Gran'dad:
I don’t have to tell anyone here that my grandfather was a great man. If you attend First Baptist Church, you might remember a recent Sunday where he stood at the front of the church and everyone prayed over him. Afterwards, he told everyone thank you for the prayers and that they helped him get through the last few months, but he also reminded us all that there were others suffering that needed our prayers too – others with brain cancer, others with other illnesses. Never one to want to be a burden to anyone, he always wanted to make sure everyone else was taken care of first.
He was selfless. When I lived in College Station, I always knew that I could call him for anything, and he would do what he could to help me. A lot of those phone calls centered around the riding lawnmower I had. I can’t tell you how many times I called him to ask him how to get the mower to start. If he couldn’t help me over the phone, he’d drive down to my place and take a look at it. One of those times, he ended up having to come down and load up the mower while I was at work to take it to a specialist in Brenham. I told him that morning to watch out – we had a couple of feral mama cats and eight feral kittens. Well, he got to Brenham, and guess what he found…a little feral kitten hiding in the mower. He called me and asked if he needed to bring it back, knowing what my answer would be. And when I said yes, he drove the hour back to my house, kitten in tow, just to make me happy.
He and my grandmother indulged my love of animals, ultimately buying me a horse that I still have today. I think most of my family thought and hoped that I would grow out of the horse phase, but when I didn’t, he tried to help me turn it into a business. While that didn’t work out, he was so excited for me when I decided to go to grad school and when I ended up getting my current job writing for a horse magazine. He has always encouraged me, and I owe a lot of who I am today to him. For example, my large vocabulary at an early age could be traced back to him reading the entire newspaper to me when I was little – complete with advertisements. My often too opinionated ideas might be from him telling me the sky was purple just so I learned how to speak and argue my opinion. And because he discovered a kindred spirit in his love for trucks, I knew from an early age more about Ford and Chevy models than I ever thought I’d need to. He always made me believe that no dream was too big, that I was smart, and that I could do anything I could put my mind to.
Last year, shortly after the cancer diagnosis, I was blessed to not only have my grand-dad at my wedding, but to have him help my dad walk me down the aisle. I thank God every day that he was able to get to know my husband Philip, and vice versa. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life after losing my grand-dad, but I do know that I will see him again, and a large part of that is thanks to him, too. It was while I was with him, after all, that I prayed to accept Jesus as my savior. I’m glad he is no longer in pain, and I’m glad he’s home with the Lord. I know he was excited about that part. So to my grand-dad: you were a wonderful, dear man, and you will be missed very much. But I know you’ll be one of the first standing there waiting for me when I get there. And we’re going to have a lot to talk about – there will be a lot of news, and advertisements, to catch up on, after all.
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