Good Night and Good Luck

Within days of me starting blogging, my paternal grandmother died. I suppose I coped through the loss by pouring my stuff into cyberspace. I wrote about the process, the grief, my reactions, and even some of the humor. One of my funnier memories was when she told my grandfather she loved him from her deathbed and he responded, "Well, good luck."

My grandfather died this past Monday.

The news was shocking, not due to its timing but more for its finality. The phone call came from my mom, which isn't surprising as although my father is a big lug sometimes referred to as "Chuckles," his heart is immense. I could picture him sitting in front of the tv, not really processing what was flashing in front of his eyes, and his head propped by his hand suggesting thoughtfulness but being nowhere near reality. There is no way my Dad could have made that call.

When my uncle moved to the East, the unsaid duties of the eldest fell to my father in taking care of his Dad. Although he is a leader in other aspects of his life, as the youngest of 4 brothers he did not do well taking charge of this family situation. I thank my aunts for really being the prime organizers of grandpa's care. My aunts were the youngest in the family of 6 and yet, like most women, they were the prime caretakers. The 3 local siblings took rotations of visiting, stocking his liquor and ice cream, and checking on his regular progress of his puzzles. My grandfather was a complex man who only needed the simple things in life.

This week, the eldest 2 brothers and their wives are flying into town to honor my grandfather's last wishes. Nothing frilly. Family only. I thought of coming in but knew that my grandfather would have my head if I spent money on a plane ticket. He would have considered that a waste. Somehow by staying here in Indy I'm doing what he would have wanted me to do. But its still hard being away from family. I miss my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

There are things that my grandpa gave me that are immense and intangible. Lessons that I reflect upon that make me proud to be his granddaughter: His love of nature, the desert, dogs, and wildlife was expansive. Some of my fondest memories are the spring trips to Southern Utah with the family. I emulated his fierce independence. I can't imagine how hard it was (or how easy) for him to legally change his name at the age of 19, revoke his religious beliefs, and fend for himself. I remember his stories about starting Utah State's newspaper, The Signpost, because that's what it started out as: a signpost they stapled articles to in the middle of campus. I admire his foresight to give domestic partners health benefits back in the 1950's when he owned a commercial artist firm and did what was right for social justice in his small microcosm. I loved going to college football games with him. It was a ritual of his "special juice" that would knock the socks off of anyone, his small radio to listen to the commentary while he was at the game, his wool blankets, and red University of Utah windbreaker. He would get season tickets with my Dad and uncle, and how I loved going with them. When I was a teenager I would often get up early on a Saturday and he would come pick me up with a picnic for us to go to the bird habitat by the Great Salt Lake. There we would dine on chocolate chip cookies and ham sandwiches while he would give me a heavy pair of binoculars and point out birds native to our land. Other times we would take the dogs for a walk along mountain trails and just talk. When I was a vet tech he couldn't wait to hear my crazy stories of what would happen and just laugh. He was the only one who called me "Alex" and said that my biggest problem was figuring out what I wanted to do. He would then follow that up with the suggestion that he thought I should be a vet. I remember his gardening and the morning he pulled my tooth out by tying a piece of string around the wobbling tooth and the other side around the door knob then slamming the door. It worked. When I was 14, I remember seeing him run down my driveway with handfuls of gauze and band aids when I passed out on the phone with my dentist's office after my wisdom teeth were pulled. He was the emergency contact and Grandma sent him out with the supplies. Ooh, my Mom was pissed because she told me NOT to get up under any circumstances and yet I did when the phone rang. I remember dancing with him and having him click his tongue to the roof of his mouth in time with the beats of the music. I remember his fantastic Christmas lights that would blink with the music. I remember looking for Rudolph from the great window of his study overlooking the valley. I remember the wonderful paper airplanes he made and the orange banana shakes he would make for us nights that we slept over. I remember him coming up to Deer Valley and taking photos of my brother and I skiing. I remember his smell. I remember his laugh and the way he would throw his head back in delight. I remember how stubborn he was. I remember how intelligent he was.

The last time I saw Grandpa it was Christmas of 2006. My husband and I stopped by to give him a gift. We ordered a puzzle of the front page of the NY Times on the day of his birth. Grandpa barely remembered me and didn't have a clue who this tall gentleman was next to me. I realized that it was going to be the last time I saw him because he was so embarrassed about his memory and I didn't want to pain him any further. I missed his 90th birthday, which was his goal...just to make it to that landmark.

Because Grandpa left his Mormon roots and assimilated to his devout Catholic wife, I'm not certain what his beliefs were about the afterlife. I think he had a pretty agnostic/atheist point of view although things change as you near your death. Many times I feel as if my other grandfather, Pop, is around me. I don't feel that with Grandpa and its hard for me. I've always felt a special connection with him and now I feel particularly alone.