The End. But It Isn't, Really.

On Sunday, November 4, my brother went to visit my grandparents.  Grandpa had been basically unconscious for the past 3 days or so.  The continued to give him morphine because of the terrible pain he was in.  He was very weak and dehydrated.  Grandma and her children had spent several nights and days on constant vigil, waiting for his spirit to leave his body.  For the days before he was unconscious, he had been talking to people who were long dead, and it was clear that he had one foot in this world and one in the next. 

Grandma told my brother that she wanted the boys to come give Grandpa a priesthood blessing and to be very stern with him.  She felt that he needed to be told that it was time for him to let go of this life and that he did not need to worry about her.  Grandma was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

So my two brothers (who live in Utah), their wives, Spencer, Ashtyn, and I went to Grandma's on Sunday night.  The boys sweetly and firmly blessed my grandpa according to Grandma's wishes.  We each spent time alone with Grandpa, touching and kissing him, talking to him, expressing our love.  We gathered in small groups and reminisced together.  There was laughter.  There were tears.

We asked Mom to call us when he left, even if it was the middle of the night.  I didn't sleep well, knowing that that call was going to come at any time.  It didn't come during the night.

On Monday morning we have our devotionals at work.  Tim B. shared his testimony of the work of temples, and it was more than I could bear.  Because of gratitude and knowledge, the tears flowed freely for me, and I finally left because my sniffling was becoming ridiculous.  My boss came to my desk and asked if I was OK.  I was, because the tears were not despair, they were gratitude.  So he said, "If you're OK, come into my office and we'll go through some things."

I'd only been in his office about 10 minutes when my headset beeped.  I answered it as I always do, and my mom said, "Hi, darlin'."  Her voice broke, and I knew why she was calling.  Even though I was SO happy that my grandpa no longer had to be in pain, I was still very sad to know he was gone.  Of course, the loss is not just mine, and I was concerned for my grandma and my mom and others.  As soon as I hung up the phone I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.  My sweet boss had the tissue box in front of me in no time flat, and he just stayed and let me meltdown for a moment.

A moment is really all it took.  We have been preparing for Grandpa's departure from mortality for six months or more.  It is a relief to know that he is pain free.  It is a blessing to know that he is joyfully rejoining his family and friends who left this life earlier.  It is a relief that Grandma doesn't have to worry about him any more.  And it is amazing to have the gospel of Jesus Christ and the blessed peace brought through the Holy Ghost.

The funeral was held on Saturday, November 10th.  There was a horrific snowstorm that weekend, yet we still had a nice turnout of family and friends.  The funeral went beautifully, and I was even able to sing without a meltdown. 

The interment was in the mountain valley town where Grandpa grew up.  The roads were clear, but it was COLD and windy.  Yet still, people came to pay their respects.  The American Legion sent a contingent to give a 21-gun salute, a bugler to play "Taps," and a color guard who retired the flag on the casket and presented it to Grandma "on behalf of a grateful nation."  My sister had purchased three dozen flowers so that anyone who wanted to could place a flower on the casket.  The simple act of all the children placing those flowers on the casket was my grandma's undoing.  She cried and cried and said, "It's so final!"

Well, it is final.  But also, it isn't.  Because of our Savior, Grandpa will have a glorified, perfected, pain-free body at the resurrection.  Because of our Redeemer and the restoration of priesthood keys, we can be a family eternally.  I'm so thankful for what we have, what we know, and the blessings that come from God.

For flowers and cards sent, for prayers offered, for phone calls and emails, for kind and loving friends, for sweet family, I am sincerely thankful.

Grandpa and Grandma in high school

My hero AND the hero of a nation



With his family



Holding me

The two of us

More about Grandpa and Me

I went to my grandparents' home in Orem 3 or 4 times last week.  My mom is there, and she is working hard to make sure EVERYTHING is taken care of.  So when I have arrived, there isn't really anything I have been needed to DO.  Grandma says that's better, anyway, because she just wants to visit.  And so we visit.

Every day I have waited for the phone call, telling me that Grandpa had finally reached the end of his mortality; but it just hasn't come.  He's been stubborn all his life, and he's been stubborn in his death.

Yesterday my grandma told my brother that Grandpa needed to be blessed and told that it was OK and high time to leave mortality.  My 2 brothers, their wives, Spencer, Ash, and I went to Orem again.  These three good men laid their hands on Grandpa's head and kindly gave him the what-for.  :)  Grandpa looked skeletal, and he hasn't been really conscious for days now.  We spent several hours there, migrating in and out of Grandpa's room, visiting, weeping, laughing, remembering, loving. 

This morning at 8:02 a.m., Grandpa finally left mortality and joined much family and many friends in the spirit world.  My mom called me, and I had a good, sobbing cry (in my boss's office, no less).  And since that good cry, I feel grateful and relieved and oh, so blessed!

My grandpa had the largest hands I've ever seen.  9 years ago he got cellulitis in his right hand.  That, combined with age and arthritis, have left those massive hands curled and useless.  The rest of his body has wasted away to nearly nothing, especially in the past two weeks.  But last night we uncovered his hands, and I had a flood of memories.

Those hands were the hardest-working set of hands I have ever seen: 

• He could dig fast and deep and for a long time, never stopping till the job was done.  I never saw him hold up a shovel.  It was only in his hands if he was working, and he didn't lay it down till the dig was done.
• Grandpa laid yards and yards and yards of concrete.
• Grandpa was a master mechanic and specialized in body work.  He was incredible.
• He and Uncle Bud (his brother) beat the tar out of everyone else (three or four generations of men) in a two-man hand-saw race.
• Those hands "bucked" a lot of wood, built and remodeled a lot of rooms, tarred (and batted) some bats, built some fires, and whittled many sticks and whistles.
• Those hands grabbed the steering wheel once or twice while he helped me learn to drive (while Daddy was in California).  :)
• Grandpa drove many a car, truck, van, boat, and snowmobile.   He probably fixed even more vehicles than he drove!
• Those hands signed my parents' marriage certificate.
• Those hands held onto my mother for hours and hours while she was in labor (and his feet walked miles and miles with hers).  Then those hands held mine when I was a tiny little girl.  And a bigger girl.  And a teen.  And a woman.
• Those ginormous hands gave me birthday spanks (and dimes) every year in my childhood.
• Those hands were placed tenderly on my head to confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to give me other blessings.  I was not the first and not the only one of his grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grands who received priesthood blessing through those beautiful hands.
• Grandpa would wipe his tears with those hands--usually with a thumb.  The first time I remember seeing Grandpa's tears was the day he got new scriptures for Christmas.  It was not the last time, and it was nearly always in regard to his love for his family.
• Grandpa shook hands with countless people in business dealings and church assignments. Those handshakes were promises.  The handshakes I remember most were the ones he gave Spencer. They were man-to-man handshakes.
• Those hands tenderly held my babies.
• Those hands tenderly held other babies as he blessed them and cherished them.

Thinking about his hands has opened a floodgate of memories, each of which I am nothing but grateful for!  Grandpa was imperfect but oh, so good.  He loved me, and I love him back.  It is hard to imagine life without him--not because I've seen him every day, but because I've just always known he was there.

On the plus side, how many women get to know, like, respect, love, admire, cherish, and laugh with their grandparents for 44 years of their lives?  How many great-grandchildren can say that they made it to adulthood before they lost that grandparent, and--even better--that they knew and loved him?  Not many.  I am so very grateful!

Hoping for Death

Yesterday my grandpa got up and got himself dressed.  By noon he was unable to stand on his own.  The hospice nurse helped him to his bed, where he stayed for the remainder of the day, semi-unconscious.  My cousin, an EMT, went in and rolled him over every half hour or so, and Grandpa didn't even flinch.

The end is near.  His wife and children doubted he'd last through the night.

It is sad to lose his companionship in mortality. It will also be a blessing for him and all of us who love him when he is gone.  It seems really selfish and somehow WRONG to pray for death to come, except that when it does, it will be as is told in The Tale of Three Brothers (Harry Potter):  

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly,

and, equals, they departed this life.