Mister Chapter XII

Chapter 12 - November 28, 1995

FINAL CHAPTER. PLEASE BE SURE TO READ OLDEST CHAPTERS FIRST

            “Liz, I need to tell you that we received a call from the nursing home yesterday,” Gram began when I picked up the phone. “Grampy has contracted pneumonia, and he’s become very ill.  They don’t think he’s going to pull through.”

            I choked back a breath, so completely caught off guard by Gram’s words. “Can I go see him?” I asked, grabbing my purse and keys off the kitchen counter, angry at myself for not stopping by for the last two weeks after my bus route had been changed.

            “I think it would be a good idea,” Gram replied.

            We said a few more words I wouldn’t remember and less than five minutes later, I was in the car, on my way there.  Lisa was visiting from Virginia, and we rode silently together, the space between us filled with a sad heaviness.

            My mind was racing, and I couldn’t stop berating myself for not making the time to see him when I had the chance.  I was driving a school bus that year, and the lot was directly across the street from the home where Grampy had been taken to after a bad fall and hospital stay almost a year ago. At that time, the doctor had felt it was best that he be released to a residential home since he was no longer strong enough to walk, and his cognitive status was declining so rapidly.  It was a real struggle for Gram, who even considered signing herself into the home so she could be with him, but at 83 years old, she was as sharp and healthy as she had been in her sixties.

            Most days, I had a layover between routes and obtained permission to park my short bus in the nursing home parking lot to visit with Grampy.

             Initially, he was still somewhat conversational, but the new surroundings unsettled him. He wasn’t so sure about sitting in the recreation room with people encouraging him to tap a brightly colored ball from his wheelchair to some other residents in some strange, geriatric volleyball game fashion.

            “I don’t think I’d like to do this today,” he‘d say, and I would wheel him back to his room, where many familiar items from home had been set up for him.  Even with the Alzheimer’s advancing rapidly, Grampy was ever the stately old gentleman, simply saying, ‘Oh dear!’ if something bothered him enough to complain about.

            One day, I told Grampy we were going ‘visiting’, and brought him around to the doorways of the other residents, where he would peer in and offer a hearty ‘Hello!’  This was something he relished at first, possibly relating back to the days when he was a pastor, visiting with his parishioners.

            On another occasion, as I entered his room, he and a nurse who was busy changing his sheets, looked rather put off by each other.  The nurse told me she’d like me to take Grampy to the dining room, even though he said he wasn’t hungry.  I was happy to oblige, coaxing Grampy into ‘just taking a stroll’, as he continued to insist that he didn’t want to eat. 

            Eventually, our walk led us to the dining room.  I was startled as Grampy raised his voice. “I can’t believe you would do something like this to me!” His tone was sharp and angry.

            “Grampy, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” I was hoping the hurt and surprise wasn’t evident in my reply.  I knew he was expressing himself the only way he could at the moment, but he had never lashed out at me before in my life, and I felt like a guilty, chastised child.

            “You most certainly do, too,” his accusing eyes never wavered.

            “Well, if you think you’d like to head back to your room, we can go, now,” I offered, realizing he must have thought I was taking sides with the nurse he had resisted earlier.

            “Yes, I would like to go back, and then you can leave,” his tone was firm.

            Regretfully, I wheeled him back, inserted one of his music tapes into the tape recorder on his bedside table, and said good-bye.  The next day when I arrived, his face was beaming with recognition, the former rift between us long since forgotten.

            Now, our heels tapping lightly on the linoleum floor, Lisa and I made our way down the long corridor to his room.  His son, John, was at his bedside. 

            Grampy’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged and shallow.  I touched his forehead, surprised at the heat that was emanating from his body.  Lisa and I stood there awhile, talking softly with John.  Sensing that he needed time alone with his dad, I excused us and offered to bring Lisa to see Gram.

            It had been a while since she had been to New Hampshire, and the reality of the situation showed on her face as Lisa slowly lowered herself to a chair in Gram’s living room.  Grampy’s suit had been laid out on the couch just a few feet away.  Understanding slowly spread across Lisa’s face as she eyed Grampy’s Sunday best, and she dissolved into tears.  Gram came over to her and held her hand.

            “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Beal!  I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around!”

            “I know it’s not easy to lose someone you love, Lisa,” Gram soothed. “We know he will be without pain soon, and we are thankful he will be in heaven with the Lord.”

            “I know, I’m thankful, too, but it’s so hard seeing him like this!” Lisa fumbled around in her purse for a tissue.

            “Dad would be comforted to know you’re near, and you care right now,” Gram offered, slipping as she sometimes did when referring to Grampy with us girls.

            We stayed a while longer, then drove back to my place, already emotionally spent.

            The next morning, I slipped in to see him again, but there were others in the room, so my visit was short.  Later, I brought the kids to the Christmas parade in Derry, which was always held the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  The crowd around me was joyful, bouncing to the beat of the marching bands, holding sticky fistfuls of popcorn and cotton candy, diving for the treats thrown from some of the local floats.

            “How can they be happy when the greatest man who ever lived lies dying in a lonely bed, not a mile down the road?” I thought glumly, wishing I could pack an overnight bag and hold a bedside vigil, but understanding that Grampy’s family needed privacy and time to say their good-byes.

             That old sense of not belonging had begun to creep in, but I reminded myself that Grampy had established our relationship many years ago.  More than giving me the name I now called him, he had shown me that he was, for all intents and purposes, my father.

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            The living room was packed.  Food adorned the tables and low, solemn conversation mingled with bursts of laughter at the recollection of days gone by.  Family and friends gathered in Gram’s living room after the funeral service was over. 

           All four of his children had said a few words, and John had officiated the ceremony, referring to his dad as “Old Iron Shoes”, a real man’s man.  He ended his message with the picture of us bidding Grampy farewell as his ship set sail, only to imagine it’s beautiful form docking in heaven with shouts of joy from loved ones on the other side. 

            Grampy would have been proud and pleased with the variety of loved ones packed into in his crowded living room that day.  Each face represented a soul that was somehow better off for having had him in their life. 

            His hunting buddies shared stories of teasing him for not praying hard enough to get even one deer in all the years they had hunted together.  Grandchildren offered memories of Grampy versus the groundhogs that used to outsmart him in the summertime.  Friends, family and loved ones all joined together to remember his life with respect, honor and love.

            Some hours later, I offered to remain and help Gram clean up afterward, and offered to return in the morning to help. I somehow went home and slept, yet as the new dawn found me standing next to her again at the sink, drying more dishes, I said, “Do you think he ever really knew how much he meant to me?”

            Gram nodded and was silent for a moment. “More importantly, I hope you will one day realize how much you meant to him. To us both.” 

Half smiling, her face had a wistful, far off look. “We agreed years ago that we needed you as much as you needed us when the Lord brought you into our lives as a tiny little baby.”

            The last of the dishes in the cupboard, I uncharacteristically put my arms around Gram, giving her a gentle hug. 

            “I’ll be sure to stop by tomorrow to get a grocery list from you,” I said as I shrugged on my coat. “I love you, Gram, and I‘m going to be here anytime you need me.”

            “I love you too, dear” her tired eyes showed the strain of the day.

 “Elizabeth?”

             I paused in the doorway on my way out. “Yes, Gram?”

            “Always remember - love is for keeps.”

END OF CHAPTERS.  PLEASE BE REMINDED TO READ THE OLDEST POSTS FIRST