"IN or OUT! IN or OUT!" That's what I remember hearing from my grandfather the most when I was little. Me, my brother and my cousins running in and out of the back door as we played games like hide and seek or cops and robbers. I found him to be imposing to say the least. Instead of being delighted by his giggling, squealing, precocious grandchildren, he was irritated by the sound of the screen door slamming and the feel of the hot air whooshing into his air conditioned comfort. He would sit right by the back door so there was no getting past him quietly if we needed a drink or had to go to the bathroom. We would open that screen door as gently as we could, thinking to slink past quiet as little mice but inevitably we would hear the crinkle of the newspaper he was reading and his hard and menacing voice say the words "IN or OUT!"
In his world, children were rarely seen and NEVER heard. My mother said that when she was growing up, if you answered with "what?" when he called your name, you were guaranteed a swat. You didn't say "what?", you just came and waited to hear whatever it was he needed from you.
Of course, he wasn't as bad as I imagined him to be. He was a born storyteller and I learned very early that the best way to get attention from him was to ask him about his grandma's life in the "olden days" or his time spent in the South Pacific during the war. I must have heard his stories a hundred times but I never grew tired of them. It was thrilling to have him pull me into his lap and begin to tell me about growing up in the Uintah Basin. About my tough as nails great great grandmother who raised him. Of the farm and his love of cars. Of meeting his father's family for the first time and how he was born in the bedroom of his family home in Duchesne, Utah. I never wanted those moments to end.
The truth is, I was in awe of my grandfather. To me, he was larger than life. There was nobody smarter, nobody tougher. Nobody had more life experience than he did. He was John Wayne in suitcoat and tie.
Years later, it was close to time for me to deliver my baby girl. I was living in an unfinished apartment, basically homeless, that had no running water of any kind. No carpet, just a wooden sub floor and it was built above a towing company and repo yard. I didn't know how I was going to take care of a baby in that place but I was determined to do it somehow.
My grandmother showed up one day and insisted that I come and stay with her. She would fix up the spare room for me and the baby and everything would be alright. Although I was grateful, I dreaded the thoughts of having a baby in the same house as my grandfather. What would he think of midnight crying and poopie diapers? If the screen door slamming bothered him, how in the world would he react to a screaming, caulicky infant?
But being a great grandfather suited him to a tee. I was constantly amazed by the gentleness in his tone and in his touch. If it concerned his granddaughter in any way, he wanted in on it. He would come home from work and make a beeline to whatever room she was in and coo and smile and laugh and hold and cuddle and love. He would dance with her in the living room and sing songs to her as they rocked in his big reclining chair. He would set her in her bouncy chair next to him on the grass and he would read her storybooks while they soaked in the sun. They even took their afternoon naps together. Where I tip-toed and spoke in whispers around my grandfather, IZ ran and screamed, twirled and sang, climbed all over him like a monkey and he couldn't get enough of it. He clapped and cheered at her smallest accomplishments and stuck up for her when I scolded her over some small transgression.
Eventually, IZ and I moved out of the house but my grandparents found an apartment that was two houses away from them. IZ was expected every morning for breakfast. She would slide the barstool over to the kitchen table next to her grandpa and they would eat cereal together and watch Looney Tunes on tv. He would listen while she babbled nonsense and act like everything she had to say was the most interesting thing he had ever heard. "Oh yeah?...You don't say..." They were each other's very best friend.
Grandpa brought IZ home a teddy bear after a business trip. It was a brown, homely little thing with a big red bow. At the time, she had a rather large duck named Sunny and the two were inseparable. They ate together, slept together, played dress up together...but when gramps gave IZ that bear, she had eyes for no other. That bear has been puked on, ripped, run over, sewed back together and gone through the washing machine too many times to count. It has only gotten uglier over the years but my 16 year old daughter still sleeps with him every night...because her grandpa, the most important man in her life, gave it to her.
My grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimers a few months ago. It has been agony to watch him struggle to place faces to names, to try to recall how he knows you or even if he knows you. To hear him repeat the same question over and over again and eventually not even be able to form a question. To see the frustration and fear on his face when you can't understand what it is he's trying to say. His struggles and those of my beautiful grandma are breaking my heart.
I am grateful that when he sees me he puts me together with living in the Uintah Basin. All of the stories he told me growing up originated in this place and for a long time after he didn't recognize most people, all I would have to do was tell him where I lived and his face would light up and understanding would dawn and for a little while he would know me again.
And then there is my IZ. My grandmother keeps pictures of all the kids and grandkids on the refrigerator. Several times a day, my grandfather stops and studies them, pointing..."I know them. That's so and so." Over time, he has come to forget most of the faces in those pictures but even now, when things have gotten so bad that some days he doesn't even know his own wife, he still points to my IZ and says "I know her."
And GOD, I miss him. I miss him so much. What I wouldn't give to hear the words "IN or OUT." What I wouldn't pay to hear him laugh again. To hear him say my name. To get just one more hug. And how do I help IZ through this terrible thing that is causing our family so much pain? I mean, cancer, diabetes, heart disease, all of these horrible things that bring such fear but Alzheimers? I wouldn't wish such a death on my worst enemy. It's like he is dead but his body still walks around. His spirit is stuck in a prison and his heartbeat is counting down his sentence.
So I try to think about the time I did get with my grandpa. Not as much as I wanted but probably more than most. How grateful I am that we got to share raising my beautiful girl. How blessed that we experienced her together. I learned so much about him and from him. Where before I was in awe of and a little bit afraid of him, now I idolize him. He is truly one of the greatest of men. He showed me love in the only way he knew how. By loving my IZ. And how lucky is she that my baby girl knew him so well and was loved by him so much. She got to see his tender side, his silly side, his mischevious and boyish side. I couldn't have picked a better father figure for a little girl whose real father had abandoned her. God knew that these two needed each other and God knew how much I needed him too.
He has almost disappeared from our life, this giant of a man I love so much. I am praying for him to be free of this dread disease. I want him to be in a place where he no longer struggles to communicate, where he is no longer afraid. I want him to be reunited with loved ones he has been separated from for so long. And I want the comfort of knowing that he no longer suffers and that he is watching over us, just waiting for the time when we will get to be with him again.
He will never really be gone. Not to me and certainly not to IZ. He has become so much a part of who she is and who she is going to be. I want her to recognize that part of herself. I want her to carry it with her always and treasure her memories of him as something precious. I want thoughts of him to bring her joy and not sadness.
As for me, he has given me unending joy, deep spiritual knowledge, laughter, a love of history and all things past and present. An appreciation for slowing down and enjoying the things that really matter before life passes you by and all is lost.
Because of him, I will appreciate my children more, yell at them less. I will take the time to pass on my stories and life lessons. I will cherish my future grandchildren and give them lots of hugs so they never forget what I smell like and the feel of my arms around them. I will laugh with them often so they will still hear me after I am gone. I will instill in them a need to experience the world, figure out life's mysteries and keep up a strong relationship with God. He has left me a truly wonderful legacy. I promise Grandpa, I will pass it on.
