Simple Truths

I was already in bed when my cell phone rang. The caller was from a number I didn’t recognize, but I picked up anyway, a mixture of boredom and curiosity. The caller was my mom. “I have some bad news” she said matter-of-factly, “Your grandpa has died.” I sat bolt upright, I’m not sure how long I was stunned silent, but finally I managed, “My grandpa…?”

My grandpa was a quiet, deliberate man – easily overshadowed in a family of loud, gregarious women. During WW2, he fought in the Army and raised four children in the baby boom. He built every house my mom lived in, until she moved out on her own. He took me in as his own when I was a baby and my parents divorced. He taught me to love ice cream and the Lord. His favorite color was green and when I was little, it tickled him to no end that when he scowled at me, I would scowl back. He bought me a Honda CRX for Christmas one year and was genuinely concerned that I wouldn’t like it. He helped pay for me to attend Catholic elementary school and helped put me through college. He told me once that my best bet to find a good man, was to find a dumb farm boy “like him”.

Whenever my grandpa got dressed up, he would wear a bolo (of which he had several) and a belt buckle I can’t remember giving him that said, “Worlds Best Grandpa”. When he spoke, if I listened close enough, I could hear his dentures click. He was damn near stone deaf, we had to shout ourselves horse to talk to him.  When my grandpa was my age, he was so handsome – he looked just like a movie star. My grandpa sat in a chair in the Living Room for the last few years of his life, while the family life continued to buzz around him. Countless times, when food was being served in the kitchen or eaten in the Family Room, my Gramma would hand me a plate and say, “Take this to Dad…” and I would dutifuly deliver it to the next room.  My grandpa ate a bowl of ice cream every night and when his doctor suggested he cut back to just a cup, I made him a ceramic cup the size of a bowl with “I love you grandpa” painted on the bottom inside. When my grandpa laughed, no sound came out. He would squeeze his eyes shut and shake his shoulders.

My grandpa loved plaid and flannel -  and he loved them even more, together. When I was growing up, he loved to work on cars. He went hunting every year with his sons. One year, he brought home such a haul, he had to talk my mom into buying a full size freezer so we could store the venison (deer meat) in her basement. My grandpa believed in conspiracies and the end times. He built a house big enough on property large enough for all of us, in the event the end times started any time soon. My grandpa’s birthday was Christmas day and every year he got a $1.00 box of chocolate covered cherries from my mom – a tradition started when she was small. One year recently she didn’t get it, assuming he didn't really care…but that evening he asked her, “Where are my cherries, Reet?”

I used to visit grandpa when no one else was home, just to talk to him in his chair. He told me he heard God’s voice once. My grandpa read the King James Bible every day but when he’d get really upset, he’d still cuss (not entirely unlike his granddaughter).  He also had an alternative cuss word (not entirely unlike his granddaughter) – his was “Dagnabit”. My grandpa collected John Deere’s and CATs and loved to get them stuck in the earth on his farm. He made the pond on our property and stocked it with fish – we had to explain to him that he couldn’t shoot the Blue Herring that kept eating them all out because it was an endangered species.  He didn't much care.

My grandpa’s name was Max and he died yesterday. He’s in heaven now, of that I am certain. I will miss him until I see him again. Today after church, a song came on the radio and I will forever believe it was my grandpa saying good-bye to me.  My grandpa led the family in prayer at every meal we shared together. Today, my prayer echos the last line of every prayer he prayed as far back as I can remember:  “Lord, help us and help us, to help each other.” …now, more than ever, Father. Amen.



I love you, grandpa...
~M~