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June 08, 2005
Lest I Forget
Today is the anniversary of my grandfather's death. I've shared the story of this great man before, but he was so amazing that I'd like to recognize him once again:
It happened one summer. I was spending my vacation helping my grandfather fix fences on his farm. Although I was only fifteen, he let me drive the truck through the woods and across the open fields to where the fences needed mending. During the winter, the cattle would use the fence posts to scratch their itching bodies. They would bend and push the fence posts right over. Sometimes the poles would even snap.
It was while mending a broken fence pole that my grandfather had the heart attack. He was in front of me, walking back to the truck after we’d been struggling for ages trying to wrap some barbed wire around a new pole we’d sunk.
The wire had cut and scratched both of us and we were looking forward to getting back to the truck for some Cokes we had in the cooler.
One second his powerful six-foot frame was striding through the spring grass ahead of me and the next second he was lying on the ground gasping for air. I couldn’t believe, how just a few seconds out of sixty-eight years of life, had suddenly aged him ten years. He looked so old and afraid. I’d never seen my grandfather afraid.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. A powerful surge of adrenaline jerked my muscles into motion. I left my grandfather lying in the grass and I ran. First one way, then the other. Then I stopped. I wasn’t sure which way to go. My heart was sending surges of blood into my head. I started crying. I didn’t want him to die. Spending summers with my grandfather got me through life. I didn’t want the days of sitting in the barn and talking about the old times to end. I still wanted to hear stories about the time he and his family escaped from the old country. I could listen to those stories a thousand times. I didn’t want him to go. We still had so many things to talk about.
Then I got angry. Grandfathers weren’t supposed to die when their grandchildren were only fifteeen. I ran back to where he was lying. He was clutching at his chest. His face was drawn back, hideously distorted with pain.
I tried to lift him but he was too heavy. I grabbed his feet and dragged him toward the truck. There was nothing else I could do. I had to save this magnificent man and the only way I was going to do that was by getting him to a doctor.
The adrenaline and fear of losing him must have given me strength I did not normally have, because once we reached the truck, I managed to lift him and half push, half roll him onto the seat.
Even though I was only fifteen, my grandfather had taught me to drive and I drove through the field and bounced across every bump I had so carefully avoided earlier that morning. (While teaching me to drive, he playfully slapped me on the back of the head every time I hit the slightest bump. That wasn’t important anymore.)
I got back to the house and honked the horn madly. As I was about to jump out of the truck and run for help, my grandfather reached up, and with the last bit of strength left in his body, grabbed my shirt collar. He almost choked me as he tried to pull himself up.
"I'm not ready to go" he whispered. I looked at his face. The sweet, kind face that meant so much to me. Those warm eyes that told me stories and listened to my stupid crazy ideas, were slowly fading. The light in them was gone.
Later at the hospital, a terrible pain hugged my soul and squeezed me until I found it hard to breathe. I felt so helpless. If only I could have borrowed some time from the end of my life and given it to him, I would have. I wanted him around for a long time, but my love for my grandfather was no match for the nature of the universe.
That night, while I was asleep, a major heart attack stole the last gasp of life from his very being. The hand of fate reached down and carelessly grabbed his soul, wrenching it painfully from his body. At that moment, his eyes closed forever.
The breeze took my grandfather’s last sigh and carried it through the whispering trees into the winds of time and along with it went my childhood.
Posted by trevor at June 8, 2005 10:03 PM
Comments
That was beautiful... your grandfather's spirit will always be with you.
Posted by: TJ at June 8, 2005 11:57 PM
beautiful
Posted by: Shelley Noble at June 9, 2005 02:22 PM
My grandfather died when I was 12, but fortunately for me I wasn't there when it happened. He lived in Oklahoma and when we went to his funeral the church was packed; there were people standing outside who couldn't get in. He lived a good life and was admired by everyeone in and around Hennepin. I miss him as you do your grandfather, though I lost him 47 years ago. Thanks so much for your poignant story, it speaks to others in ways only they can interpret.
Posted by: Jim at June 10, 2005 12:05 AM
Wise words, TJ. Nothing can take the good memories from you. :D (((Trevor)))
Posted by: yoga at June 12, 2005 05:41 AM
Trevor how intensly moving and wonderful this story is...your memories of your Grandfathers last moments...here on earth...
My only thoughts...are of how when my Mom died after an open-heart operation...that I was unable to attend...that as I was being driven to the hospital...sitting in the back seat...staring out of the window...and just numbling thinking...
I heard my Mom's voice saying..."It's so beautiful"
My Mom did not have a beautiful life...it was one full of anxiety and strife...and defeat...but in death she found beauty...
I would like to put out the idea that your Grandfather...though not ready to leave this world...may have found a better world...and is waiting to show it to you...someday....Love Linda
Posted by: Linda at August 13, 2005 12:07 PM