Grandpa Dick

Grandpa and Grandma during their 50th wedding anniversary celebration in 2008.  That's my Aunt Nicole to their right...and my Mom peeking through behind my Grandpa.  Don't they look super happy, though?

 

I have been very blessed to have grown up with two full sets of grandparents.  One of which lives in the same city I grew up and still live in.  The other, my mom’s parents, always lived far away.  During my younger years, they lived in California…during my older years, in Montana.  As a child I don’t believe I quite comprehended how “lucky” I was to have living grandparents.  And I’d say I very much took it for granted at times (skipping family vacations to visit the far-away set…. For example…)  But as I grew older, I began to notice how many of my friends had lost grandparents at a young age- some before they were born.  Now I knew my grandparents wouldn’t live forever, but there were a few years where time definitely stood still and while I saw my grandparents aging…I didn’t really SEE them nearing the end of life.

Until recently.  I remember when we were moving to South Africa, part of our hesitation in deciding to go or not was the knowledge that our grandparents were getting older and it was highly likely that one or more of them could pass away before we returned.  But we went ahead and took that chance.  While we were there Ben’s grandma died of cancer.  It was a long and horrible decline, but we remained hopeful she would pull through until the very end.  It was sad, it was painful, but it was part of life.  We grieved and we moved through it…thankful for the time God had given us with her.

My four grandparents all appeared to be in relatively good health; however.  And besides a fleeting thought here and there….they pretty much seemed invincible.

When we first moved back from South Africa I wanted to see everyone.  And I tried!  But we didn’t quite make it out to Montana.  We made it within an eight hour’s drive of their home last May/June…but not to their embrace.  We planned to see them this summer at my brother’s wedding in Washington.  I wish we had made that eight hour drive last May/June.

On the morning of Tuesday, February 2, 2012 I received a phone call from my Mom.  She was crying as she told me my Grandpa (her dad) was being rushed to the E.R. for pneumonia, possible heart issues and he couldn’t move his legs.  I was cool.  Kept my calm.  Told my Mom I would pray for him, for her and ask others to pray for her recovery.  I was hopeful.  After all, I hadn’t even known he was sick- so it really couldn’t be that serious…so I thought.  About three hours later my Mom was holding Charlotte when she received a phone call stating my Grandpa had passed away.  My Mom broke down and cried.  Charlotte, in her sweet innocence held tightly to my Mom, patted her back and….laughed.  (Oh sweet girl!  Laughter and crying….they seem interchangeable at times to one so young!)  I held my breath….hoping this wouldn’t upset my mom further.  But she smiled too.  She was thankful for the laughter amidst the pain.  I made the decision then and there that Charlotte and I would also travel to Montana in order to comfort my Mom.

My tears were quick and few.  I didn’t know what to think, how to process this sudden death.  And it became more and more clear to me over the next week and a half…that I didn’t know him.  He didn’t know me.

Do not misunderstand me.  I loved my Grandpa, still do.  

But as I sit here and recall the moments we spent together, the conversations we shared…I can count them on my two hands.  It kind of makes my stomach churn.  And, if I am being honest…it stirs up a little anger.  But that is life.  We cannot be close to everyone.  Not every person we meet and not even every family member.  Do I wish I had known my Grandpa better and him, me?  YES!  Definitely!  But I cannot change the way our lives interchanged.

And so I want to share with you what I do remember, what I do know about my Grandpa Dick:

He was a French man and loved his French heritage.  He even had a curly-que mustache at times.  Very debonair and I think it may have had some part in attracting my Grandma…  When I was younger I wanted to learn French because of him.

My Grandpa was an artist.  He hand crafted beautiful things.  Throughout the week of his wake and funeral, all sorts of people discussed and shared many of his pieces.  I remember when I was little building things with him- often boats to float in the stream that flowed through their front yard!  But one summer I wanted to make something a little more special.  And he helped me build a pretty cross to hang my necklaces on.  My design was so simple!  But he had a more detailed idea in his head…and it certainly turned out beautiful.  Definitely something I treasure.  It still stands on my dresser, adorned with my “jewels.”  I have a few other items he made for me which I will share in photos…  

 

His famous cross necklace he crafted for so many...

 

I used to love dolphins when I was little....so Grandpa made me this little keepsake box.

A rattle for Charlotte made from South African wood...

  

The jewelry box he made me when I was probably 8 years old or so...

I packed it full of all of my girlhood treasures and keepsakes...

He made me a quilt rack when I was probably Charlotte's size...see her in the background?  Grandma painted the Raggedy Ann and Andy decals...

A cross wall hanging piece.  The gift Grandpa gave us for our wedding...

I don’t know where he was in the process, but he was at one time creating for me a stained glass design for the center of my coffee table.  We discussed and debated the design for quite some time via email.  I still have most of those emails saved!  I think we had settled on some South African flowers from some photos I had taken.  While I will probably never see it, I know it would have been lovely too.

My Grandpa’s woodshop was his haven.  He spent his days out in that garage.  Building and crafting.  He called himself a “perfectionist.”   And one time he said that he thought I had inherited that “perfectionism.”  I liked that he thought I inherited a trait of his.

My Grandpa was very devoted to my Grandma.  They were always by each other’s side.  And from my Mom’s childhood stories, it sounds like they often were off in their “own little world”…even with a house full of children!

This photo was taken at my wedding.  Kinda cracks me up because Grandpa is not sporting his classic grin.  I think he is much more comfortable in jeans and a button-up western shirt...

He called me Mandy.  And he never really liked the fact I called him “Grandpa.”  All of the other grandkids (who lived closer to him) called him Grandpa Sawdust or Bop….

He had a good sense of humor.  I remember his laugh being deep and his smile being wide.  His eyes certainly lit up when he smiled and laughed.  And he often leaned back when he did so…as if to feel the laughter a little more deeply.

There's that smile.  That's how I remember my Grandpa...

I remember the Christmas my Grandparents came out to celebrate with us.  I was in 9^th grade and dealing with the typical dramas of a teenage girl’s life (boys, friends, etc.).  I wasn’t sure what I would do to “have fun” with my grandparents during their visit.  But my Grandpa ended up having a pretty good idea.  He taught me to play the card game, “Crazy 8.”  Our favorite suit was “diamonds.”  My Grandpa would always sing, “diamonds…are a girl’s best friend…” whenever the suit was played.  Anyway…Ben reminded me that when we were dating we also played Crazy 8’s a lot (post-Grandpa’s visit!!) and I also sang “diamonds…are a girl’s best friend” whenever the suit was played.  So there’s another little part of my Grandpa I have held on to...

I know there is so much more to my Grandpa than I will ever know.  And while there’s that icky tug of regret for lost moments, I am thankful for those we did share.