Something You Never Want To Think About...

...is Death.

Or rather, a death in the family.

Truly, it IS something one never likes to think about. Death really is an ugly thing; not how you die, but why it happens. I mean, your heart stops beating, you cease to breathe, all higher brain functions cease, and you begin to rot from the inside out. Its cause of all the bacteria that live in your body, and all the creatures that go "Ooh! Dead meat!! NOM NOM" after you cease to exist. It's a frightening prospect when you think about it, having creatures crawl all over your flesh, in and out of your body, reproducing and eating away at you until you're nothing but a pile of bones stuck in a casket. It's bothersome, thinking that that will happen some day.

Even worse, death takes us by surprise. No matter how ready you think you are for it, learning someone close to you (or just someone you know) has died is like Life pulling back its arm and socking you in the stomach. That's what it feels like. Pure shock. It's kind of like having a baby: you prepare and you prepare, and then you prepare some more, but when the big day comes you go "WTF AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!" and then you deal with it. But see, death is harder to cope with because, instead of bringing a new life into the world, life is taken out of the world. Then we have to deal with funerals, caskets, and how to tell the family what happened. When the funeral rolls around, you have a roomful of people sobbing and holding each other, which is just awkward. I've made up my mind though: When I die, I want to be cremated, and have a preacher say a few words, then at the reception, I want plenty of wine and a band playing some good old King Oliver dixieland jazz. Like a New Orleans funeral. None of this "dressing in black and sobbing" stuff.

I'm talking about this because, recently, my grandfather died. Recently being Saturday. We knew it was coming, and we understood that it had to happen, either before or after Christmas. We hoped he would be around till New Year's, but fate has a funny way of going "F*** you!" and kicking your hopes in the groin. I wasn't expecting it. I thought I was in the homestretch, finals were in sight, and last-minute tests in my classes were coming to a close. Then, Saturday, as my friends and I readied ourselves for a drive-through safari, my dad calls.
That's weird...dad usually doesn't call this early in the day. I thought. But I picked up the phone, stepped out of the car (we were still in the parking lot), and talked to him. He told me hello, asked me where I was, then proceeded to give the WORST news one could possibly receive on a sunny, cool Saturday morning. "Hey sweets, your granddad died this morning. Went to bed last night and never woke up."

My breath caught, my heart stopped for a split second, and I sort of hung there outside of the car for a minute, not saying anything. I could hear my friends behind me trying to get things set up in the car, so I moved away. I realized I had to get everything with my teachers sorted out by Monday (today) of this week so I could attend the funeral. But through all of that, one thought prevailed. My Granddad is Dead.

After I got off the phone, I just sort of stood there, then moved to the fence and hung over it as I started to cry. My friend walked over and asked me what was wrong, and I dropped the bombshell on her, who immediately wrapped her arms around me and began to walk me over to the car. I didn't discuss it for the rest of the trip.

When I got home that night I vlogged about it, talking about how cool he had been, and how much I would miss him. I wondered whether or not I should have gone up to Nebraska over Thanksgiving weekend to say one last goodbye before...before the inevitable happened. But then I stopped and realized something. I know, right now, he's up there watching me. I may be questioning my faith as a Christian (in truth, I can't really call myself one now), but I think there's an afterlife...and I think he's somewhere, in some other world, watching. Now he can watch me grow, listen to me play piano, and make sure I don't get into any trouble...all of these things he could never watch me do because we lived so far away. And that made me happy.

He had been raised near Foster Creek, NE ("Foster crick" as he would say), and would always tell me funny stories about how once he caught a bear down there, just using a piece of fishing line and a fish. He told me how to catch moose in Colorado (they have a cabin in Grand Lake) by rigging a line that would drop salt on its tail (somehow this would pacify the moose, I have yet to try this). When I was going through my dinosaur craze when I was little, he would tell me he once fought a T-Rex with his bare hands, and took him out with one punch:
"This hand!" he said, pointing to his right one. "This hand took him out. Best be careful. I have a registered license for this hand, it's so dangerous."
I'd say "Granddad, there are no dinosaurs now!"
"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure I beat one! But he got away before I could catch 'im." I'd laugh and try to tell him stuff like that didn't exist, but he didn't care. Of course, all of these stories were stories to tease me with (which he would do all the time) and keep me entertained when I was bored.  He still told me stories like that even after I got to old to hear them. The last time I spoke to him on the phone (Thanksgiving week), he said he couldn't hear me, so I said "I'll put my mouth closer to the phone, then!" He replied "Be careful! You might bite it! I lost five teeth that way!"

He was a brilliant pediatric surgeon before retirement, was in the Marines, and was probably the most stubborn and headstrong person I've ever known (aside from my dad...his son). By the end he was having people do everything for him: feed him, clothe him, take him to the toilet...an insult to someone with his personality.

I won't remember that though. I'll remember the stories, the smell of pipe smoke and old cologne, the moose-baiting stories and how he once punched out a T-Rex with his bare hands. I'll remember how he always had something nice to say about my piano playing, even when I didn't do that well.
Moreover, I'll remember he was my granddad: I will never forget him, and I will always love him.


To you Granddad - From your Granddaughter with all the love in the world.