Last week I got the call that my grandpa was not doing well and was in the hospital. I had a shoot that day in downtown Austin, but went to the hospital immediately after. When I got there it was just me, my grandma, and my sister, Danielle. My grandpa was laying there with one of those breathing machines on trying to sleep. I always remembered him as a big guy, but this time he looked very thin. He wasn't rail thin or what I would call skinny. He was just so much smaller than I remembered him being. His hands looked frail and soft, not the big, hard working hands I remembered from my childhood. He was sick and it showed. We sat there and visited with my grandma. We call her Granny Sue. She looked tired. We talked and chatted for about an hour or so, and then I headed home. On the way home, I wept. How could my big strong grandpa be so thin and sick? This was a man that was always moving around doing stuff, tending to the chickens, building furniture, working on ATVs, planting and so many other things. He was a moving around kind of guy. He also loved watching westerns. All these memories poured through my mind as I watched him lay there trying to sleep. The hum of the machine would periodically bring me back to current and to the conversation with my Granny Sue and Danielle.
He was moved to hospice center in Austin called The Christopher House. He was moved there 3 days ago. I hadn't been to visit at that facility yet.Yesterday I got the call around 2:00 that they were giving him about an hour to live. I was finishing up some stuff at work so that I could leave. It was pouring down rain very heavy for about 30 minutes, so I also wanted to wait for that to pass. I was just about to leave when Danielle called me to tell me he was gone. I wept a bit and then left work to head up there. I turned the wrong way down MLK Blvd and ended up on campus. Oh what a terrible time to be on campus. College kids Everywhere. In Austin a lot of streets are one way, so it's hard to get turned back around. A 10 minute drive took me about 45 minutes. When I got there, I walked right passed my aunt. She didn't recognize me. We went totally opposite directions as adults. We are only 11 months apart and we were VERY close to each other when we were children. I remember at the family reunion this past summer when I saw her, I had to walk away so that I could cry. I hadn't seen her in probably 10 years. She looked unhealthy. I could tell she was on drugs. She was dirty. Her hands were dirty, and her fingernails were jagged and had dirt under them. How did my very beautiful aunt turn into this adult? As I walked past her yesterday, I felt that she was probably on drugs. She looked directly at me as she lit her cigarette. I made eye contact, but continued walking. I went in the room where my grandpa was lying on a bed. Family was all around in chairs, and no one was really talking much. As I entered the room I hugged 2 of my aunts, and then went directly to his bed side. He looked pale which is to be expected. I put my hands on his arm. He was cool to the touch, but not yet cold. I knelt down beside the bed, still touching his arm. I looked at his face a wept. I cry without making a sound, not always, but most of the time. Tears streamed down my face as I remembered so many things about him that I would miss. He looked so much older than he did when I was a kid, but it was still him. We spent a lot of time over at their house as kids, but as we grew up we didn't visit as often as we should have. I regret that now. Knelt beside his bed, it was now real to me. He's gone.
I sat around the room with my Aunt Mackie, her brother, Randy, his wife Melissa, Mackie's kids, Chase, Cole and his wife, Heather, and my Granny Sue. We chit chatted, reminisced, and then one of my cousins (either Cole or Chase) busted out in song. My grandpa would always sing the craziest songs. We couldn't remember all of the words, but together we were able to piece together most of a song he would sing about meeting a giant who has a box about an acre square...he kept his money in there...come a time come a tippy time a day. I have no idea if he made that up or what. We sang the chicken song as well. Oooooh I had a little chicken and he wouldn't lay and egg so I poured hot water up and down his leg. Oh the little chicken hollered and the little chicken begged and the poor little chicken laid a hard boiled egg. The tune that the ice cream truck plays is to the tune of that song. I think of him every time I hear and ice cream truck. :) He was quite the prankster and jokester. We talked about silly things he'd done. We talked about the whoopin' Shelly (the aunt I passed on the way in to the building) and I got because we were jumping off the pool house into the pool. We had been watching Randy, my uncle do it. He was only a few years older than Shelly and I. He had been jumping off the pool house, but we are the ones that got caught doing it. And that may have been the only whoopin' I ever got from him. We talked about old times, good times, memories, and butt whoopin's. We tried our best to sing his crazy songs. It was good. He won't be forgotten. He was a saved Christian, and he was sick. I know where he is, and that he's no longer sick. What more could I possibly ask for?
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