"Grandpa Smitty," 1909-2007
This past Tuesday I got a phone call at work at a little after 10:00 a.m. "Grandpa got his wish," was all my mom could say. Well over two years after a diagnosis of congestive heart failure and the doctor's giving him six months to live, my maternal Grandfather finally passed on. He had just turned 98. His final act of kindness to my grandmother was to wait till the first day of spring, as he knew she couldn't bear watching them lower his coffin to into the cold hard winter earth.
I was privileged to have been able to help care for Grandpa and Grandma in their home for several months during 2005. During that time and many times since I was a witness to their tenderness and love for one another. It is a blessing I will never forget.
I loved watching them touch and kiss and especially loved seeing them hold hands across their respective armchairs. My favorite part of the mornings was every time Grandpa would go back to bed. I would scoot around Grandma to the other side of the bed and help her tuck him in; then give him a kiss on the forehead after she kissed him goodnight. Grandma always said, "It's double or nothing." I noticed how sometimes they would kiss and then they would keep going back in for more. They just didn't want to let go of each other.
Many times I caught the worried and fearful look behind Grandma's eyes on those days Grandpa wasn't feeling well enough to get up at all or when she'd asked him to stay up a little while and he just couldn't do it. But one morning I learned how that feeling was reciprocated. Grandma had gotten up early that day and found Grandpa still sleeping--it was one of those dark and dreary days that were meant to be slept away. Grandma went back upstairs and made her bed and got to work on some other things. Meanwhile Grandpa had got up and been puzzled not to find her up waiting for him and on him already. It was almost 8:00 and he started to really worry that something had happened to her. He said to me "I wondered what I was ever going to do without her!"
Grandpa was such a good example of not complaining. The closest he ever came was when he would tell my husband in a wistful voice, "Growing old ain't for sissies!" Every day he would sit in the chair and patiently let me hook him up to the pulse oximeter and the blood pressure cuff and he would wait for the machine to tell him what he already knew--it wasn't going to be today. Sometimes he would be almost apologetic about not feeling well enough to do much more than sleep--and on a good day watch a little TV. On those days I would try to reassure him that at his age and with the active life he had led for almost a century, surely he had earned a little rest.
Grandpa kept his sense of humor and used it wisely to get out of irritating situations. In one instance I remember he was having a bad day and Grandma was fussing over him, trying to test his oxygen tube where it went into his nose. (Even back then Grandpa was so tired of the oxygen tube.) They sort of tussled over it and he finally said, "Why don't you just wrap it around like that [he wrapped it around his neck] and get it over with!" Then he smiled at her tenderly and they hugged. She kissed him softly as she tucked him in. The entire time his tone of voice was one of patience and long suffering.
Watching both Grandpa and Grandma taught me a lot about what it really means to "endure to the end." Sometimes it's not only about staying good or being long suffering. Sometimes it's just about patiently waiting. I'm sure I can hardly begin to comprehend how that must be at the ages of 90 and 98.
One of my favorite experiences was when Grandpa slyly asked Grandma her opinion about something. Of course she started to give it to him. Then with a big grin on his face he pointed to his lack of hearing aids and therefore his obvious inability to hear one word she said on the subject. We all got a good laugh over that one.
June 8, 2005: Grandma said that Grandpa was asking about how Mom's house is coming. Grandma told him the latest she heard was that it wouldn't be finished until December. Grandpa then asked "Will we have to move in December?" Grandma assured him that they could stay in their home as long as they wanted. But I was struck by the sad irony of Grandpa one day waiting patiently--wondering when it will be his time to go--and another day worrying about something as far away as December.
Over that summer I spent a few nights with them while my mom, who lived with them and managed their care, was away. One night as I arrived I noticed there was trouble with one of the lamps blinking on and off. I was amused both by Grandpa (who had already removed his hearing aids before going to bed for the night) saying "give me a holler if you run into any trouble," and by Grandma joking with us that the light going on and off certainly did not mean she entertaining any boyfriends.
Another day I had spent over 1 1/2 hours trying to clear up a billing issue and the cancellation of an accidental death insurance policy. To authorize everything, however, the company required I put Grandpa on the phone to cancel the policy. He couldn't hear a thing, even when I repeated back what the CSR had said. Afterwards he said it would have been easier to have just been killed.
Grandpa once said, in regards to his age, "Sometimes I'm even looking forward to reaching 100...but not very often."
The last time I saw Grandpa, Grandma had not been feeling well. Grandpa wasn’t really sure where he was and the evening was difficult for all of us. In spite of all his frustrations, Grandpa finally calmed down enough to ask Grandma simply, "What do you want me to do?' Eventually he settled down and went to bed, but not without telling me to make sure Grandma went to bed, too. And telling Grandma one more time how much he loved her.
My first thoughts when I heard the news were, "What a great party!" When you live to be 98 you probably know more people on the other side than people left here on earth. And in Grandpa's case there was reason to rejoice. His father, who was born on the trail to Utah, was 60 years old when my grandfather was born. Grandpa was one of the last living immediate sons of the pioneers. Loved ones from generations past would surely praise his name for his great efforts to record their histories. We know their names--we know them--because he shared their stories.
So now I share his. Just a few brief paragraphs are inadequate to tell the story of almost a century of a good man's life. No, Grandpa, growing old ain't for sissies. But you did it with courage and kindness and a tenderness toward grandmother that was an honor to witness.
Thanks Grandpa, for the example of a life well lived. I know you often wondered why it took so long. And I don’t know. But I am deeply grateful for every single one of those kisses goodnight I was blessed to bestow upon your forehead and for all you taught me while you were waiting to go home.
Rest in peace.
