The announcement came over the PA system from the stewardess that it was once again okay to use electronic devices.
The plane was about half full, and I was lucky to have a row to myself, seating myself next to the window. My mom has many times wondered why someone with long legs would ever want to sit by the window, but it's the seat I choose any time it's available. I guess I've always traded cramped legs for the chance to watch the landscape crawl past below. Plus, I'm the person that tucks the blankets in beneath them when they sleep. I think I just like the feeling of small spaces and tight quarters.
Coach lay quiet and in the dark, aside from a few reading lights scattered throughout the cabin still lit. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one unable to sleep at 2am. I fumbled around with my backpack between my legs until I was able to slide my laptop case out from between a pair of shoes and some books. I reclined my seat as far as it would go, slid the headphones over my ears, and spent the next 2 hours watching one of my favorite movies, The Darjeeling Limited. The narrative follows 3 brothers taking a train through India, seeking to reconnect after the death of their father.
Ultimately, it's a story about letting go.
I got the call a few weeks earlier from my mom, and the news wasn't good. Back in November, my Grandpa's back had started to act up on him, and it progressively got worse. My updates came through phone calls and emails from my Mom, describing frustration over my Grandpa's declining condition even after repeated visits to doctors, and their inability to come up with a clearer idea of what was causing the pain beyond "a pinched nerve". While I never verbalized it to anyone, I knew it was much worse than that.
I'm 26 years old, and for every single one of those years, I've spent Christmas Eve with my family at my grandparent's house. Even as the years wear on, schedules become crazier, people begin moving away, and life continues to evolve, the one constant each year has always been Christmas Eve. My Grandma cooks up a feast fit for kings, my Uncle makes drinks and tells jokes that are sometimes so bad they're hilarious, and the rest of us sit around watching A Christmas Story, playing cards, and in general just enjoying being back together as a family again. At the absolute center of that has always been my Grandpa. Each year I wait with great anticipation until we're given the all clear to head into the living room filled with boxes of every shape, size and color. I won't pretend like I'm not excited for the presents, but even more-so, it's because we've sat in same spots since we were little kids, and that means I've always sat next to my Grandpa.
To describe my Grandpa is to describe a generation. He grew up in a world paralyzed by the Great Depression, and it showed in the slippers and jackets he would rather duct-tape together than throw away and replace with new ones. Grumpy, but with a wink, he was the ultimate teddy bear who pretended like he never wanted anyone else to find out. I owe much of my love of sports to him, as so many of my memories growing up being at their house revolve around watching golf with him on TV, knocking golf balls around the family room with the putters he always kept stored next to the garage door, and playing pickle in the backyard with him and my brother. Watching baseball games with him was always an adventure, as it meant the TV would be muted because "those damn announcers never talk about the game". And yet two seconds later, he'd be telling the story of how he was at a Brewers game at County Stadium way back in the day, listening to Bob Uecker call the game on the small battery-powered radio he brought in with him. Sitting along the second-deck railing down the third base line, he heard the crack of the bat as a foul ball came directly towards him. He leaned, risking his life as any fan does just for a chance to get a finger on a baseball, and caught it with outstretched hands over the railing. At this point in the story his eyes light up, as he tells you that only seconds later, he hears Bob Uecker's voice come across the radio waves and exclaim, "Oh and a fan just made a FANTASTIC catch of that foul ball down the line!" To this day I can picture the dresser drawer in his room where he kept the ball. As an adult, it's the story more than any other that stands out from all the ones he's told.
As a child, it was my favorite story about my hero.
The dishes were just about done when my mom popped her head into the living room to let us know it was time. We all sprang to our feet, quickly scurried into the living room, and assumed our spots around the room. Working around the room, my mom always sits in the chair next to the tree, Grandma in the chair to her right, me in the middle of the couch along the back wall with my grandpa to my left and brother to my right, Dad in the chair to our right, Aunt in the chair next to him along the side wall, Uncle in the chair next to her, and my sister and cousins scattered on the floor.
My heart sank as my Grandpa, weakened so much by the immobility that had come as a result of his back pain, slowly shuffled into the room and tried to get comfortable in the chair my uncle usually sat in. I'll never forget how different it felt with him not there on the couch, throwing wrapping paper around the room, pinching my knee until I beg him to stop, and getting excited each and every year when he opened his favorite present, the one filled with the ultimate sampler of sausages and cheese. I never realized until that moment how much of my joy each and every Christmas Eve came simply from him being there next to me. In those moments, it was the first time Christmas Eve ever felt different.
Yet looking back, it'll be the last time it ever felt the same.
For weeks I had dreaded picking up the phone whenever I saw my Mom's name pop up, fearing it would be the news I had already been expecting. She told me that after further tests, they had finally found the root of his pain. His prostate cancer that they had been effectively treating for the past few years had unknowingly spread, and was now in his lungs and bones, causing him the extreme discomfort in his back. A very similar storyline had played out just a few years earlier with my Grandpa on my Dad's side, and somehow from the moment I heard something was wrong, I knew history was going to repeat itself. At Christmas I had a Grandpa with a very sore back, a month later I had a Grandpa who wasn't going to be around for much longer. The conversation with my Mom quickly turned to flying me home to see him. With his condition worsening, he had been taken to the emergency room a few days earlier, and was now staying at the hospital for the foreseeable future, or at least until they could get his pain under control. She gave me his phone number at the hospital, which I called often during my lunch breaks over the days that followed. I knew how much he was constantly being asked how he felt, so I did my best to take his mind off all that and keep him company, talking about hiking mountains, being embarrassed around cute nurses, and golf.
A few weeks later I found myself watching a movie at 2am on a plane somewhere over Montana. His condition had worsened even more during those two weeks, to the point that I was sure I had missed my chance of ever seeing him again when, after landing, I turned my phone back on and saw a text from my Mom at 5:50 in the morning telling me to call her when I got in. My Mom is rarely-if-ever awake at that time, let alone texting, so I immediately feared the worst. My memories return to me in all different levels of detail, but one that is as real to me now as it was in the moment was when I called her back. I was on a moving sidewalk just after getting off the plane, my hands shaking as I pushed send. It only took hearing her say "hello" to know that he was still alive. My heart started beating again as she told me how they almost lost him overnight, but were since able to stabilize him.
You quickly realize what an unpredictably beautiful mystery life can be, when hearing that your Grandpa almost died brings unspeakable joy to your heart.
I had planned on getting picked up by a friend, but my parents were already on their way into town from Madison after hearing the news themselves, and just a few minutes later I saw my Dad pull up outside through the baggage claim windows. He had already dropped my Mom off at the hospital, and we were charged with the task of running a few errands before heading to the hospital ourselves. I was in desperate need for comfort food, and I think my Dad could tell, because not more than 20 minutes later the waitress was dropping off a plate full of french toast in front of me at George Webb. It was nice to have a little time to regroup after traveling all night, and more than anything, just enjoy getting to sit and talk with my Dad for a few minutes.
For the better part of that day and the couple that followed while I was in town, I spent time in my Grandpa's room at the hospital. My Aunt and Uncle were often times there as well, along with my parents, and of course, my Grandma.
My grandparents relationship was probably in a lot of ways very stereotypical of the era they came from. My Grandpa was the provider, my Grandma the caretaker. My Grandma is absolutely the most sweet, selfless, loving person I have ever met, and the perfect match to deal with the grumpy teddy bear that was my Grandpa. She kept him cared for, and he kept that little smirk on her face every time, no matter how grumpy he might act, he'd make some little comment to get her to smile and say with just the right amount of playful scolding, "Oh Don..."
One of the first things I noticed was how being in the hospital setting was an incredibly difficult thing for both of them to deal with. My Grandpa was a little more grump and a little less teddy bear than usual, and my Grandma was doing everything she could to help him. It was then more than ever before that I saw them at their most vulnerable, as he was no longer in a position to be able to provide for her, and she was much less capable of taking care of him. Yet even with the loss of roles that had been 50+ years in the making, their love for each other shone through the pain. My Grandma would sit for hours beside him on the bed, holding his hand, with a loving concern in her eyes as she watched him while he napped throughout the day. Her gaze rarely, if ever, wandered from his. When all else was stripped away, even the very core of what they have always been for one another, it was still so obvious what an incredible love they shared. The memory that will forever remind me of this came from something as seemingly insignificant as her combing his hair. My Grandpa was just a shell of himself at that point, weakened and pale from months of immobility and pain, but he wasn't going to let that be an excuse to look disheveled. He would ask my Grandma to comb his hair, as much for a comforting massage as it was to give her a way to still care for him. I can't even describe the way the twinkle would return to his eyes, the smile to his face, the moment that comb touched his head. True love can be found in something as big as a lifetime of memories.
...and something as little as a comb
It was cloudy and near nightfall as my flight back to Seattle took off, my window view nothing more than blotches of gray and black. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the headrest for a moment as we continued to climb, only to re-open them to one of the most beautiful scenes I've ever laid eyes on. It seems cruel that sunsets are often times hidden from view behind a veil of clouds, and I counted myself lucky to be flying above them. Streaks of orange and yellow stretched out across the violet horizon, with the clouds below topped by the faintest shade of pink, as if sprinkled down from the heavens. After taking it all in, I dove into a book and zoned out for an hour or so, before once again gazing out the window, and to my surprise, finding myself greeted by the very same sunset as an hour ago. I quickly realized that with the speed we were traveling, we were essentially chasing the sunset west across the landscape. It ended up lasting well over 2 hours, and I became overwhelmed by the story I was being told in that moment. Life itself is a game of chasing sunsets, as the most beautiful moments, the ones we never want to see come to an end, are so often the most fleeting. In one way or another, we all spend our lifetimes trying to find that perfect speed, that random combination, that special key, that'll make our sunsets go on forever. Not everyone figures it out, but I believe my grandparents did. For the entirety of my life, I have only ever known them as loving, happy, and content, enjoying the endless beauty of the sunset that was their life together.
A few weeks later on my drive to work in Tacoma, my phone started vibrating, alerting me to the call coming in. I knew as soon as I saw that it was from my Dad that I had seen my Grandpa for the last time.
He had passed away in his sleep the night before.
Back while I was visiting, there was a moment where I found myself alone in the room with my Grandpa as he slowly dozed off. A few minutes later he snapped back awake, looked right at me, and asked "did you get an autograph?" He blinked a few more times, realized he was awake, and explained to me he had just been dreaming about getting a baseball player's autograph. It was such a comfort to know that, even amidst all the fear and pain of dying, he was dreaming happy dreams of his childhood heroes. My Grandma later told me the same thing happened when she was with him, as he woke up and told her he dreamed the Hall of Fame coach Don Nelson had come to visit him in the hospital.
......
My Grandpa always spoke about wanting his ashes spread on his favorite hole at his favorite golf course, describing how beautiful it looked. I'd like to think the dream he had on his last night was playing a round of golf where every hole looked exactly like his favorite one. And as his soul moved from his physical home to his spiritual one, he finds God waiting for him at the next tee box. God welcomes my Grandpa with a warm hug and a booming laugh, and asks if He can join in for the rest of the round. My Grandpa happily agrees, and with a big smile, hits a beautiful tee shot, pain free, right down the middle of the fairway.
Just as the sun begins to set.
-Alex
