The following is the most honest and truthful writing I’ve done in some time, I hope what you read helps you gain some insight into your own life and how you spend your time.
It is with a heavy heart that I write this update. My grandfather who I wrote about earlier this year, passed away Saturday, May 27th. I was staying at my parent’s house for Memorial Day weekend when at 4 am on Saturday morning we received a call from my uncle Jack. I woke up and quickly knew something was wrong, I thought it was my grandmother (Mom’s mom) who is now in a nursing home in Georgetown and had fallen the night before, but after running downstairs and looking at my father I knew it was someone much closer to him. My mom and I sat there holding hands, not sure what my father was being told on the phone. Then we heard those words, “Jack, you know I trust you and mom to make the right decision.” When he got off the phone and we asked what happened he said “Grandpa fell out of the wheelchair and hit is head. He’s at the hospital and he’s not going to make it.” The details were blurry as the words Jack said to my father became surreal and distant. Later we would find out he was reaching for something on the floor when he fell out of his wheelchair, but he felt ok. He ate dinner, visited with some friends that had stopped by to welcome him home from the nursing home, (he was released Thursday) and went to lie down while my grandma went and took a shower. When she came out, she asked him if he wanted some ice cream and he did not answer, he never woke up. He had suffered a sub dermal hematoma and by the time he reached the Hospital in Columbia, Missouri there was two inches of blood on his brain stem. A small puncture hole near the point of impact, but the Coumadin he was on for the heart valve replacement, kept the blood from clotting.
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I saw my father tear up at my sister’s wedding and watching a couple of movies, but never before have I seen him in so much pain. I didn’t know what to do for sure so I did the only thing I could, I tried to switch myself into survival gear. I ran upstairs and started looking for flights online, I found only one that would get us there in the short time he had left. I called Southwest and explained to them the situation and they apologized but said the flight was full, but we could fly standby. Not wanting to take a chance sitting at the airport we decide to drive. We also had the dogs, and with Memorial Day weekend all the kennels were full. I threw some clothes in a bag, even more upset because I didn’t have much clothing at my parents, and nothing for this type of situation. I remembered my suit was in my truck and decided that would have to do. We got a hold of my sister minutes before we left and said we’d pick her up in about 3 hours.
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At 2:30 while stopped for a quick snack and potty break between Tulsa and Joplin, we got the fatal call. Grandpa had passed away around 2 o’clock. I was angry why couldn’t they wait to take him off the ventilator until we got there. My sister and I walked the dogs while my mom and dad consoled each other. Jacky called her husband Brad, and I felt alone. Later we found out they had removed him from the ventilator that morning when they called, as he had already filled out a living will giving specific instructions on this sort of thing. We were told, off the ventilator, he’d make it anywhere from 2 hours to 2 days, in the end he lasted about 10 hours, 3 hours shorter than it took us to get things together and drive.
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In the end, everyone made it to the event except for my sister’s husband and my cousin Heather’s husband who is on the PGA Tour. My cousin Jon and future cousin-in-law Eli, were also absent as they were in Iraq and were not granted leave without waiting 5 days and at their own expense. So they instead had a beautiful bouquet of red Roses, White Mums and blue Carnations delivered to the funereal home.
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My sister and younger cousins worked on a memorial board, filled with photos of grandpa in his early years, his Navy days during WWII, and pictures of and with his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We decided on 2 songs to play during the funeral, “If Heaven” by Andy Griggs and “Going Home,” a song off a Christian cd my uncle had. We also decided to play a selection of songs that didn’t make the final cut for the funeral, during visitation. The mix included instrumental pieces intertwined with songs including, “When I Get Where I’m Going,” “Arms of the Angels,” “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” and “Peace in the Valley.”
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I asked to say something in honor of my grandfather and my uncle Jim chose to as well. Several of my cousins asked to say something as well and then at visitation decided not to. I however was still in survival mode, trying not to cry around my parents or grandma, cooking and cleaning, laundry, taking care of the dogs, anything to keep my mind off the pain. But, when Craig (the lay preacher, performing the service) came by and asked to talk about my grandfather, my guard fell and so did some tears. We told of who he was and things he said. Memories forgotten by some and remembered by others. Stories about how he’d always surprise you with his answers, I told of how right before my sister’s wedding last fall I was happy, but also sad that I wasn’t anywhere near that point in my life and my grandpa said, “You just haven’t found someone worthy of you yet.” Always the antagonist, it was the last thing I thought I’d hear him say.
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It rained the morning of the funereal, stopped for the burial and then rained the majority of the week, an odd occurrence based on the poem I had already chosen to read. They performed the Masonic ceremony during the visitation and he received a military burial including the 7-gun salute and Taps. Until you’ve heard that song played graveside, you haven’t felt its loneliness. Then each grandchild and great-grandchild placed a red Rose on the casket as we walked away, an additional on the other side of the spray represented all the future spouses, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
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It’s sad to think about how everyone always wants to get together, but always finds excuses not to let it happen, and something terrible has to make it happen. Even work is the same way. You can get bereavement when someone passes away, but asking for time off when they’re alive is sometimes like pulling teeth.
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Thank you all who choose to read this. I am including the words I read to my grandfather’s closet family and friends at the funeral, I hope it gives you some insight to the man we knew and loved, Keith Elmo Beale.
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“When I started writing this, I didn’t know where to start. I asked to do this because I wanted to say something about a man who meant so much to me, so much to all of us. But to put into words what the last 26, almost 27 years have meant, I found it truly difficult. Growing up, my sister and I were lucky to be able to visit my grandparents at least once a month. The trips to Lake Norfolk, the holidays, music festivals, state fairs, weddings and of course his overalls. But, most of all I remember my grandfather as a strong man, a man that helped raise my father who along with my mother raised my sister and I into the strong women we are today. I always tell people how vital my parents were in my successes, and sometimes I think we all forget those that taught our parents how to teach us.
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I’ll never forget the smile on his face when he came to Texas last May, and he met Buddy, our American Bulldog. Those of you that know us, know we’ve had a lot of dogs. But, I never saw him love a dog more than Buddy. We even bought a photo of Buddy to him when we came to visit him at Easter and he asked if we had Buddy with us.
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I cried when I thought about how my grandfather wouldn’t be there for weddings, graduations and more great grandchildren or even to criticize or approve of our future husbands and wives. But writing this I realized he won’t miss those things, he’ll have the best seat in the house, and I’m sure, if grandpa doesn’t approve of the man I choose, he’ll find a way to let me know.
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I’d like to read a poem we found this weekend in a Bible my grandfather had at his bedside, it was written by my mother for Easter 1984.
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It is not by my goodness,
That my soul is cleansed free,
For I will always fall short,
Of what I should be.
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But it is by his grace,
That my soul is cleansed free,
For 2000 years ago,
He was nailed to a tree.
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And as he rose up,
So shall my soul,
For his promise I claim,
Some 2000 years old.
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Thank you"
