Goodbyes.

(Previously posted on August 31, 2009 on another site.)

David's grandfather died yesterday. This wasn't unexpected. He was 93, and the slow decline he had been in for months had started accelerating rapidly as of late. But still, we're reeling. That's the funny thing about death. There isn't anything more certain in this world, yet we're all taken by surprise when it comes. For all its certainty, it's mysterious and unknowable.

Earlier in the week we told our kids that Grandpa Wayne was not doing well, and that he would be dying soon. Sabrina immediately burst into tears and said, "I don't want him to die!" Rose was quiet. She sat for a while, and then said, "Well, he was very old wasn't he?" "Yes, dear, quite old." "Well, at least he had a long life and a family he loved . . . Did he have a will?" Calvin said nothing, just frowned quietly. I asked him if he was okay. He replied, "Can we watch Wipeout? I think it'll make me feel better." I said sure, and we all sat together as a family watching and laughing as people bit the dust on big red balls. Calvin was right; it did make us feel better.

Grandpa Wayne (or Big Paw-Paw as my kids called him, derived from a two-year-old's attempt to say Great Grandpa) lived a long life, well-loved by his family. David remembers spending a week of his summer every year with his grandparents and trips to see the Queen Mary, the Spruce Goose, and Disneyland. David's sister loved spending time talking music with him, a special love that they both shared.

He was a musician in the Navy in World War II playing the string bass. He traveled all over the world performing for the troops. Afterwards he toured America with a band. But he didn't really enjoy traveling, and once he settled down and got married to David's grandma, he was happy to live a quiet life, never venturing far from home.

After his life as a musician, he became, in his words, "a bean counter" for Rocketdyne and seemed quite satisfied. It always seemed strange to me the juxtaposition of those two seemingly diametrically opposed professions, but people are complicated, are they not? And he was just as content "bean counting" as he had been playing in a band.

His economy and thrift showed up in his ability to fix almost anything. He would rather do something himself than pay someone to do it for him. Having seen this attribute in my grandparents also, I would guess that some of that was instilled from having lived through the Great Depression. You either fixed things yourself, or did without. He fixed sprinklers, bikes, cars. He changed his own oil and spark plugs, adjusted the timing, worked on carburetors, and even taught David some of the same things.

He also picked up woodworking after he retired. Self-taught, he became an expert at making things appear out of solid blocks of wood. He started with tables and chairs and progressed to more decorative stuff. I once commented how I would love to have a bookcase, and not long afterward one was delivered. We also have a gorgeous wine rack and a curio cabinet made by him. Eventually, he carved figurines and a relief of the Nativity. Quite amazing.

Although I recall seeing him play his string bass only once or twice, I do remember him playing big band tunes on his organ. He so enjoyed playing that organ that even after most of his memory was gone, his fingers knew what to do, and he could sit and play that organ for hours. I remember one time going to visit him, and he sat down to play us a song. As soon as it was over, he turned to us and said, "You know, I have a song that you'll like," and proceeded to play the exact same song again. He played that song for us at least three more times that visit.

It is so sad to see a person's memory slipping away. What makes you, you if all the memories you've stored up over a lifetime are gone? Stroke, dementia, or Alzheimer's, it doesn't matter what you call it. The end result is the same and just as heartbreaking.

But even though the Grandpa Wayne we knew had been long gone due to memory damage, we're mourning the loss of the man he used to be. So goodbye Big Paw-Paw. I'm glad you finally get to see your beloved wife once more.