Dear Grandpa,
It’s quite a dream come true for a kid to grow up across the street from his grandparents. You know when Mom and Dad get aggravated or boring that you can run across the road and be entertained by Grandpa and Grandma. I don’t think growing up that I really fully appreciated the extent to which you and Grandma spoiled us. Somehow I did figure out that I was more likely to get cookies or ice cream if I was at your house than if I were at home. Fond are the memories of spending days in your big recliner reading Ellen’s comic books or sitting in your den playing with all the knick-knacks and memorabilia that you probably wished I wouldn’t play with. At a fairly early age I had memorized your phone number so I could call and ask “Can me and Shadon come over and play?”
I guess looking back, I’m surprised that you tolerated our rambunctious behavior so much. But I’m certainly glad you did. There are the distinct memories of watching you work on things in your shop, riding along with you in your big green tractor while spreading turkey manure in a neighbor’s field, eating bunches of Concorde grapes from the vine in your yard, running to you after meeting for the mints you kept in your pocket, riding along in your old dump truck, and showing off your new garage door opener by telling us to say “open sesame” while you pushed the button behind your back.
Now, in my mid-twenties, a lot of those memories are fading and it’s hard to remember much for specifics. But certainly I had a lot of affection for you at those young ages. You and Grandma were always present and I think my siblings and I happily took advantage of the situation. I’m sure Mom and Dad enjoyed the reprieve, but I’m not sure if the resulting chaos was really worth it for you. I’m pretty confident that there were times you got tired of us, but yet you still let us keep coming back over to pester and play.
Most of the memories that remain vivid now are perhaps the more relevant. I see you on Wednesday nights during my high school years. You often struggled to stand to your feet and to keep your balance when you got there, but you were undeterred. There was the first Sunday of the month when I would hold my breath as you so carefully carried the bread and the cup out of the room. I know those were not easy times for you, but you struggled through them, impelled by love.
Everyone who knows you knows that you are capable of holding up your end of a conversation. I remember as a kid sitting and listening to you talk and talk, as if there were an entire encyclopedia of stories and memories in your head, just fighting to get out. I didn’t think much of it then, but I’m impressed now that the vast majority of the time, all you wanted to talk about was the truth. The friends, the workers, anything about it, because you love it so much. And really that was all you were living for.
I also remember you at Menomonie, telling hundreds of people your memories of being there from a young age. I quickly realized how lucky I was that you were such a man of faith. I felt indebted to you and Grandma, as well as Mom and Dad, for making the choices you made every day. You gave me an incredible opportunity and I can’t imagine life without it.
The last couple years have been hard for you, I know. I feel horrible for not spending enough time with you during them, given all the time you spent with me. I was so amazed at how you doted on Grandma during those years, even though you were hardly able to get around yourself. Grandma was such a lucky lady to have you around. When you were diagnosed with cancer this spring, it was so disheartening because it seemed you were already struggling.
Getting a phone call from Mom this morning, I somehow knew it was bad news. Getting to the hospital, I didn’t know what to think. I knew the prognosis was bad, that there you were, dying right in front of me. I don’t know if you knew I was there. I want to think that you did. I held your hand and would have given anything to feel your fingers squeeze. I didn’t think that would be the last time I’d see you, even though I knew your body was giving out. Somehow, I thought I’d be back to see you one last time. A part of me wished I didn’t have to go to work, that I could just stay there until the end. But I don’t know if I could have handled the anguish to see your son and your daughters watch your life slip away.
I felt strong, even after Mom called me at work to tell me you were gone. I knew it was coming, I wasn’t surprised, and I pretty well took it in stride. I knew it was for the best, that your health had made life hard for you. As I was headed home, I began to wonder, wishing I hadn’t seen you lying in that hospital bed, nearly unrecognizable, but then thinking about Grandma, and how much she must have wished she could have been there at your side. She loved you so much and she couldn’t be there to say goodbye. If I didn’t cry for myself, I cried for her.
All I can think about now is the wonderful life that you gave to God. Paul told Timothy to “Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses.” I can’t think of a better example of someone living this out than you. You fought the good fight of faith, you finished the race, you have kept the faith. Nothing in your life was able to distract you from your highest calling. I prayed for you during your final hours, asking God to call his faithful servant home. I marvel to think that today you have entered into the glory of God, that you have seen the fulfillment of everything you have lived for. Your life has had such a profound impact on so many people and for so many of us, there is a joy in seeing you complete the work you were given. But the greater joy is in heaven: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.”
I can hardly put into words what your life has meant for me. Certainly you have made it very real that “God who cannot lie has said that He will come for me, and take me home to share His joy throughout eternity.” I know that you are now in a place of glory and have no thought to life here on this earth, but I just need to say thank you.
I love you, Grandpa.
Bradley
