Friday, January 21, 2011

6. Tell Your Story.

"11 years later I still don't have alot of words to describe what it was like to hold my grandfather's hand as he passed away. He was so kind and loving and he always had our best interests at heart. Some people remember him for other things but I remember him taking us back in his ratty old truck to feed the fish in the pond and playing his guitar and always reading us the Bible when we spent the night. I remember him eating a huge piece of my 15th birthday cake, even though he hadn't heaten in days and felt awful in the hopsital, just because I asked him to. I remember him always saying "Here's Hungry!" whenever I walked in the door and telling me he was so poor as a kid he had to be his team's "Nickleback". I remember his love of orance slices, Taco Bell and always wearing khaki pants and shirts. I remember finding his "Rape Crisis Center Volunteer" badge in his truck and asking him what it was. I was too little to understand what it meant, but he just said "Sometimes just being there for people is what is important. Finding out about his life now is fascinating. He went through so much and worked so hard and still raised an amazing family. I just regret not talking to him about it personally. I still miss him alot and I'm sad my own kids won't be able to meet him. But I'm so glad Clyde Brown was my Pap-paw. I couldn't have asked for a better one."

I posted that on my facebook today. It has almost been 11 years since my Pap-paw passed away... it will be in just a couple of hours. I remember that day so vividly- but at the same time it feels like a fog.

My Pap-paw had been in the hospital since October. I remember going to see him in Logan Memorial just after the Tobacco Festival of that year. It was cold and rainy that day. Not long after that he was transferred to The Medical Center in Bowling Green. I don't really remember visiting him much there, but I'm sure we did. After that he was moved to a local rehab center. My 15th birthday fell about that time and I took him a huge piece of cake I'd made myself. It had white icing with pink and purple flowers. I remember the piece of cake filling a Cool Whip bowl and he ate every bit of it- just because I asked him to. When Pap-paw didn't feel good he rarely ate. It's hard to explain that, but he just didn't have an appetite, but he always ate for me. And he always asked for my mom's butterscotch brownies. For a year or so afterwards I couldn't eat one. It made me too sad.

What's odd about my Pap-paw's stay in the rehab center was that my grandmother (from my dad's side) had a joint replacement about that time and they we both in the facility over Thanksgiving. Both sides of my family came together for a huge Thanksgiving meal. Normally they'd have a few family members here or there come in for holiday meals, but they had to give us the entire cafeteria! We took alot of pictures that day, but we didn't get one of all the grandkids and Pap-paw. I always regret that.

After some time in the rehab facility, my Pap-paw was moved to another hospital in Bowling Green. This is when I feel like I really screwed up as his granddaughter. I didn't go visit very often... in fact I can only remember going once. A 45 minute drive is not an excuse to me. If I had asked, my parents would have taken me.

I was a freshman in high school in Clarksville, Tennessee about that time and everyday I rode home with another girl from my hometown. One afternoon, January 21st, to be exact, my dad's car was in the pick-up line. "Your grandfather is sicker. We have to go to Bowling Green" he said.

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. The doctors had agreed. They said he was getting stronger and he was going to be coming home on the following Wednesday. Here it was Friday and suddenly he was sick again. It didn't make sense.

We drove home the 30 minutes home and my dad and I met my Aunt Donna to continue the other 45 minutes to the hospital. I remember taking a huge book I was reading about 3 orphans on an orphan train. When we got there we went to the ICU waiting room. My mom was already there and was back with him, along with my other aunts and my grandma. A little while later, they came out and several of us went to dinner. I remember we ate at Hometown Buffet and I ate alot of noodle salad. In the car we called my sister and I told her Pap-paw seemed to be doing better- which is what everyone said.

Later that night the nurses called immediate family back. I don't know the details but suddenly things were very serious. We were told it was only a matter of time. I stayed in the waiting room with my dad and my Aunt Donna. I remember crying "Someone tell him it's okay to go!" Finally my mom decided she wanted the rest of us back there. I walked down the corridor into his room. I remember my aunts crying and I moved up the side of his head. My mom was across from me holding his hand and I took his other one. My grandmother was cradling his head and crying. My two aunts were at his feet. I vaguely remember what happened next. I know he squeezed my hand once, and he made eye contact with me. I remember the nurse coming to turn off the machines that were helping him breathe and I remember calling my sister to tell her he'd passed away... a far cry from the conversation we'd had earlier in the night.

And then, my next memory is sitting in the elevator bay, outside the waiting room with my cousing Patrick. He had gotten to the hopsital with my two uncles too late. They hadn't gotten to say goodbye. But Patrick was sitting there with me as the funeral home man came in with his gurney. Then Patrick and I walked down to start everyone's cars. It was about 2 in the morning at this point, January and he was about 16. We were going to warm up the cars as the adults signed the appropriate papers and got my grandmother gathered up to go home and I turned to Patrick and said "This sucks."

11 years later, those words have rolled through my head all day. This still sucks. I miss him so much and I'm sad my future family won't be able to meet him. Some days when something really good happens- when I've worked really hard and honestly for something, when I've done what he would have wanted me to do... I cry. Cause I know he would be proud of me.


Watching someone die isn't easy, and perhaps that's why I've had such a hard time with this but I've never regretted for once second being there. I'm glad I could hold his hand... but this still sucks.

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