Gramps

Gramps died. 
I wasn't ready.

How could I ever have been ready to lose someone so dear to me? Parkinson's took a lot from him, but I still recognized him, still enjoyed being around him, still benefited from talking to him.

Some of the last conversations we had (just a few weeks ago!) were about what attracts one person to another (Gramps loves psychology and so do I) and why people seem to be less vulnerable in the church instead of more.

We often pondered together how our relationship became what it is and why we don't have more relationships that are as WONDERFUL (Gramps was known for this standard reply to answer the question, "How are you?"). I credited him with intentionality - he showed up and invested his time in knowing me. He credited our personalities as being a good fit and the foundation of love and trust that we built over time.

There's something unique about my relationship with Gramps. I truly cannot think of a time I was ever hurt by something he did, or even angry with him, or even annoyed. And it's not because I didn't know him or spend much time around him. I respect him immensely and love him dearly and have never felt safer with another soul.

I remember sending him a letter to invite him to come to PA for my 10th birthday (they lived in OH). I figured it was a long shot since it had only been one month since we had seen them at Christmas and the roads can be bad at that time of year. But he came. And from then on, we were buds. From mornings running together in middle school, to being taxied to Spanish class daily in high school, to weekly meetings in college, to monthly pizza + Rook dates as newlyweds, to weekly visits with the great-grands for the past 8 years, I've logged a lot of hours with Gramps. People have said, "You take such good care of your grandparents," but the truth is that they have taken such good care of me. Our relationship has been mutually beneficial the whole way through.

It's the conversations I have cherished most of all. And his example of humble wisdom, and spirit of encouragement. He'd ask me questions like: 

"What do you do as a young mom to feed your mind?"

"What are you reading right now?"

"How do you nurture the individual personalities of each of your children?" (This one was very common in the last years)

"How are your relationships?" (He asked this one at Grammy's birthday party this year in a room full of people, where I wasn't exactly prepared to spill my guts - Aunt Lynda got a picture, but you can't see the crowd to the side! I was pleased when he asked again the following week in a setting I felt free to share openly.)

Of the potential move to Assisted Living from their cottage, he asked, "What would your advice be? We want you involved in this decision. We've got to trust what the collective wisdom is saying to us."  His mind was barely putting 2 and 2 together, but THIS, this attitude and these phrases were what was left underneath the loss of cognitive function.

He was so encouraging to me as a young mother - often gently reminding me of the importance of my role, while praising what I was doing well. I often felt his praise was beyond what was deserved, but it inspired me to be better and encouraged me that I was good enough.

Gramps was kind - I never heard him speak poorly of anyone. He often normalized things I shared with him (by saying, "It doesn't get any easier as you get older.") and was vulnerable in return (by sharing, "Yeah, I struggle with that too..." and sharing a personal example). He put things in a positive light, "You can ruin a good thing by complaining about it."

Gramps was intentional, inclusive, and present - inviting me to work on projects with him (building a brick sidewalk, washing their tall windows, mowing the yard, working a crossword puzzle), writing out a list of questions and an encouraging Bible verse before our weekly meetings, making eye contact, asking questions. His mentoring skills became sought after at Messiah College and DBIC and in the community and he graciously agreed to meet with people he didn't know how to relate to (yet).

Gramps was dependable - always showing up 10 minutes early to take me to Spanish class daily, never missing one of our weekly meetings at the Student Union (despite the times I stood him up!), always bringing a snack. Even as a kid, I remember watching him go out dutifully every morning to check the bird bath and fill the bird feeder. 

Gramps was humble - he never pretended to have all the answers and he questioned his own abilities and choices just like anybody else.

Gramps was curious and open - asking questions and wanting to listen; ready to accept new ideas, make changes, and improve.

Gramps was strong - a runner, a regular at the gym, and determined to live the best life he could--Parkinson's or no Parkinson's. "Parkinson's has taken a lot from me; I've got to focus on what I have left," he shared after meeting with a therapist who had shown him a dot on a blank page. She asked him what he saw. "A dot." She labeled the dot, "Parkinson's" and then explained that there is also a whole lot of white space around the dot. Our eyes are immediately drawn to the dot--the problem--but there's so much white we could focus on! He took that lesson to heart.

carrying Oswald on his shoulders despite his declining strength

Gramps was devoted to his wife - his favorite part of the day were the minutes he shared talking with Harriet in bed before the turned out the light to go to sleep. They were usually holding hands if they were within reach, and he was always ready to help her bake bread or peel potatoes in the kitchen when she called, "J-Lynn..." I was blessed to witness two great reunions after separations. The first was after he returned from 3 weeks of leading a Messiah College Collaboratory trip to Zambia. The second was just a few weeks ago after he was gone only an hour or two at the hospital, but it must have felt like an eternity. The reunions were near identical though 15 years apart. He embraced his wife tightly, sobbing, "I don't ever want to do that again."

Gramps was a hard worker - he was the only one allowed to wash dishes in his house, even when Parkinson's robbed him of the energy to do anything else in a day (of course I pushed back. Grammy would say, "Granddaughters are allowed to say things other people aren't."). He made things with his hands (bookcases, bird houses, desks, candle holders, shelves, etc.). He took pride in his job at the Garber company - even in retirement, he was always taking apart any cardboard he could get his hands on to read whatever codes they print on it. We often talked about the tension between work-life and family-life. He helped me shift my attitude from always demanding maximum family time to appreciating my own hard-working husband and trusting him to prioritize family time on his own.

Gramps was a believer - he often rooted our conversations in our faith. "I wonder how we could apply that to the body of believers," he'd say. Or, "The church should do more of that." He was a safe space for me to ask questions. "Do you think God could cure your Parkinson's, Gramps?" I asked. "I don't know, Rachie. Sometimes it feels like He must not be able to. But I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that answer either."

Gramps made sure we knew we were loved. He expressed verbal appreciation in abundance, even when it wasn't necessary, invited us to sit in his lap, and hugged us so tight it hurt.

I have hardly any pictures of myself with Gramps, but zillions of him with my kids

Gramps has been my favorite person and I never want his influence in my life to fade.