Happy Endings

Well, yesterday was my grandpa's funeral. Having grown up in a small town with lots of older folks in it, I've been to my fair share of funerals for those who've lived long, full lives and were ready to move on. In addition, I've been to some for those who I wasn't ready to have move on without me, starting with my Uncle Daniel's little baby girl Shannon (who was stillborn) and my grandma on my mom's side, who died at the age of 57, one month before I went on my mission. Possibly the saddest funeral I've ever been to was that of one of my best friends from my mission, who died 4 years after he came home, and less than 2 years after getting married.

Our lives are stories, and my grandpa's is one I'd dearly like to have seen firsthand. And yet, as I look back at what I know of my grandpa's life, his has shaped mine, and many of the qualities I so admired in him have occasionally peeked through in me.

Grandpa spent several years living out with the sheep herd, and later working cows. I spent a lot of my spare time in high school wandering around (on foot or in my truck) out in the desert and up on the mountain, in many of the places my grandpa had been years before.

It was partially because of him that I joined the Army, and he and my dad taught me how to spit-shine my first issued pair of boots. Occasionally when things got a little hard at Basic Training and AIT, the knowledge that my grandpa (and my dad) had been there before helped me to keep going.

Grandpa was an excellent cook, although not one to really use recipes. He just put stuff together and it always tasted good. With some help from my dad, I also am not a recipe cook, and my meals almost always turn out pretty darn good.

Grandpa was a quiet joker. He never said much, but you could always tell that there was a little glint of mischief in his eyes, waiting for the chance to come out, and some of my clearest memories of my grandpa were when he was pulling a joke on someone. I'm not nearly as quiet as Grandpa was, and my jokes are a little more frequent and usually a little less subtle than some of his, but you know...

Grandpa just kept on going. My mom used to say he could teach the Energizer Bunny a thing or two about that, and it's true. I mentioned the other day his ability to wear me into the ground when I went hunting with him when I was a kid. It never quite sunk in to me that those walks (runs, for me) all over creation when I had to run to keep up, and would be _very_ tired the rest of the day, were when he was 70 years old. And all that wood we hauled, when I couldn't hardly stack fast enough to keep ahead of him were when he was closer to 80 than 70. You'll have to ask me in 50 years whether or not I measure up to him in that respect, but the one thing I've always been able to do in my life, no matter how hard things have been, is just keep on going.

Grandpa's life definitely left its mark on him. As long as I can remember, he's had kind of a hunch to his back, and the last several years he said it took him a little longer to get going in the mornings than it used to. However, I never heard him complain about it. When he said it was a little harder for him to get around than it used to be, it was merely a statement of fact, usually immediately followed by him telling me that no, I didn't need to cut and haul firewood for him, because if I did he wouldn't have anything to do. As young as I am, I'm not a complete stranger to this. A foot I broke a few years ago causes me to limp for about 5 minutes when I wake up, and one or both of my elbows (which took a lot of strain from construction work and high school wrestling) sometimes seize up, and won't move (in either direction) until they pop. Nicole likes to play cards sitting on the floor, and if I play for more than 15 minutes or so, it takes me a good 3 or 4 minutes to stand up completely straight and walk normally again. And yet I miss working outside, with my hands, and I can't wait to have a yard to work in, and take my kids (if we're ever able to have any) to go cut wood up in the mountains with their grandpa.

And now to endings. Grandpa was an incredible man. He lived a full, long life, and was a great grandpa. I don't know much about many of the trials he may have faced, or things he might have struggled with, but I do know that all my life he's always been the same. Sure, he was a little more frail the last couple of years, but that didn't change him much in my eyes. Last Friday, he cut my uncle Richard's hair, had Grandma cut his hair, hauled in some wood for the stove, watched Logan cut up some kindling, built a fire, and sat down in his chair to watch the evening news, just a day like almost every other day for the past several years. He died peacefully, at the end of a normal day. None of us can think of a better way or time for him to go, and we know we'll see him again someday. I, for one, can't wait to see him tall and sturdy as my dad and uncles knew him. Now that's what I call a happy ending. Or beginning. Or maybe both.

Grandpa, me, Mike, and Nathan