Visiting Grandpa Arlie

This week I got a phone call from my dad saying that my 92-year-old grandpa's health was failing and that his hospice worker recommended that people start coming to say their last goodbyes. We packed up the next morning and my brother Aaron, his wife, kids, Claire and I drove to Mesa to go see him. My dad and my step-mom met us there.

My dad wasn't raised by his father and although I always knew my grandpa I haven't seen him often over the past few years, but I really wanted to see him now. He has dementia and isn't very lucid most of the time so I wasn't sure how meaningful it would be for him to see us, but it turned out to be such a great experience to spend a few hours with him. When we walked in he turned immediately to my dad, extended his hand and said, "Jackie Lee, my eldest son." He wasn't so clear on who the rest of us were, but his warmth of greeting was wonderful.

I reminded him shortly after arriving that when I was a kid, starting about the time I was 13 each time I would see or talk with him that he would ask, "Are you pregnant yet?" I thought it was pretty funny as a straight-laced Mormon girl. So this time I told him that I could finally answer "yes" to his question. His quick quip back was, "Well do you know who the father is?" It was astonishing to me that, although he didn't even know where we were, his humor was intact.

We sat with him for several hours, talked to him, reminded him of things in the past, held his hand and smoothed his hair. He fell asleep after about 30 minutes, but it was so serene we couldn't leave. I kept thinking about childhood memories of grandpa Arlie, from the ever present aroma of pipe smoke and that sheriff's Stetson hat tipped to the side to the actual jail cells and guns in the basement of his house in Kansas. As a child, and even an adult, I loved hearing stories of his adventures from his years as a mounted sheriff (who'd even chased down a train on horse to catch a criminal) and as a soldier in WWII to whispered stories of his pre-war bootlegging and card playing days and marrying my grandma Jane when was she was still a teen without her parent's consent. Mostly, I always remember him telling me that he loved and respected my mother, even many years after my parents divorced.

I marveled that being with someone preparing to go home, is so similar with being with someone who just left home. It's quiet. There is not much to say, except to express love and gratitude. It is peaceful. And touching seems like a natural thing to do. I can't imagine holding my grandpa's hand and caressing his face if he wasn't in such a weak condition, but I kept unconsciously putting my hand from him to my stomach where I would pat my own baby. It made me happy to think that without my grandpa Arlie and my baby-to-be ever sharing earthly space that they are part of each other and my baby could inherit his card sharp skills or his keen sense of humor and hopefully, hopefully, his genuineness.