Today would have been my Grampa's birthday. He was born July 8, 1932 and lived a great and full life until he passed away May 11, 2017. I thought of him often today. I've been wanting to do a post about my Grampa for quite some time now, but I've never quite been able to find the words. I had the privilege of living next door to my grandparents for most of my life. Before that, we would look forward to their yearly visits every Summer at the farm. They would take a few weeks to drive out all the way from Ontario and spend three weeks or so visiting.
When I think of my Grampa this is the picture that always pops into my head. This is how I remember him. I remember working along side him on the farm or the acreage. I can picture him perfectly, resting his arm on his shovel and talking with my dad. His favorite trick was "boxing my ears". He'd turn me to face him (and I was only as tall as his belly button), place his hands over my ears and ask me to grab his arms and then he would lift me up and laugh. I also remember finding him in the rocking chair reading a book and sitting on his knee.
My Grampa had bright blue eyes that twinkled with merriment. He was a gentle man, and always had a kind way of speaking. He was smart despite his grade 8 education. He always gave good advice and knew a lot about politics and money. He loved his family and wanted their life to be better than his. He especially valued education and worked hard to make sure that my Mom and her siblings were able to receive a secondary education.
Grampa enjoyed traveling and touring and he and Gramma would often drive around Canada and the States in their camper van. He even visited Mexico city once. He liked to joke around and his laugh still rings in my ears sometimes. He had a special love for little children. He loved to hear the babies giggle and hold their hands and let them touch their whiskers.
Near the end of his life my parents were caring for him around the clock. He had no desire to spend his last days in an empty room in a hospital bed. He wanted to be surrounded by those he loved for as long as he could. One night my dad humbly shared how in those last couple of days, Grampa was never demanding and always polite. He would spend a day suffering just to make someone happy and hated to inconvenience anyone. My parents, knowing this, took extra care to make sure that he was comfortable, fed and bathed. They considered it a great privilege and honor to care for him and serve him.
I had the opportunity of serving my Grampa a couple of times in his life. One time that I will never forget is when I got to give my Grampa a hair cut. He was patient with my worries and carefully directed me to accomplish the task as Gramma would have. And he was so gracious and wonderful.
One evening in May, he took a turn for the worse and it was decided that he would be transported to the hospital. Phone calls were quickly made and the family gathered to say good-bye. As I sat in the stillness of the hospital room, listening to the monitors and watching his chest rise and fall, I couldn't help but contemplate the different seasons of life that he has experienced.
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| (With his Mother, Addie Goyeau Purdon) |
Childhood could be likened to the Summer months. A season made for frolicking in the fields and getting sun kissed cheeks. Summer goes by too fast and is a season that you never want to end. I thought about my Grampa as a child, caring for his mother, hitching up the big horses, playing around the farm.
I then remembered him telling me about the community dances he would attend. He was in the Spring of his life when he met my Gramma, with the promise of new love and new life. Gramma always used to tell me how good Grampa was with babies and children. I can just picture it!
Then came Autumn, when he harvested the rewards of raising five children, working the farm, and putting them through University.
And then I looked at my Grampa in the Winter of his life. His limbs frail, his fingers spindly from arthritis. His hands worn from many seasons of hard work. His hair a silver grey, just like the frost covered trees in January. I looked at his beard and whiskers, once lovingly touched and felt by all of his great grands. These months are long, though the days are short.
My Grampa used to always tell me, "Never get old!" In the midst of his trails, he always kept a Sunny attitude. Despite his shaking and slow movements he would smile. He always told me that if you would just smile, everything would be better. And near the end of his life when I would sit and visit with him I would often feel sad because his body wasn't able to do the things that it once did. He taught me a valuable lesson as we talked and he matter-of-factly stated "I can't complain because there are others who have it worse than poor old me." Tears would brim in my eyes as I looked at him, shaking in his rocking chair with his "grassroots" hat shading his eyes, and I would try to think of just one person who might have it worse than he did.
After Gramma passed away he would often ask me during our visits if I was okay. "Yup, I'm okay." He always told me that it wasn't worth crying about, and that Gramma would want us to be happy. I'm not sure if he said those things more for me or for him, because he sure missed her even though he tried to put on a brave face. The last time I left the acreage I wrapped my arms around him and said, "I sure love you Grampa." He would often respond with a "You take care of yourself" or a "Yup, drive safe now".
My Grampa never told me that he loved me back in so many words, but as I sat and held his hand that day in the hospital room, I felt his love. With my Aunt, Mom, and Sister we watched him take his last breath. He was a fighter, tough until the very end. I think that being there has made it hard to articulate the way I feel. It was such a sacred experience, one that I will treasure always.
My Gramma's birthday was a few days later, and we all smiled through tears and joked that Grampa just wanted to make sure he got to dance with my Gramma on her birthday. They were two of a kind and although I am happy that they are together, a piece of my heart will always ache to talk to them one last time.
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