Saying Goodbye

My grandfather died last night.  

He's the handsome guy on the right.  

We knew it was coming.  Hospice had been called in about two weeks ago.  Dying in his sleep is what we were all hoping for, rather than having him suffer another heart attack.  Only twenty-five percent of his heart was working.

It’s weird for me to type ‘was’.  Yesterday I was explaining his heart condition to my good friend over the phone, and I said ‘twenty five percent of his heart is working.’  And now today it’s was. 

It’s a little bit hard for me to get used to. 

Can I tell you about my grandpa? I know that people lose grandparents all the time, and that something that feels so huge and sad to me right now is actually small and common to other people.  But I feel like the world should know more about the man who left it last night. He was so wonderful. So can I tell you about him? And then, if you like, you can tell me something about your grandfathers or grandmothers.  I know that generation is filled with incredible stories from incredible people.  We’re so lucky. 

Grandpa, Grammy, and my great-grandparents.  

My grandpa was born in 1924.  His 91st birthday is less than two weeks away.  Over the last few weeks, when I would go over to their house to visit, he would talk to me about dying.  I would change the subject or make a joke, because I couldn’t be as matter-of-fact about it as he was.  I wish I could’ve, because we probably would have had a pretty good conversation, but instead a lump would form in my throat.  The thought of him not being here anymore would literally choke me.  But I know he was okay with death, and he could talk about it openly and honestly. When he saw that I couldn’t do the same, he would smile gently and back off.  A few weeks ago however, he did say one thing to me that I’ll always remember.  It wasn’t the words, but how he said them.  In a tone much like one who is fondly remembering an old friend, he said, “I enjoy life. I’m in no hurry to leave it.  Even now, there is so much that brings me joy.”

That’s my grandfather’s legacy.  That’s what I am going to remember about him-the way he loved and enjoyed life.  Right to the end, he always found joy in the smallest of blessings.  

He was a World War II veteran, and very proud of it.  He went to the reunions, even when they dwindled down to just a few men left from his battalion.  My grandpa was a storyteller, and the war was one of his favorite tales to tell. He told us once (or twice) about a guy in his company who made a distillery behind the camp and how they'd sneak away to take a few drinks of homemade hooch.  He told us about operating the huge guns that they used to shoot at the Japanese.  He even told us about the girlfriends he had overseas.  (And somehow, my grandma never seemed to mind those trips down memory lane.) 

He and my grandmother met on a blind date.  My grandfather tells the story by saying “she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” My grandmother says, “Every time I looked over at him, he was staring at me.  I was so uncomfortable, it got to be that I wouldn’t turn my head.”  Three days later he asked her to marry him.  They were in a graveyard, so she told him to ask her again in a decent setting.  He did, and that time she said yes.  They were married in 1946.  

Sixty nine years, my grandparents were married. 

My grandpa was a Christian.  He was the best Christian I’ve known.  He led by example. I never saw him judge anyone.  He was honest, and humble, and he loved Jesus. At every family gathering, he led our family in prayer. And every morning, he and my grandmother would pray for all their family and friends.  That action speaks of so much love to me; that every single morning, they took time to place us in their hearts and pray for our well-being.  It’s one of the greatest endearments from them that my sisters, cousins, parents, aunts, and uncles enjoy.

  

He was a second dad to my mom, whose parents were absent.  When she started coming around my father’s family, she was my aunt’s best friend from elementary school.  My grandpa picked up some of the slack from her parents by attending her award ceremonies, driving her and my aunt places, and sponsoring her various activities. He always spoke of how she impressed him by taking herself so far, without any support from her home.  Later, when she married my dad, my grandfather said they were lucky to officially get her. 

Both my grandparents loved to play card games.  At their cabin, they’d sit with us around the dining table playing Up and Down, Hearts, Uno, and Pinochle. Sometimes we even played a rowdy game of dice.  They played just the two of them, too, and though we never witnessed this, my grandpa would tell us that sometimes my grammy would accuse him of cheating and throw the deck of cards at him.  This made us laugh.  I think that’s why he told us about it.

He could build things.  He built us kids a treehouse at their mountain cabin.  We played pilgrims and indians in it, and he filmed us playing with his old 8mm movie camera.  

When the first of us cousins got married, he announced that he was going to dance at her wedding- and then he did.  I would say that he looked a little ridiculous, except all that anyone could see when he took the dance floor was a lot of fun and love.  My grandmother watched him stomp and flail around and she called him an “old fool”, but she was smiling when she did it. 

On the dance floor at one of his granddaughter's weddings.

However, the thing that is going to leave the biggest hole in my family, that is going to be missed the most, is the thing that he was the best at- and that was his unconditional love.  I’ve never met anyone who was so good at love.  It didn’t matter how bad I had messed up or what poor choices I’d made, I could go see my grandparents and feel loved and adored. When I left them, I liked myself again. They had that kind of magic for all of us. 

Almost all the cousins at grampy's 90th

And when our own kids came along, they loved them just as well. 

 I keep saying it, we are so lucky. 

Grandpa, we love you so.  Thank you for your love, for your kindness, for the example of faith in Jesus that you led us with.  I know we'll see you again someday, and when I do, it is this smile on this face that I look forward to seeing the most:

Harold Samuel Herrington, Jr (1924-2015)