My Last Grandparent
Last Thursday, my grandpa, Victor Nelson, died at the age of 90. He was my last living grandparent. He was also one of the ones I knew the best. His funeral is today and, sadly, I am not there. I feel really sad about this so I want to devote this entry to him.
Some of my earliest memories of Grandpa Nelson come from our visits to his house in Sandy Utah. He was a carpenter and a great craftsman. When we would visit, he would often give us a block of wood, a hammer, and some nails which would keep my sister and me occupied for a long time. He had a great reading voice and could captivate an audience when reading just about any book. He also had a great singing voice. He sang with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for a number of years and instilled in my mom a great appreciation of beautiful music.
He had a good sense of humor and liked to laugh but he also had a sadness that always seemed to be there under the surface. I think this was because my grandmother, who I never knew, died of cancer when my mom was about 13 years old. This was extremely difficult for him and my mom thinks that he never really fully got over it. I assume that he is now over that. What a great reunion that must have been.
When I was 19, I stayed with my Grandpa and My Step-Grandma for about a week. This was because, for some reason I can't remember, I had been officially made a missionary a week before going in to Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. When you are made an official missionary in our church, you have to obey certain rules. One of those rules was that you had to have a companion with you wherever you go (partly to keep you from getting into trouble). During that week, my Grandpa was my companion and I got to know him a lot better. He told me stories about things that had happened in WWII, things that he had learned in his life, and some stuff about my mom growing up. Spending that time with my grandpa was probably one of the best things I could have done just before embarking on my two year, trail by fire, entry in to manhood. Talking with someone who had been through a lot gave me confidence that I could make it too.
In more recent years, my Grandpa suffered from dementia and didn't really remember me. I visited him a few years ago and talked with him about his childhood. I found out that he grew up in Brigham City Utah and that his father died when he was very young. His mom had to feed the family by cleaning clothes and apparently barely scraped by with little money and little help from other people. He did not look on his childhood with fondness and I think it was really frustrating for him during his last years to not recognize anybody and not understand what exactly was going on.
I take comfort in the thought that he is with his wife Louise and that they are finally reunited after all these years of separation. The posterity he helped create, includes some incredible people and I hope he recognizes that now. Many of his children and grandchildren are some of the most faithful, talented, and resourceful people I know. I assume they are watching over my family and having a good laugh right now over all the craziness at my house.
God be with you til we meet again Grandpa,
Jayson Victor Wilkinson
Some of my earliest memories of Grandpa Nelson come from our visits to his house in Sandy Utah. He was a carpenter and a great craftsman. When we would visit, he would often give us a block of wood, a hammer, and some nails which would keep my sister and me occupied for a long time. He had a great reading voice and could captivate an audience when reading just about any book. He also had a great singing voice. He sang with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for a number of years and instilled in my mom a great appreciation of beautiful music.
He had a good sense of humor and liked to laugh but he also had a sadness that always seemed to be there under the surface. I think this was because my grandmother, who I never knew, died of cancer when my mom was about 13 years old. This was extremely difficult for him and my mom thinks that he never really fully got over it. I assume that he is now over that. What a great reunion that must have been.
When I was 19, I stayed with my Grandpa and My Step-Grandma for about a week. This was because, for some reason I can't remember, I had been officially made a missionary a week before going in to Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. When you are made an official missionary in our church, you have to obey certain rules. One of those rules was that you had to have a companion with you wherever you go (partly to keep you from getting into trouble). During that week, my Grandpa was my companion and I got to know him a lot better. He told me stories about things that had happened in WWII, things that he had learned in his life, and some stuff about my mom growing up. Spending that time with my grandpa was probably one of the best things I could have done just before embarking on my two year, trail by fire, entry in to manhood. Talking with someone who had been through a lot gave me confidence that I could make it too.
In more recent years, my Grandpa suffered from dementia and didn't really remember me. I visited him a few years ago and talked with him about his childhood. I found out that he grew up in Brigham City Utah and that his father died when he was very young. His mom had to feed the family by cleaning clothes and apparently barely scraped by with little money and little help from other people. He did not look on his childhood with fondness and I think it was really frustrating for him during his last years to not recognize anybody and not understand what exactly was going on.
I take comfort in the thought that he is with his wife Louise and that they are finally reunited after all these years of separation. The posterity he helped create, includes some incredible people and I hope he recognizes that now. Many of his children and grandchildren are some of the most faithful, talented, and resourceful people I know. I assume they are watching over my family and having a good laugh right now over all the craziness at my house.
God be with you til we meet again Grandpa,
Jayson Victor Wilkinson
Labels: grandpa
posted by Quintuplet Dad @ 7:39 AM
5 Comments:
At June 30, 2008 10:04 AM ,
lindsay Roscoe said...
That was very sweet. I am sorry about your loss but you are right what a sweet reunion they had.
At June 30, 2008 10:11 AM ,
Buggles said...
I'm so sorry for you loss, Jayson. May your grandpa rest in peace.
At July 2, 2008 10:58 PM ,
The Queen Vee said...
Jayson,
All is well, all is well. Grandpa completed his final difficult journey as he lived his life, working hard at it and then gently passing to the other side. I know he was joyfully welcomed by Louise my mom and your Grandmother.
Thank you for honoring him, you are blessed to have his name.
Your mother gave and beautiful, beautiful talk at Grandpa's funeral. She has his gift for speaking and story telling, it was perfect.
Kiss the babies and older kiddos for me.
At July 4, 2008 12:43 PM ,
Mama M said...
Thank you for sharing this tribute. I love the name Victor because it seems to me to honor the Lord Jesus Christ,who is the Great Victor over sin and death and sorrow and loss. How blessed you are to carry your grandfather's name and heritage, and to pass it along to your seven beautiful children.
At September 11, 2008 12:27 AM ,
mp34 said...
Thanks for your story.
My last living grandparent, Nicholas, died this past Monday (September 8, 2008). He was 92. He was my mother's father. He has been the only grandparent I have known since I was a child. My father's mother died a long time before I was born, my father's father died when I was a baby, and my mother's mother died when I was seven. These three grandparents had young and sad deaths. My father's mother died of depression (she'd let herself go physically -eg, not eating), my father's father died of alcoholism, and my mother's mother died from smoking. In essence all three had committed indirect suicides. I still can't imagine what this must have been like for my parents. My grandfather who passed on Monday was the only one who got to live a long life. When I was young sometimes I wondered if he'd die much sooner than he did since he smoked even more than my grandmother. But somehow he just kept living.
My grandfather could be a very miserable person -- angry, critical, and mean. He often seriously mistreated my grandmother, mother, and uncle. But the moments he was happy he was great. I remembered him to be happier when I was a child. But he still had his good moments as I got older. And I always felt happy to go visit him. My parents had secretly confessed to me at one point over the years that I was his favorite grandchild. My favorite photo of him is him holding me over my birthday cake when I was one year old. In the pic, I looked a little scared/skeptical of the cake and I was holding tightly to his watch. When my grandmother died from smoking when I was seven, he remarried relatively quickly, which was sad and confusing for me especially b/c the woman he married was not the nicest person in the world, and my grandmother whom I loved had been so sweet. I couldn't and still to this day cannot connect with his wife. Ten years ago (July 1998) when I was 24 y.o. I had a fallout with my grandfather. He (and his wife, a little) said some very abusive things to me and I vowed to have nothing to do with him ever again. Every so often since our fallout in 1998 I would contemplate what I should do to give myself a sense of closure with him. I considered writing a letter telling him off for the way he'd treated me that day(and my mother during her lifetime). Then about four years ago in 2004 I was informed that he was hit by a car -- he was thrown and suffered a head trauma (he was 88). Regardless, he made a good recovery so every now and then I would still contemplate writing him the letter. But I was really confused as to whether or not I should do it but a voice in me kept saying you'd better do it soon while you still can -- he's not going to live forever. It became one of those things that you put off but make the assumption you'll get to it one day. Then I was informed a couple of years ago that he had been diagnosed with dementia (possibly as a result from the accident). So I told myself -- now it's too late, you should have done it sooner. I decided to let it all go and that it probably wouldn't have been the best thing to do anyway, maybe I could write one of those letters you never send, etc. But I still had no plans to see him again, to not visit him in the nursing home. I figured to see him again would be toxic and hurtful for me. Then slowly I came to the decision that I would definitely go to his funeral whenever it was that he died. But a couple of months ago, for various reasons I decided that it might be good to conquer my fear of him and see him one last time before he died, which we all thought wouldn't be for a while anyway. Even though he was 92 and had dementia, he was apparently in good physical condition. I was also hearing from family members that on and off he had been asking for me. So two months ago in July I went with my parents to the nursing home he was staying at in New Jersey. My parents warned me ahead of time that he could be kind of a loudmouth and complain. I was terrified of seeing him because I figured he would be rude and give me a hard time. But when I saw him he seemed happy to see me. Yet it was a painful sight to see -- he had debilitated so much that he was bone skinny, and couldn't even talk or feed himself. My mother had to feed him and help him -- the nursing home wasn't keeping a very good watch over him or other patients there. My parents and I were surprised by the state he was in b/c they had been seeing him pretty frequently and he'd been more than able to talk and was more active before that day. I could barely recognize the man I'd known my whole life and hadn't seen in ten years. But at the same time, since he couldn't talk and be a jerk it was much easier to be around him and feel love for him. He and I had had a good relationship when I was a child ...In the nursing home that day my parents again confirmed that while my grandfather might not be doing well mentally, physically he was doing just fine. They expected him to live much longer even though he was already 92. Interestingly, that same month, his estranged son (my uncle, who has also been estranged from my immediate family as well) came to see him for the first time in about 15 years. So in just a month my grandfather got to see his estranged son and estranged granddaughter. It was fortunate that his dementia was not so bad that he couldn't recognize us. So he knew who I was, and he knew who his son was. He got to experience us being back. A month later on my birthday, August 1 he had fallen and suffered a broken hip. When the MD's examined him they also found that he had had two aneurysms over the course of the past couple of weeks. They determined he would not live much longer. I'd just gotten him back into my life, was processing his current state and had been satisfied with the idea of maybe seeing him again at some point. Now I had to prepare for his death. This was sad and disappointing b/c I had been told he would be strong enough to live longer -- his mother (my great grandmother) had died at 99, so I'd hoped he'd live to be around that age too. I had always viewed him as a physically strong person. My boyfriend joked that my grandfather must indeed be strong -- to have survived smoking cartons since he was 13 y.o., a head trauma at 88, and had had 2 anuerysms and lived to tell about it, that's pretty strong. And on that note one of my favorite memories of him was when I was a child, he used to give me and my siblings money when he came to visit. What was funny about that was the way he did it. He would have coins in his hand but we would have to pry his fists open to get them. And he was really strong, his hands were so hard to pry open. (Plus we were children so you can imagine what a hard task it would be.) It was hillarious the way he did it. He'd be sitting on the couch we'd jump on him and try to get the money out of his tightly clenched fists while we were all laughing. In the end I'd always pry his hand open and get the coins. I wound up thinking, wow! I'm really really strong. All I have to do is just keep trying and in the end I can pry someone's hand open no matter how strong they are! And as a result of this experience with him I've always had the perception of myself as a physically strong person. It was only a few months ago that I realized -- WAIT A SECOND. I was a child and he was a grown man -- oh my God, HE LET ME WIN! I was both laughing and disappointed that this was the case, but more laughing at myself for being such an idiot as to not having realized this before I was 34 y.o.! Major ego deflation. :) Two days ago on Monday Sept. 8 (my baptism anniversary day) I got the call from my parents that my grandfather had died a couple of hours earlier. The nursing home had called my mother to say he'd been bleeding from the mouth and were taking him to the hospital. He died on the way to the hospital. My parents haven't bothered with finding out what finally caused his death, they figure he's 92 and b/c of the dementia and anuerysms his body probably just broke down. But I have to admit I'm curious as to what finally caused his death. Tonight was the first wake. it was so strange to see him lying there. If I hadn't seen him two months ago and gotten a sense of what he looked like now (lost weight, etc.) I never would have recognized him if I'd waited ten years. It made it less traumatic for me. I am so glad I went to see him and achieved some closure. I would like to think that seeing my uncle and me gave him enough closure to let go. I have fearfully been waiting for this for a long time -- he was my last grandparent and really the only one I knew. I'd felt cheated of having four grandparents b/c of how the other three had died and how old I was when they died. The only other grandparent whose death I'd experienced was his wife, my grandmother, when I was seven -- and I couldn't even see her b/c her coffin was closed. And as a child I was only just learning about what death was, anyway. So in essence this was the first time I'd experienced the death of a close family member. In some ways I was cheated of him too b/c of his behaviors that pushed people away, and b/c of the wasted ten years. While it was understandable that I needed to stay away from him, now I wish that I could go back to just a few years ago and have one last conversation with him. Tonight I made sure to take good long looks at him tonight since I would never see him again (can't go to the second wake tomorrow). The funeral mass is Friday morning, and I'll be doing a reading that I think would be appropriate for his life. I don't think I have to describe to anyone what it feels like to lose a grandparent, and to view them laying there in a coffin. What is so special about his death is that a large part of me is happy about it, I am more happy than sad -- since I believe in Heaven and God, I know he is finally happy and at peace. I kept reflecting on this all the way to the wake. And when I saw him tonight I noticed that inside his coffin in large script black velvet letters read: "In God's Care." (my mother actually had not ordered this wording when she picked out his coffin so she was surprised) I don't think that's a coincidence. It was just confirmation and a reminder to me that he is finally in God's care. I love him more than anything.
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