Posted in coping mechanisms, death, Family, Family Time, growing up, life lessons, memories, Uncategorized

Goodbye, Old Friend…


Last week, my mother invited me to go out of town with her. When I left Kansas City, I didn’t realize I would be seeing my grandfather for the last time that week. I guess I’ve always been a pretty optomistic guy, and although I knew he was not doing well, he’s always persisted in the past.

On our way to Illinois, my mother and I conversed about anything and everything. As we crossed the Mississippi River, leading into Illinois, the tone of our conversation became a little more serious. The doctors had given my grandfather possibly, a couple more months of life on earth. Turning down small country roads, we passed through St. Elmo, and we wondered if that was where “St. Elmo’s Fire” was filmed (I looked it up — it wasn’t).

As we pulled in front of his house, I was a little uneasy. We had visited numerous times over the years, and he had met my oldest four daughters. I hadn’t been to his house, however, since high school. He had moved since then, and it was surreal seeing my grandpa through a different set of lenses. My mother told me that more than likely he would not ever be coming back to this home. It hit me pretty hard as I walked through his house trying to learn about him through his acquired possessions.

Walking into his home, I was greeted with oxygen tanks next to the doorway. A grandfather’s clock hung on one wall, a rifle next to his rocking chair. Sitting on his coffee table, was a picture of our family we took at Christmas this past year. Another wall displayed a picture frame with my nephews and my oldest four kids. His coffee table reminded me of my other grandparent’s coffee table. There was a small office space, and a small guest room. One of the closets was filled with Western genre books.

I have never read a Western novel, but I do enjoy watching them occasionally. In his bedroom, his cowboy boots filled the bottom of his closet, and his clothes were neatly hung. Although he was already fairly small in stature, as he aged, he appeared even smaller.

My mother invited me out to the back yard, so we could take a look around the property. We spotted the well, and the old outhouse. There was a large barn, with a broken-down tractor, and a dilapidated bike. Into the edge of the woods, an older bus had been tucked away. IMG_20170731_154733 We walked around to the front of the yard, trying to avoid the hornet’s nest we had awoken when we first arrived. His garage told the biggest story about him. His main passions in life were fishing and hunting. In the small guest bedroom, you probably could have guessed he liked to hunt, by the amount of rifles that were in there. However, if you hadn’t guessed that by now, maybe the amount of antlers hanging up on the garage walls would have given it away. In the back of his pickup, a single fishing rod was still hanging out, just hoping for one last trip to the water.

After a few minutes of looking around, we headed to the hospital. Since he lived in a very small town, we had to drive over an hour to get there. Seeing grandpa lying in the hospital bed, he looked even smaller than I had remembered. He looked up at his daughter, his grandson, and smiled. Although he was having an incredibly hard time breathing, he insisted on talking with us. He sat up, had dinner, and inquired about the girls. He was doing better than I had thought he was going to be, and we had a good conversation. I shared the newest pictures I had of all the girls, and reminded him of just home much they loved him. He said he loved them, too and it felt so good to say those words, and hear them reciprocated back.

On the way back to his house, we stopped at his sister’s house to visit with her and her husband. I may have met her when I was a child, but I cannot recall. Either way, after spending a couple hours with them, I felt so much better about the quality of my grandfather’s life. I know he has been in good hands with them. In fact, they had been taking that hour-long drive back and forth to the hospital every day, and helping him with anything he needed. I am truly thankful he had them looking after him.

With life, the only thing guaranteed, is death. It is inevitable. Too many times in our lives, we lose people, just to have regret over something we said–or didn’t say. As a younger person, when I was just eighteen years-old, I lost my grandfather on my dad’s side. We all said our “goodbyes” to him in the hospital, as the doctor’s said he may not make it through the night. However, he willed himself out of the hospital, and back into his own home for a couple more months. Not one time, did I go back to see him. In my mind, I had already told him goodbye, and I have lived with regret ever since.

When my mother told me last Thursday night (after I had driven home), that the doctors had given her dad only seven to ten more days to live, I had a little bit of regret creep back in. Although she had spent hours at the hospital that day, without him even waking up, I still felt like I could have maybe seen him one more time. I could have hugged him one last time. I could have told him one last time that I loved him.

The following morning, my dad called me to let me know my grandfather had passed early in the morning. My oldest two had already been told of his recent situation, but my middle two were out of town. My youngest, being only one, will have to rely on pictures and stories to know her great-grandpa. That night, was my twenty-year class reunion. I tried my hardest to suppress any sadness, and enjoy my night. Although I truly enjoyed seeing my classmates, it didn’t take away the fact that he is gone now.

My middle two children were out of town last week, and my wife and I agreed that their first day back should be a day of relaxation, happiness, and them telling us stories of what they did on their trip. Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I had the talk that no parent enjoys having with a seven and eight year-old. My wife was cool, calm, collected, and worded everything perfect for them to understand. Perfectly-formed words, however, do not turn away tears from a child’s mouth, and hurt from their hearts.

It was a pretty rough week for my mom, and she is still out of town tying up all the loose ends. For a few more days, she is still battling hornet’s nests and his neighbor’s twenty dogs who like to show up unannounced in the pitch-black. My mother has worried about him for years since we lived so far away, and now the worry part has gone.

grandpa

We all love you grandpa. Goodbye, old friend.

Posted in bullies, Bullying, child suicide, dad, death, expectations, failure, Family, fatherhood, Kids, Parenting, Relationships, responsibility, suicide, teaching, The Meaning of Life, Uncategorized, warning signs

Warning Signs…


Driving in my car I occasionally see a warning sign. It’s usually a brightly colored sign, cautioning motorists to be alert. Sometimes they are bright orange, or bright yellow. Heck, sometimes they are even in the form of l.e.d. lights. It may be a sign warning of upcoming construction, or a deer crossing that we see just about every day that pass us by. These every day “warning signs” are there to remind us to be careful. They remind us to take extra precaution as we trek ahead.

What happens when the upcoming disaster that lies ahead is a child? Do we see warning signs? Is there a brightly colored sign greeting you every morning as you step outside your bedroom door warning you to beware, because trouble is brewing in a child’s life? They have to be there, right? I mean, one would imagine that it would be difficult for us (as parents, friends, neighbors, coworkers) to NOT notice trouble arising in a young person’s life, right? How hard could it be to notice something a little off? Are the warning signs recognizable? Do they scream at us?

Do you know somebody being bullied? Do you know someone having a hard time? Do you know someone who is shy, quiet, reserved, jumpy perhaps? What happens when trouble is brewing in a young person’s life and they are still in freaking ELEMENTARY school?! Why do I have to talk to my 10 year-old daughter about why her 11 year-old friend committed suicide? Is this shit in the child-rearing handbook? Why does my heart hurt so bad for someone I’ve never met? I’ve never met their family. My heart aches with every ounce of heartache it can for their family, and for their friends. What in the hell is wrong with this world? How did WE fail this little girl? Society failed, the schools failed, and we failed. (Note: I am not a professional psychologist, these are just my opinions).

An ELEVEN YEAR OLD girl committed suicide the night before her last day of school. She was friends with one of my daughters. Why would an eleven year old even think about doing that? What was going wrong in her life? I need to know what warning signs were missed, so I don’t EVER miss one. I’ll be damned if MY kids can’t come to me to talk. I just want to hug them forever and never let them go. I want them to feel so much love surrounding them, that they won’t be able to escape it. I want everything for my kids, and I hate when things like this happen. Life is a hard teacher sometimes, and things like this that happen is kinda like a pop quiz no one expected. My heart goes out to all of her friends, and her family. I am so sorry.