Funerals... And Everything Before...

Funerals...

I've given them quite a bit of thought... It seems everyone I know dies in spring. First, I've lived my whole life in the same city. It's only about 80,000 people. It's pretty small considering the cities near us... I tend to know a lot of people. The girlfriend is always amazed when I go somewhere, I run into atleast one person I know.

Consequently, you see a lot of those people go through what I call "life changes". It's a nice way of saying a lot of things. I see people I know get married, get divorced, have kids, lose kids, send kids to college, and eventually, die.

But it always seems they die in spring time. If you don't want to die in spring time, don't get to know me, cause it's going to happen.

This past Wednesday, I was putting a hydraulic pump in a machine at work, and my dad called, which wasn't odd... What was odd was that he said: "Are you busy?" I was. I said I wasn't. He told me my step grandfather, George, died. And he said if I wanted to talk, I could call him. Then we said goodbye, and I hung up.

Now a little background story.

My parents got divorced when I was about two or three years old. My dad was single for awhile, and that was fun. But then he got married again when I was about seven. Suddenly I had a step-mother, a step-brother, a step-sister, and a huge step-family. None of them really took to my sister and I. But we spent every other weekend with them.

My step family is very close, and I've now known them for 21 years. The longer I know them, the more they seem like family, and good people. But when you're seven years old, you don't really know what it's all like, and it seems like a whirlwind came and turned everything upside down.

I remember Christmas 1987. It was the first Christmas I spent with the step-family.

They had a (what seemed like) a huge tree. And I remember seeing presents stacked up taller than I was.

My step-cousins were all a little younger than me. My step brother and one step cousin were older.

So we went. I remember being seven years old, and the only thing under that tree was a gift my dad got me. Everything else was for everyone else. My sister and I didn't really know what to do or think. We didn't really know these people.

We just kind of sat there. I don't even remember eating. I don't think I could. My dad was off and entertaining the family. I had no idea who my step-mother was. And I spent very little time with my step-siblings.

So my sister and I sat in the corner.

Then two older folks came up to us. I had no idea who these people were.

They introduced themselves as George and Ruth. They were my step-mother's parents. They were well dressed, and they were funny.

George gave my a big long well wrapped gift. It was a fishing pole. He loved fishing, he assumed I did too. I later found out it was an old pole of his, and he saw my sister and I just kind of sitting there. So he went to the basement, and he wrapped an old fishing pole quickly, and gave it to me.

I thought it was great. This was also before my dad had a summer house on a lake or any boats or anything... But George had a fishing boat. He'd take everyone fishing any time.

And where George and Ruth lived, they had a small pond outside, so in spring time, George and I would go fishing in this little pond. I don't remember catching anything. But George seemed to go the extra mile to make a kid that felt out of place, feel like he belonged somewhere.

Ruth was the grandmother that everyone wanted. She cooked constantly. Going to her house not hungry was a huge mistake.
She was very nice, more so than the rest of the step-family.

Their house always was fun to be at, and everyone was always welcome. I took to George and Ruth immediately. I started calling them "Grandma" and "Grandpa".

At this time, all my grandparents were still alive. My mom's parents, and my dad's parents.

My dad's parents moved to North Carolina a lot of years ago, I never really saw them. I got a letter from them once when I was a kid. I still have it, I read it once in awhile. It was a nice letter. I think I've talked to them on the phone a couple times too, but I haven't seen them in a long time.

My mom was a single mom, so I spent a lot of time growing up with my mom's parents. They were Italians. Like OLD SCHOOL Italians.

They spoke Italian. They spoke broken English. They were both born in the US, but in their households, no one spoke English. So they learned what they learned working.

My mom's dad passed away when I was 12. He was a very nice guy. We had a language barrier. I can understand Italian, I just can't speak it. And after awhile, my grandfather's English makes more sense.

My mom's mom passed away about five years ago. That was pretty sad. Her husband, my mom's dad, went quickly. My grandmother did not.

I used to work in a hospital. Actually, it's the same hospital pretty much everyone I know dies in... And that's where my grandparents died.

I miss them a lot. They were great people.

But I had two grandfathers, they never met each other, but they spent a lot of time with me. Fishing.

That's really the only thing we did...

My mom's dad was a carpenter for like fifty years. He had this big hands that were like sausages, and my cousins and I would sleep over at his house. It would be myself, and like four cousins, all under the age of 5, in one bed. And he'd wake us up at four AM, tickling us.

His hands were so big and strong, I remember it hurting more than anything, and I think his mistook our cries of pain for laughter. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.

My grandmother would make us all breakfast, which seemed to be a big affair at their house. And we'd all go fishing. Which basically involved us sitting on a dock somewhere, and my grandfather casting and untangling lines.

And the next weekend...

I'd be at George's house doing the same thing. It was fun.

George was the one that really taught me to fish. To my maternal grandfather, it wasn't about the fishing... It was about spending time with his grandkids...

It was the same for George, but he was just a naturally good fisherman.

He always caught a lot of something, and he showed his grandkids how to catch fish too. Something I rely on to this same day.

George and my dad were the first people to teach me how to drive a boat, how to navigate waterways, and how to use landmarks and the stars to get where you're going...

They were also the first people to yell at me because I was going too fast in a boat. A trend that continues to this day. Just last summer George yelled at me for going too fast on a lake, and disturbing the fish...

But his yelling wasn't like a mean thing... It was just him, telling you to knock it off...

Then when I was 18, I got my job at a hospital. I was a janitor.

George's wife, Ruth, a person whom I considered a grandmother to me, got sick.

She had a stroke.

She was in the hospital for a few weeks... She wasn't doing too well...

On my breaks and during my lunch hour, I'd go and see her.

And I'm not a terribly religious person, but I read whatever books I can get my hands on, and in a hospital, they have a helluva lot of Bibles.

So at the time, I was reading the Bible.

I found the Bible to be like a guidebook, so people can live better lives. It tells us how to be good people.

I read about King Solomon. I read about Noah. I read the whole Bible from cover to cover.

And I realized that reading that book, made me somehow feel a little bit better.

And I figured George could feel better... So I gave him my Bible.

I don't know if he ever read it, or what he did with it. But he thanked me.

Then Ruth got better. The stroke seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever.

I went to see her...

She was doing really well. Had her speech back. Her vision back. She was due to get released in a few days.

Then one day, as I was at work, I would eat my lunch really quickly, then go and see Ruth and George.

And I had just walked into the hospital cafeteria, and I saw my dad sitting at a table. So I brought my sandwich over to him. He was kind of sitting there with his hands together and looking at the table.

He talked to me.

His exact words: "Ruth got worse. They've decided to end life support."

I was surprised, what a difference a few hours can make...

My dad told me there was nothing anyone could do, and they were going to remove her feeding tube, and pretty much starve her.

I flipped out.

I friggin' lost it. Right in the hospital cafeteria.

I threw my sandwich at my dad.

I argued how everyone has the right to eat.

I told him how this was wrong.

He just stared.

I went outside to smoke.

Dad left me alone.

Almost a week later, Ruth had died.

I went to her funeral, and I was uncomfortable. I just sat there. Like a seven year old kid at a Christmas where he doesn't belong.

Over the years, George sold his two houses in Wisconsin, and bought a house in Florida and North Carolina.

He met a new woman. I can't remember her name.

The first time I met her, I grilled her on everything.

She was a nice woman.

I didn't see George much after Ruth passed away. He spent most of his time down south.

But every summer he'd come up to Wisconsin. And we'd go fishing. And we'd talk.

He'd tell me about what he thought of life.

It was just myself, and an old man, on a boat. Talking. Not even really talking about anything, just talking.

So, back to Wednesday... The day after St. Patrick's Day. Tuesday in Wisconsin, it was 73 degrees outside. It was great...

I should have known something bad was going to happen...

My dad called. He told me what was going on. I dropped my tools...

I went outside. And it was late in the day, and I smoked a cigarette, and I watched the sun go down over the highway...

I must have stood there, silent, for a few hours.

And I was happy that Ruth and George could see each other again.

But at the same time, I was afraid...

I've been to a lot of funerals. I've worked in a hospital.

I've seen old people die.

I've seen young kids die.

I've seen everyone in between die.

I've seen mothers die.

I've seen fathers die.

I've seen whole families die.

I've seen good people die.

I've seen criminals die.

But this was different...

It's hard to put it all into words...

I've got a grandfather in North Carolina...

And I barely know him...

I've heard the stories my dad tells about him...

My dad's mother died in the 60's. She committed suicide. And my dad doesn't really talk about her unless you pry him to... But my aunt does... And she's told me stories about grandma too.

George dying really made me realize how short time here is...

I used to laugh at the people that would say things like: "Live every day like it's your last..."

And now I realize what they're saying...

It only took me 28 years to figure it out...