And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.
~Diana Gabaldon (prologue from her book A Breath of Snow and Ashes)
First I need to apologize for not writing or posting much of anything for the past 3 months. I am thinking that I may just be a horrible blogger. But, since my last post, a LOT has happened to me-emotionally- and I just couldn't bear to write. I've decided I need to get it off my chest before I collapse in a heap of tears every time I see a certain flower or see a certain bird, or hear an expression that brings all the memories back.
Two days after my last post, one of the most important men in my life suffered a life-altering stroke. My grandpa Ervin spent 10 days following his stroke, in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital in Saskatoon. He passed away peacefully, with his wife of 56 years by his side, on April 20, 2015.
If you know me, you'll know just how close my grandpa and I were. He was special to his entire family, but to me in a way that I don't think anyone could really understand. I valued his opinion almost more than my own parents'. My siblings and I consider ourselves blessed with the fact that we lived a mere 100 yards from our paternal grandparents. Not many children these days get to see their grandparents every single day.
Some of the fondest memories I have of my childhood include my grandparents. Especially my grandpa. The earliest memory I have of him, is whenever my mom was working, my grandma would make us lunch. After each lunch, we would lay down on the carpet in the living room for a little "snooze". I remember laying my head on his big chest and watching the pictures on the walls rise up and down, steadily putting me asleep. And I would always wake up when Coronation Street came on the TV, and he'd be gone back outside, working in the shop or hauling hay, or doing some other farm job.
There are other snippets of memories:
Auction saling and bull saling and parts runs to Meadow Lake. We always had to buy those delicious Econo brand chocolate covered wafer cookies.
Chasing cows out to pasture in the spring, with Grandpa driving the tractor in the front like a crazy old drunk, attempting to keep the more eager cows from passing him and turning into the wrong gate.
Snowmobiling in the winter and ice fishing at Sandy Lake, with Grandpa on his little Citation sled following his brother Harry (my great uncle) into beaver wallows.
Speaking of beavers, he used to come with us when we weren't old enough to drive yet, and we would head out to the wild hay meadow and break beaver dams. He wouldn't usually even get in the water, but stood up at the top of the dam splashing us with every muddy wet willow stick he'd pull out. The only time I've ever seen the man swim (or maybe you can't really call it a "swim" per say...hahaha!) was when he was swept into the creek with the rest of the beaver pond. After each day of beaver-dam breaking, we would all head back at dusk to dispose of the thrifty rodents once and for all. Many times, when my sister and I would get back late at night from one of our hunting forays, Grandpa would be poking his head out his bedroom window and if we happened to be walking past his house, he'd say, " Hey Annie!! How many did you get tonight?" (In case you're wondering, the "Annie" was a reference to "Shot-gun Annie" which is always what he called me at beaver-dam breaking time).
Grandpa also liked to take us for ice cream in Chitek Lake during the summer, after an afternoon spent at the beach.
We went for hundreds of wiener roasts in the pasture, whether it was winter or summer, it didn't matter. It was one of his favourite things to do.
We went to the North Battleford Fair every August since we were just little kids, and Grandpa & Grandma always came along. They would buy us lunch at the Bonanza Restaurant and Grandpa always got his own dish of chocolate mousse to eat & share with me.
When I was in high school, I was a decent track and field athlete and every night before I would leave for the provincial track meet, Grandpa would always say, "Give 'em hell & make 'em remember who you are!" I don't think many of them remember me, but I always did my best. Grandpa was a VERY good athlete and loved track & field. He was always proud of his track accomplishments, and any time one of us grand kids came home from a meet, with red ribbons to wave at him, he always had a big, proud smile.
When I graduated from high school, I made a bet with Grandpa (he was always such a tease!!) at the beginning of the school year that if I graduated as Valedictorian of my class, he would give me $500. We put it in writing, and Grandpa was $500 poorer come June.
When I moved away from the farm, I (of course!!!) went to say good-bye to both Grandpa and Grandma, and that's the first time I ever saw Grandpa with tears in his eyes.
I left for a 7 month agricultural exchange to Australia a year later, and when I came back, I remember him standing in the middle of the yard holding his arms out, and I just hollered at him and ran into his arms and gave him a huge bear hug just like we did when I was 3. I missed my family immensely while I was gone, but none more than Grandpa.
When I first brought my farmer home to meet my parents, I wanted my mom and dad to like him. But I really wanted to know what Grandpa thought of him. He approved. (obviously, or I wouldn't have married him!) Grandpa, of course, shocked my farmer at first, with his uncensored talk of Indians and the bush and all that fun stuff that Grandpa always talked about. ;) And later on, he told my farmer all sorts of mortifying stories about me as a child. He also told my farmer just how much I reminded him of his mother, Sarah. I am flattered. She was a strong woman.
I miss my Grandpa more than I can tell you. More than the memories, I will always be grateful for his knowledge that he has passed on to us. No, INGRAINED in us. Almost everything that I know about the bush, I owe to my grandpa. He made it a point to teach his grand-kids all that he could about nature and the way of life in the bush. We knew the difference between a crow and a raven before we could even talk. The moss always grows higher on the north faces of the trees, so if you know which way is North, you will never get lost. He would take us squirrel hunting when we were younger and point out "whiskey jacks" and blue jays, different looking nests in the trees, signs of bear or coyote or wolf. Just little things like tracking an animal and what that animal might be and where it may be heading. He got a real kick out of my little girl. I asked her "What do we do to magpies?" She always replies, "We SHOOT them!" That's my girl!
I was asked to write my Grandpa's eulogy for his funeral, since Grandma always read my blog and let Grandpa read it too. I agreed to, but I told my grandma that if I was to write it, I had to be the one to tell it as well. She, along with most of my family, didn't think that I could read it in front of a congregation. It's a hard thing to write about a person that you know so well, but know that you'll never see them again, or hear their voice again. You want to make sure that the people you are telling it to, understand who that person was in life. But I had told my Grandpa when I saw him for the last time, that I wouldn't let him down, that I'd be strong-like him. I would be able to do it just fine. And I did. My sister joined me at the microphone, but it was really more for moral support. In case I couldn't get through it, and at one point, I thought I might not, but she was there for me, and quietly said I could do it. So, Sister, thank you for believing in me.
Last weekend, we laid Grandpa in his final resting place. There is a tangible emptiness when I go home to the farm now. My Dad is alone, without his right-hand man, his auction-sale accomplice, his shop buddy, his go-to-man, his best friend, his Dad. My grandma is without her love of over half a century, her best friend, her antagonist, her farmer. And we grand-kids, we have lost an important root in our family tree, but we will persevere. We will be strong and we will not forget. We will speak his name with pride and smile and laugh through all the tears that we weep. Because we loved him, and we love him still. His twinkling blue eyes, his smile, his ready laugh. His curses, and his humour. His hugs. His unconditional love. You don't ever forget someone who gave you so much to remember & so much to be thankful for.
I saw a hawk a few days before my grandpa would have turned 80. It was flying over my garden here at home, and it hovered there, just coasting on a breeze, for (I kid you not!!!) over a minute. I finally went out onto my deck and it looked at me, hovered for a few more seconds, screeched, and then slowly glided away. Call me crazy, but I'm convinced it was my Grandpa.
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| R.I.P. Grandpa~1935-2015 |
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