The Pale Yellow Rose

Dear Grandpa,1

On Friday a police officer came into my classroom requesting to speak with me.  He told me to phone Uncle Tom right away because there was a family emergency - a very vague message from mom.  Knowing your history of health, you immediately came to mind.  I was so distraught, that it was not until I left the classroom that I discovered I did not have a phone card yet.  I had no way of phoning home, and so, I began to panic.  I was not thinking clearly, I was not thinking at all.2

I truly thank God for Saman because at that time I ran into him.  He was with a friend who let me borrow his cell phone - it did not work.  However, Saman let me borrow his phone card which did.  I feel bad using his phone card now, because he uses that to phone his family overseas in Iran, but that was the last thing on my mind when I phoned my uncle.3

Uncle Tom said you had a really bad stroke and that I should take the next bus to Barrie when I was packed.  But, you did not die.  You were still alive on that hospital bed.4

As you got up for work, early Friday morning, like you always do, five days before your seventy-fifth birthday, you called Granny because you felt weak and lost feeling in all your limbs.  She said she was going to call for an ambulance but you said, "No, I don't want to go to the hospital again."  After three hip operations, a knee operation, two heart attacks, and many other bodily complications that would take too long to explain, it was no wonder everyone thought you were having another heart attack.5

Uncle Tom scared me when he said he did not think you would make it.  I tried to give him some hope and I did have hope that you would get better.  You are a tough old guy.  A real stubborn fighter.  You got 'guts'.  I knew you would hang on until I got there. . .  Seven and a half hours later.  I was the last one of the family to show up.6

There you were on life support, that was keeping your soul in your body, as your twenty-year-old grandson, your oldest grandchild, wept over you.  I had hopped I would give you great grandchildren.  That I would see you laughing and grabbing at my son - to tickle and wrestle him.  Just like you do to my youngest cousin.  Just like you did to me when I was his age.7

I remember being gripped by those strong hands.  Even as you got older and your hands were cursed with arthritis.  Hands of labour and hard work gripping me with love and fatherly comfort.  The way you rubbed and patted my back.  Stroking the back of my neck with the back of your finger, when I was little, and putting me to sleep.  The smile on my mother's face and her testament of admiration for the way you treated me. . .  That's the smile I wanted to share when I saw you with my child.8

But, the stroke made you brain dead.  Your brain is dead.  That dream is dead.  God has denied you great grandchildren.  God has denied me a grandfather.9

On Saturday morning the family gathered around your hospital bed with the final hope that you would fight back and make it.  You fought back.  Your respiration went to zero.  Your blood pressure dropped to nearly half of what it was.  Although your heart slowed to twenty you did not give up.  Suddenly your heart rate started increasing until it got to thirty-five.  Then you listened to my mother's words, "Go to God, Dad, go to God."  Once again your heart rate went down until all that was left was three flat lines.  It was then that we knew.  You were in heaven.10

You believed in Christ and the Triune God.  Every Sunday when you could get your body going you would go to church.  Even if Granny could not get going in time.  As pastor said in his sermon, "Two weeks ago you drove yourself to church and with your two canes hobbled up those twenty or so church steps.  You sat on a hard wooden pew on the lectern side, as you always do.  You made your way to the altar with your canes for communion - standing because you could not kneel with your legs.  Then you walked back down the steps and drove yourself home at the end of service."11

Now you are in heaven with God.  I know this and at times that makes it easier on all of us who love you on earth.  As you are well aware, I was delegated as floral adviser for your funeral among other things.  I hope you liked your flowers grandpa.  Mom once told me that your favourite colour was yellow.  Granny said you always liked wearing a rose boutonnière.  I think that pale yellow rose went well with your blue-charcoal suit.  What do you think?12

Your grandson, 13

Jim14