Grandpa

I snuck by the care center after work yesterday. My grandfather, Fred Harding, is just 10 days shy of turning 98. He has been a trooper. He contracted pneumonia about a month ago and spent a couple of weeks in the hospital. They've since moved him to a nice care center in the Provo river bottoms. It's hard to see people grow old. He hasn't known me for a couple of years, now. Before that, he occasionally thought I was my brother. That's okay. I'm not offended in the least. The lucidity is waning, as is his ability to fight off the effects of pneumonia. Will this be "it" for him? I don't know. I will be both sad and happy to see him go -- sad for my Grandma Afton (who turned 95 in February) but happy knowing that he is no longer suffering.

As a result of growing up in Memphis, I only got to see him for a week or two a year -- whenever we drove out to Provo for summer vacation. I always enjoyed going to his house. Although Grandma ran the show and took care of us (making homemade egg-nog or taking us to Cook's for ice-cream or Jimba's for hamburgers -- back when I could safely walk down the middle of Provo's Center Street in the middle of the day), Grandpa was a pleasant looming presence in their house. He had a great laugh, too -- very jolly (ironic, since Grandma is the "Jolley"). I remember sitting in the backseat of their cars (usually Pontiacs or Buicks) and not being able to see above the seats in front of me. Of course, nobody wore seat belts back then so I was free to roam around and pop my head up for air if I needed to. Amazingly, if I concentrate, I can smell his cologne or hair tonic. (Grandma always wore perfume, too.) What's more amazing is that he was only in his late 50's / early 60's at the time -- not a long stretch from where I am now. I don't remember him ever being grumpy. Sure, my brother and I probably made plenty of racket, but he never yelled at us or made us feel unwelcome. Sometimes he'd just plop in front of the tv and watch MASH (when it was actually in production). He'd laugh and laugh. That was long before the rest of us caught on.



To be that content in my old age ... that's what I want. To have fought a good fight, done one's best, touched lives -- that's what it's all about. To be at peace sounds so cliché, but that is the gift that God gives those to whom he will later say "Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." Now let's not be naive about this -- there are those who seem peaceful but who are, instead, resigned. Perhaps they've come to terms with the fact that they haven't done their best and are "okay with it". Perhaps they don't believe in an after-life and, consequently, don't fear that any of their misdeeds' debts require payment. They may be quiet, but they're not at peace. On the other hand, there's a twinkling in the eyes of those people who are genuinely good. There's no pride or self-promotion or guile. People who are genuinely good are members of a special club. While those around them scurry in pointless Brownian ways or kick at the pricks of pointless pursuits, people who are good are able to step outside themselves, breathe, breathe some more, and see life for what it is. They are not without trials or disappointments or even weaknesses, but they see those trials, disappointments and weaknesses as opportunities for growth. Easier said than done, to be sure ... but it's doable! Where these people have the leg up on most of us is in that they try to deal with these transients as just the next hurdle to be overcome and not some punitive retribution or retaliation from an angry God. By being submissive and consistently taking their medicine, their rough edges are polished away and their souls are healed. They become child-like but wise. Nay, dare I say, they become God-like.

Grandpa Harding is a "shoe-in". My parents are, too ... but that's another story.