My Grandpa Johnson passed away yesterday. I can't say it was unexpected, he was 87 years old, but I can say that it's an awe-inspiring moment to witness his graceful passing.
Mom had told us that he was in the hospital on Thursday, and on Saturday it was looking like he might be on his way out. However, overnight, things took a downward turn, and I received the call at 7:00 am on Sunday that he may not make it through the day and to come right away. Although Steve had been unable to sleep the night before, he and I were both awake right away, got dressed quickly, and were on our way to Heber.
When I arrived, Grandpa was still breathing but wasn't conscious. I sat beside him, touched his head and his chest and whispered that I was there. Within a few minutes he let out his last breath, a soft moan, and he was gracefully on his way to his next journey.
I'm sure that wherever he ends up in heaven, he'll be greeted by his family, his two poodle companions, and my own father. I'm sure after a few war stories and embraces, Grandpa will be on his way building the streets of heaven or whatever there is to build, since that's what he seemed to be made to do: build things with his two very capable hands.
My first memory of my Grandfather was when he and Grandma would come to visit while we lived in Roosevelt. Grandpa and Grandma had two little poodles named Missy and Squirt, and every morning, regardless of where they were, he would take the poodles on a walk. "They have to burn extra energy, because for every step you take they have to take four," he'd tell me. While he visited, he and my father would spend time winterizing the trailer or building whatever would be useful, and sometimes things that were not necessarily practical but brought a lot of joy, such as my playhouse. When I was 6 years old, he built me a one-room palace with a split entry door, real windows, and wooden soldiers to guard it. It had a real shingle roof, and even a utility table where I could spend hours making mud-pies and weed cakes (inedible, of course.)
When I was about 9 years old, we kids spent an entire summer with Grandma and Grandpa while Mom stayed at the Weber State dorm rooms to work on her RN degree. That summer, he was our constant guardian and would do whatever we asked. One day he'd sit next to the pool while we swam, the next day he'd take us for a walk over to the library, and the day after was a weekly trip to the Bean Museum, where we'd discover new things about animals and even get to hold a boa constrictor. He never seemed to mind when we ran all over, just as long as we didn't leave his sight. He never spoke harshly to us on our trips. We spent an entire summer exploring Provo, and sometimes even talked him into buying us ice-cream cones from Reams but not telling Grandma so we could have ice cream again that night. I certainly inherited his love of ice cream, and there was no one that seemed to enjoy it more than he did.
When I graduated from High School, I moved to Provo with Grandma and Grandpa to attend college. They let me have the room near the garage, which used to be his music room - it was the one room where he could hide away and listen to the country music he was fond of but that Grandma didn't care for. It must have been a bit of a sacrifice, now that I'm older and understand the concept of a "man-cave", that sacred place where a man can go to be with his thoughts. While I was studying, he would give me hugs and tell me how proud he was of me.
As an adult, I had an opportunity to stay with him when Grandma and Mom took a trip to Germany. He had fallen and broken his arm, and Grandma didn't want to leave him, even for a trip to her home country. I agreed to take 1/2 days from work to stay with him. During that week he and I spent time talking, listening to Johnny Cash, and he would tell me stories from his times in the war, his trips with work along the West Coast, and about some of the things he learned about other people. These were stories that were difficult to come by in a family setting, as he was often overshadowed by our own boisterous voices. I enjoyed every moment of staying with him and learning about him as an adult.
In my life, I have never known anyone who was filled with so much love or felt things as deeply as he did. When his beloved poodle companions passed on, he vowed to never have another animal because it was so tough to lose them. No matter how much prodding, he wouldn't consider another animal, but still showed love and tender care to the rest of our family's cats and dogs.
My Grandfather's passing isn't really a sad occasion - it's more of a celebration of the love he had for his family and all those he had around him, including his two great-grandchildren, which made him smile even bigger than the usual every day smile. He had lived a full, happy life, married to his wife for over half a century, and almost every day he had something he had to do - mostly for her. On the day he died, she said "It was such a pleasure to take care of him, because he spent his entire life taking care of me." He was surrounded by his family when he left this earth, and he will be waiting to meet us on our own journeys past this world.
