SpunGirl
02-04-2006, 11:23 PM
As some of you already know, my Grandpa Tex passed away Thursday afternoon. He had been in the hospital for the past ten days, but he was getting better and they were going to release him this week. Then on Thursday, he stopped breathing and he died.
My Grandpa Tex was an amazing guy. Not only was be a wonderful grandfather, but he was a great dad to his seven (!) children. He worked three jobs to make sure his family had everything they needed. He was a WWII Air Force veteran with more military medals and whatsits for flying, honor, bravery, etc, than I even knew existed.
When I was thirteen, my Grandma Marie (who I was extremely close with) died. She was an amazing lady with a compelling history all her own, and she and Tex were the kind of love story that makes people starry-eyed. He was so lonely after her death that it was painful to watch. We all visited him at that huge house in Big Bear, where most of grandma's things remained sitting around the house.
About five or six years ago, he started drinking heavily. I would call to say hello at three in the afternoon, and he'd already be completely plastered... so much that it was difficult to continue a conversation with him. Last year, he fell over and put his head through the drywall.
This time, he was in the hospital because he got drunk and fell over again. He bruised his spleen with this fall, and laid in bed for three days because he was in so much pain. When they got him to the hospital, he hand pnemonia. I want to emphasize that before he started drinking so much, he was as healthy as the proverbial ox.
What hurts the most about this is the way it ended. Looking back over eighty-seven years of a noble life lived by an outstanding human being, saying that he died because he got drunk and fell down makes me heartsick. I feel lucky to be old enough that I remember him how he used to be. What I worry about his the legacy he's left for his younger grandchildren, who may not remember more than his ramblings after a bottle of scotch before noon.
I don't know if anything could have prevented this from happening. I talked to him, as did my dad and his brothers and sisters. He didn't want to listen to anyone. Hopefully now he's with my grandma, where he always wanted to be anyway. And in the gentle way she had, she'll just shake her head at him and say, "I told you not to do that."
The best thing to come out of this is that my dad sat down with me yesterday and promised me - absolutely promised me - that I would NEVER have to deal with anything like that when he gets that old. At fifty-four, he's just retired as a Deputy Chief after 30 years with the Flagstaff Police Department, and I couldn't be more proud to be his daughter.
The other good thing to come of this might that it reaches anyone who needs to hear it. Take from it what you will, I think the lesson here is frighteningly obvious.
And to everyone that has expressed their sympathies, thank you. The service is next Thursday and there are a few family members I'm dreading seeing, but if they do anything totally outrageous I'll be sure to complain about it here.
-Kristin
My Grandpa Tex was an amazing guy. Not only was be a wonderful grandfather, but he was a great dad to his seven (!) children. He worked three jobs to make sure his family had everything they needed. He was a WWII Air Force veteran with more military medals and whatsits for flying, honor, bravery, etc, than I even knew existed.
When I was thirteen, my Grandma Marie (who I was extremely close with) died. She was an amazing lady with a compelling history all her own, and she and Tex were the kind of love story that makes people starry-eyed. He was so lonely after her death that it was painful to watch. We all visited him at that huge house in Big Bear, where most of grandma's things remained sitting around the house.
About five or six years ago, he started drinking heavily. I would call to say hello at three in the afternoon, and he'd already be completely plastered... so much that it was difficult to continue a conversation with him. Last year, he fell over and put his head through the drywall.
This time, he was in the hospital because he got drunk and fell over again. He bruised his spleen with this fall, and laid in bed for three days because he was in so much pain. When they got him to the hospital, he hand pnemonia. I want to emphasize that before he started drinking so much, he was as healthy as the proverbial ox.
What hurts the most about this is the way it ended. Looking back over eighty-seven years of a noble life lived by an outstanding human being, saying that he died because he got drunk and fell down makes me heartsick. I feel lucky to be old enough that I remember him how he used to be. What I worry about his the legacy he's left for his younger grandchildren, who may not remember more than his ramblings after a bottle of scotch before noon.
I don't know if anything could have prevented this from happening. I talked to him, as did my dad and his brothers and sisters. He didn't want to listen to anyone. Hopefully now he's with my grandma, where he always wanted to be anyway. And in the gentle way she had, she'll just shake her head at him and say, "I told you not to do that."
The best thing to come out of this is that my dad sat down with me yesterday and promised me - absolutely promised me - that I would NEVER have to deal with anything like that when he gets that old. At fifty-four, he's just retired as a Deputy Chief after 30 years with the Flagstaff Police Department, and I couldn't be more proud to be his daughter.
The other good thing to come of this might that it reaches anyone who needs to hear it. Take from it what you will, I think the lesson here is frighteningly obvious.
And to everyone that has expressed their sympathies, thank you. The service is next Thursday and there are a few family members I'm dreading seeing, but if they do anything totally outrageous I'll be sure to complain about it here.
-Kristin