In Memory

Trinity with Pater Thanksgiving 2011.

We all know that we are not promised tomorrow, but rarely does knowledge of the end approach with such certainty that you can almost chart it's trajectory.  Of course, contemplating the loss of a beloved is almost impossible because you cannot make the logical, cognitive aspects of death mesh with the messy, unordered emotions that are inevitable….and often blindsiding.  Three weeks ago, I stood at this very crossroads.

My grandfather's health was steadily declining.  All of his mental faculties completely intact, this was an especially frustrating proposition for him because he felt such betrayal from his physical being.  Things that were once mindless, effortless tasks-- cutting an onion for dinner-- now required all his strength and energy.  Getting out of bed and ready for the day was a herculean effort that, judging by the sweat and tears required, should also be accompanied by a gold medal with special citation for strength and courage in the face of adversity.  It seemed that the demands of 80+ years on this planet were quickly catching up with him, and rapidly redefining what was possible within the bounds of a normal day.  Gone were the days when he could rise early, hit the gym for swimming and walking with his friends, follow that with coffee and fellowship, share lunch with his beautiful bride of 56 years, and spend the afternoon taking care of bills or chores or yard work.  He was not an idle man in his youth, adulthood, or in retirement.  And yet, as January rang in a new year, it seemed the only speed he had was idle.

Pater, Greg, Joe, and Thomas
solving all the world's problems. (2008)

In a picture of love and grace, my sweet husband bought me a last minute ticket to Houston to spend a whole week with my grandfather.  I left my vibrant, boisterous, busy household for the quiet, calm of my grandfather's hospital room where the diminishment of life was almost stifling.

I had nothing to offer him that would change his physical condition.  In fact, even modern medicine failed to have options that would restore him to health.  Instead, I went in search of peace for my heart and his. I was grateful to be there.

Pater, his sister Marge, and Mimi.
New Year 2015

To hold his hand and not talk…because naming the reality was just too much to bear.
To sit beside him as he watched Fox News-- ever the pundit with his finger on the pulse of world events-- and laugh as he critiqued the presidential race he would never see the end of.  "Make sure you vote, Sarah," he said.  "It doesn't matter if none of them are perfect, you just have to vote.  Staying silent is the worst thing you can do."
To regal him with stories of the fab5 even if he didn't have energy to respond.
To pray with him and watch his faith in action.
To play cribbage with him, and move his peg around the board because that effort was too taxing.
It was for these moments that I came.
Physically, he was not the same man that I grew up serving tea to at impromptu tea parties with my cousins. He was barely 107 lbs.
 Physically, he was not the same man who took walks along the bayou with me when we visited-- even when Houston was hot and swampy.  Just sitting up in bed and breathing exhausted him to the point of sleep.  But, my grandfather-- Pater, as we called him-- was the same man in spirit and soul.  And that truth was what sustained me through the most difficult week I can remember.

Mimi, Pater and their girls.

Pater fought in war. He fathered 5 daughters. (That's not the war I was referring to.)  Buried one. Raised the other 4 to successful, loving adults. (That accomplishment is qualification enough for sainthood.)
 He worked for Ingersol/Dresser Rand and was a shrewd business man.  He volunteered weekly at church. Traveled the world.  Supported and lived with his mother-in-law before she died.  (Again…qualification for sainthood.) This man was a picture of strength through 80 years of life.
And yet, when I arrived to his bedside, he was barely a blip under the blanket.  I helped him cut up and eat his food.  I helped him brush his teeth.  I propped pillows and helped him relieve pressure off his bedsores.  I brought ice chips and held his cup as he drank through a straw.  His strength was gone.
His humility was not.  He was not too proud to have his eldest granddaughter see him weak.  He was not too proud to ask for help.  He was not too proud to know that his weakness let me show him love in such tender ways.

In those last days, his daughters, grandchildren, nephews, sons-in-law, and sister visited.  His wife was daily by his side. (Although often frustrated that he listened more to Bill O'Rielly than her!) It was amazing to see all the people that he had loved well and prayed unceasingly for come together in acknowledgment of what he had accomplished in this life: a legacy of love.

My sister, Colleen, and me with Mimi and Pater.

In our families, we often say, "oh, how lucky you are to have your mother's beautiful eyes" or "well, she definitely got the ears from her father's side of the family."  Certainly, the physical characteristics I shared with my grandfather were undeniable.  But, now that he has passed from this world and I can no longer look upon our physical similarities, I would hope that people could look at me and say: What a blessing.  You love just the way Pater did.

My birth made him Pater,
but Pater made me who I am today.

In sweet, loving memory of William Buchanan Kemp
Prayer Warrior and Patriarch.
November 15, 1934 - January 20, 2015

Mimi and Pater with all the great-grands at Mo Ranch 2015