Last week, Grandpa Anderson (Daddy's Dad, as it were) passed away at the age of 72. It was sudden, and he was well on the way to recovery after quadruple bypass surgery in October. Minutes before, he had been walking on the treadmill in anticipation of a trip down to New Mexico. The full obituary is located here.
I want to share a few anecdotes about Grandpa. The first is Rhys's response when he heard the news: "Oh (sadly). I liked Grandpa."
The second is Alanna's delayed realization of what this trip to Idaho was for. I don't think it really hit home until we were sitting in the church on the day of the funeral: "I miss my Grandpa!" ("uhoo, uhoo, uhoo"- she was only sort of really crying). And that's OK; she's only 3. All in all our kids did a great job taking in all this heady grown-up stuff, and I was extremely proud of them. They were also a source of great comfort.
The third is our niece's brief but heartbreaking oration during the funeral service. I was saddened by the loss of my father, but my niece truly lost one of her best friends--her grandpa.
The rest of this post is dedicated to my memory of my Dad. He was a fount of one-liner knowledge. During the past several years I've written down as many as I can remember, and I'd like to share a few.
I've thought a lot about the things we were able to do together, and some of the adventures I've had without him. There were a lot of things I wish I could have shared with him. But he'd say "wish in one hand and spit in the other and see which one fills up first." Or course it was many years after childhood that I found out Dad's version was the "kid appropriate" one. Regardless, I have a lot of great memories and in the end there are no regrets.
The first thing I did after getting the news of Dad's passing was sit down and play the piano. As many of you know, I play a lot these days. While I was playing every dirge-y gospel tune I knew I thought back to Dad driving me to and from piano lessons in the next town over. There in the car we'd talk about whatever came up. Sometimes we'd get dinner before or after and I'd do homework. Inevitably, the moon-less winter evenings were very dark. Dad claimed it was "blacker than the inside of a cow." I have yet to substantiate that claim, but somehow he knew. Those winter nights could also be "colder than a well digger's ass."
As I got older I got more dirty jobs. Yesterday my Aunt's husband and I cleaned rain gutters and the dog kennel. I had to smile as I repeated one of Dad's most famous phrases: "Another bad job well done." I have exported that phrase everywhere I've lived and worked.
As we all know, life is full of frustration. Right or wrong, our frustration often comes as the result of interactions with other people. One fundamental set of truths my wife and I live by is the "Four Agreements," two of which are "don't take things personally" and "don't make assumptions." My Dad succinctly summarized these tenets with "consider the source." Of course, we aren't always as forgiving as we should be, and at those times our antagonists "can't tell shit from a better grade of peanut butter."
At the end of the funeral service and wake we were able to claim "another bad job well done." The grieving process will take much longer as we work through all the feelings and memories of a truly great man. Another of his phrases comes to mind as we're called to "keep a stiff upper lip."
We'll miss you, Grandpa.
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