We pulled the tarp away to reveal the ugliest casket I have ever seen. It was green. Apparently my grandpa had found a good deal on the thing. Not that I would know. I had never given it any thought about how much it would cost to die. I was surprised to find that my grandpa was starting to think on these lines. "Talk about emergency preparedness" they said. "He was a real boy scout."
I helped carry the casket into my grandparents barn where I was sure it would sit for years collecting dust and spiders. It was spring break then and death was far from my mind. No. That's not completely true. Before I left for school I said goodbye to my grandparents and for the first time in my life that dreaded thought slipped into my mind: What if this was the last time that I would see my grandpa? I wrapped my arms around him and told him how much I loved him.
Today before I left for school I looked at my cell phones. No, I thought. I'll leave them here today. When I got home I checked them. A small black box appeared in the middle of my phone. 7 Messages. And on the other there were two. They were all from my mom. Something had obviously happened. For whatever reason, I expected to hear good news, but when I heard my mother's voice I knew that I was dead wrong...
"Death," said President Monson, "eventually comes to all humankind. It comes to the aged as they walk on faltering feet. Its summons is heard by those who have scarcely reached midway in life’s journey, and often it hushes the laughter of little children. Death is one fact that no one can escape or deny."
Death is sad. Death is hollow. Death cuts at the heart. Death hurts.
As with the rest of my family, today has been very hard for me. I want to be home. I want to be within the comfort of my home with my loving family around me. I feel so far away. My Grandpa is gone. In this life, I shall never see him again. I am reminded of the plan of salvation. I know I will see him again. I know he is with his children who went on before him. I know he is happy. But I am selfish. I want him here.
President Monson continued: "Frequently death comes as an intruder. It is an enemy that suddenly appears in the midst of life’s feast, putting out its lights and gaiety. Death lays its heavy hand upon those dear to us and at times leaves us baffled and wondering. In certain situations, as in great suffering and illness, death comes as an angel of mercy. But for the most part, we think of it as the enemy of human happiness. The darkness of death, however, can ever be dispelled by the light of revealed truth. “I am the resurrection, and the life,” spoke the Master. “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
When I think of my grandpa I think of him in his garden. I believe that I shall always remember him that way. Outside, working on his garden. There is a hymn that, when I hears it's words, I see my grandpa. "There are chances for work all around just now, Opportunities right in our way. Do not let them pass by, saying, 'Sometime I’ll try,' But go and do something today." Because life is fragile and death inevitable, we must make the most of each day. My Grandpa was such a man. He was constantly learning, constantly working, constantly sharing his love with all who were around him.
I remember once, a family reunion. The majority of the family was able to attend and it was held in the gym of our church back home. We put on dozens of little skits and in the midst of the audience my grandfather watched. At the end, all of my family, all of my cousins, all of my aunts, and all of my uncles were invited to stand at the foot of the stage and sing to our Grandpa. By the time all of us made it to the stage, my grandpa was the only one left in the audience. At that moment I felt a great connection with him, one that I had never before felt. I could see the tears in his eyes. The perfect bliss in his face. This was his family. His. Of all the things he fixed, of all the places he has served, of all the things he has done, he always seemed to regard his family as the most important of all the things he has ever accomplished.
I regret to say that my memories of my grandpa are hazy and old. Of these recent years my relationship with him was one of quiet words and secret observations. I love my grandpa. I loved watching him work. He was always dedicated in everything he did and he always found time to do what was needed.
I remember the stories. The story of my grandpa attaching a sail to his bike and ending up miles from home. The story of my grandpa running away from his fellow sailor-mates who did their best to give the Mormon-boy some beer. The story of my grandpa walking into one of his class' and finding that one of his students was goofing around on top of their desk -"Get down from there," my grandpa said, "you're not a jackass!" (That was the only time I have ever heard of my grandpa swearing.)
I have never met a man quite like my grandpa. Perhaps it is because I was young. Perhaps it is because I was never with him on those rare occasions. Or perhaps my grandpa was just one of those rare people sent to earth simply to act as a standard to all those around them, but I have never seen my grandpa make a mistake. In my eyes he was perfect. He was a sealer in our Father's Temple. His posterity is "as the sands of the sea." He knew how to fix anything. He knew how to fly. He knew how to work the land. He knew how to be thrifty. He knew how to teach. He knew how to love.
I miss my grandpa. Today, as I was told over the phone, my grandpa made a few trips into town to get some mulch for his garden. After his second trip, my grandpa didn't come home. My mom was sent out to check on him and see if everything was alright. My mom went with my youngest sister of only three years. My mom tells me that she found him lying on the ground. He had put his shovel on top of the mulch filled buckets in the trunk and was now lying on the ground with his ankles crossed, as if in sleep. He left before she got there. There was no life in him then.
My younger sister did not understand. Why would someone kill grandpa? No, my mom explained. The Lord needs Grandpa with him. It was his time to go home. My sister seemed to understand. "So," she said, "He is in another garden."
I know my grandpa is in heaven. I know he is watching his family from On High; perhaps in silence as all of his children, and all of their children cry and mourn over his loss. Or perhaps he isn't watching. After all there is too much work in heaven just to sit around.
I cannot wait for the day when I rejoin him and walk through the gardens of heaven. The gardens that I know he is planting for his family.
This is the steering column. Of all the things wrong with it, this I think is the worst. When you sit in the driver's seat the steering wheel is literally in your lap. The car turns and all that, but the column can't decide if it wants to stay put or not. My brother John also took a bright orange string to this to keep it still.
This tire (at least, I think it's this tire) is bigger than all the others. Which makes it wobbly to drive. In my absence my brother John has taken good care of Sheldon. He's patched it up and fed it gas and, surprisingly, it's still running. He has been a really good doctor. Thank you Dr. John!
