Grandpa

Memorial Day hold a special place in my heart. My grandpa died on Memorial Day five years ago.

I was very lucky and knew my Grandpa VanderZand very well. He and Grandma lived less than 3 miles from us when we were growing up. She died when I was in my mid twenties but Grandpa lived until I was 32. He was 90.

The day my grandpa died was just another day at first. I had the day off of work and was helping my friends, who had gotten married two days before, move their things into storage before they took a month honeymoon and then returned to stay with me for a few weeks before moving to WI for grad school. I was driving down Burton toward Calvin college (just a couple blocks from the house my husband's parents live in, although he and I weren't dating at the time). My mother phoned me and I answered while driving. I no longer answer the phone while driving for any reason. She told me that my grandpa had died. I must have scared my friend Alexis because I swerved out of the left lane and pulled into the nearest driveway, which happened to belong to one of the houses I admire most in Grand Rapids. I began to cry as soon as the car was stopped and remained on the phone with my mom only a few seconds longer.

His death came as a surprise to us. You would think that we would have expected it since he was 90, but he came from a family of long livers. His brother died later that week at 92 and his sister had lived to be over 100. Grandpa still lived alone and had no assistance in his living. He could still do all the things he needed, still had full use of his mind and body. He was a little stiff, suffered from emphysema, but didn't need oxygen regularly, and was fairly fit for his age. One of his favorite things to do when he would meet someone for the first time was to ask them how old they thought he was. Unless they had a reference point, like my dad standing there, they would guess up to 25 years off! He looked great!

My grandpa was always either laughing, talking politics sternly (the only Democrat among a family of Republicans) or tearing up a bit at the memory of my grandmother, whom he loved dearly. My grandpa was also the spiritual patriarch of the family. He and Grandma were the first Christians in their families and they lived out that life as an example for all their children and grandchildren- and for my grandpa, two of his great grand children.

My husband and I have a ritual of praying in bed just before sleeping. Last night, he prayed not only for our unborn child, but for the grandchildren and great grandchildren and any descendents we would have. I began to cry a bit, partly because I am pregnant, but partly because I wondered if my grandpa had prayed for me from the time they were expecting my father. I bet they did- Grandpa was a praying man.

The rest of that first Memorial Day, I spent with my friends. I worried that I was putting a damper on their day as they had just gotten married and were looking forward to a honeymoon. I called my best friend, who came to spend time with me that night, who knew my grandpa and loved to talk about her favorite "cute, little, old man." I needed to be around people and my friends were wonderful. I discovered that my grandpa had died of a heart attack in his sleep in the early hours of Memorial Day. He was expected at my parents' house for dinner that day- everyone in the family was there except for him and me. When he didn't show up, they called his house. When he didn't answer, they though he might not have his hearing aid in (bad habit he had). No one ever thought he might be hurt or dead. My dad and aunt went to the house to see what was up and my dad found his dad in bed. He wouldn't let my aunt in until he had adjusted my grandfather a bit- he looked like he had been pinched, was in a position of feeling pain, and my dad didn't want that memory in my aunt's head. They then called the police and then family.

Memorial Day is a day to remember those who gave themselves for us. My grandpa was in the army in WWII, but that isn't his greatest gift to us. His greatest gift was that he gave himself first to God and then to his family. He loved and prayed for every single one of us and was loved by all of us. I remember my grandfather often, but especially this weekend.