I've been thinking all week about my Grandpa Dean. Since Christmas he's had trouble catching his breath, but that really hasn't slowed him down any. Then, two weekends ago he went to the hospital with maybe pneumonia, but no. Last Monday his doctors flew him to the U of U for a lung biopsy and found that the old dairy man (80 years to be exact) had developed a lung disease called
Pulmonary Fibrosis. His options were A) live in the hospital for the rest of his life or 2) live in the hospital for the rest of his life. I think he chose one of the two.
Grandpa Dean passed away Tuesday morning, 2 days after his and Grandma's 17th wedding anniversary.
You see, Grandpa Dean's wife and my Grandpa Phillips passed away when I was 13, and Dean and Grandma by a sweet gift of grace (and an even sweeter childhood sweetheart story) found each other and were married a year later.
I remember when Grandpa Phillips died. I had just turned 13 and was very awkward and thoughtful. I remember visiting Grandma and being very upset about the sleeping arrangements. Grandma asked me if I was lonely and if I'd like to sleep with her because she got lonely too. I remember thinking outside of myself for the first time that summer, and then, being very grateful for Dean and the thought that he and Grandma would be together.
The first time I met Dean my big family was eating breakfast at Grandma's kitchen table. Dean came in, filled a bowl of cereal and went outside to eat it alone at the patio picnic table. Remember how I always felt a little lonely? Well, I picked up my bowl and went outside to join him. We didn't say much to each other, but I remember feeling good just sitting with him. I liked him from the start.
Years later, after I'd graduated from college I really got to know Dean. One Sunday afternoon I was playing Grandma's piano and he asked me to play
A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief. I played it through and looked up to ask if there was another he liked, but didn't because he was wiping his cheeks. Then, quietly he just said, "That's my favorite."
I'll never forget Dean's sweet tenderness, his laugh, or the way he loved old Westerns. He loved to work hard, he loved his family, and he loved to know that there were people who loved him back. I loved him very much and I'll miss him very much.