Things I Miss #7: Grandpa Max

I miss my Grandpa Max.  Of all the 35 things I'm planning to write about, this might be the thing I miss the most. I have so many good memories of him and so many stories, but today's is a little tender.

Today is the 20th anniversary of his death.  That's a lot of years.  Like with most things, time is funny related to his death.  In some ways, it seems like a million years since I've seen with him and talked with him and learned from him.  But my mind and heart hold so many memories that I really can still hear his voice and his wheezy laugh (darn asthma!) and picture his walk and his somewhat slouched stance as he surveyed the fields. 

I have countless Grandpa Max stories and I hope that through the years, I get them written down for my family to remember.  I've written about my Grandpa Max before and when I did, I wrote that someday I would tell Cole (and all my kids) about what a great missionary he was and how he died.  I guess that day is today, so here it goes.

When I was a little girl, Grandpa Max often talked about when he and Grandma Donna would serve a mission.  It didn't make me very excited.  I think he regretted that he didn't serve when he was younger and really wanted the chance to be a missionary.  When their mission calls came, they came separately and Grandma Donna's came before Grandpa Max's.  He joked that they didn't want him.  She waited until his came and they opened their calls together.  They were sent to Arizona.  After a few weeks in the MTC, their mission president sent them directly to their first area in Tuba City.  It was in the heart of the Navajo reservation and they knew it as soon as they got there.  Grandma tells of being so scared the first night that after they said their prayer and got in bed, they were still feeling troubled, so Grandpa said, "Donna, that prayer didn't work," and they climbed out of bed and tried again.

They loved mission life there in Tuba City and the people loved them.  After their first year there, they came home and spent the summer on the farm and then went back for a second mission to the same place.  Years later, I was in Tuba City testing children in the schools there.  I stopped by the church one evening just to see if there were any of their old friends there.  Half an hour later, I was in the home of one of his baptisms - the investigator that Grandma Donna says taught him patience - who went on to serve as the bishop.  Their family and I talked until late in the night sharing Grandpa Max stories.  He was loved; there was no doubt.

The next mission was to Sun City, Arizona for another six months.  It was a retirement community and he thought the people there were too stubborn and set in their ways, but they served faithfully anyway.

Throughout the mission years, his health became an increasing concern.  He started having anaphylactic shock reactions around the time they started serving missions.  The first one came in response to a bee sting.  He was out farming and I remember so clearly how scary it was to hear his voice over the radio calling for help and staying in touch with us as he drove into town to get help.  He carried his epi pen kit everywhere the last few years of his life because the reactions just kept coming.  Subsequent reactions were not to bee stings and despite countless tests and doctor visits, they never could identify the cause.  

Before their fourth mission, the doctor signing the medical permission slip noted that he had to serve near a hospital.  I don't remember exactly how near the doctor specified, but I do know that when the mission president sent him to Gila, New Mexico - 45 minutes from the hospital in Silver City - some of my family members were concerned.  But he loved Gila and went right to work.  He loved teaching the gospel.  One Wednesday afternoon, I went to my friend Heather's house after school.  After a while, I called my mom to pick me up.  When she showed up, her mom was in the car with her.  I thought it was strange because even though her parents only lived ten minutes away, they never came to visit us.  Never.  When we got home, my mom told me my Grandpa died that day.  After he ate his lunch, he couldn't breathe.  He and my Grandma Donna hopped in the truck and gave him his shot, but my Grandma says the reaction was so severe, he was gone just a few short minutes into the drive.  His last words to her were simply, "Donna, I'm not gonna make it."  I can't image what an awful, lonely drive into Silver City that was.

After I heard the news, I went straight to my room and started writing in my journal.  I'm kind of a loner at heart.  My sisters, meanwhile, would have made the Polynesians proud with the wailing and stomping that ensued when they received the news.  

This is, obviously, not a very cheerful thing to write about, but it was an important part of my life.  The summer before he died, my grandpa and I were pulling Dyer's Woad together in a gulley on the Washboards.  As we walked, he stumbled a bit.  In that moment, I knew he wasn't going to live much longer.  It was a powerful feeling, but not necessarily scary.  I just knew.  A few weeks before he died, I was praying.  I don't remember what I was praying about, but when I finished, I had a powerful feeling that the plan of salvation is true.  That feeling was followed by the thought that something bad was going to happen, but that it would be okay.  While I was in my room, the memory of these feelings came back to me and I knew the Holy Ghost had prepared me for his death.  I didn't like it and I was terribly sad, but I felt comfort in knowing that the Holy Ghost knew and loved me enough to prepare me for his death.

The sting of his death is gone, but I will forever miss him.  He was just such a great guy.  He was a powerful leader and teacher, but he was one of my best friends too.  On Sunday, he'd get after us for not keeping the Sabbath Holy and on Monday, he'd give himself an asthma attack jump roping with his granddaughters.  His legacy of hard work and faith and dedication continues to be a powerful influence in my life.  

Sometimes, my natural man rules a little too strongly and I wonder just how this gospel can really work.  But on good days, the memory of the feelings I had after he died and the Holy Ghost touching my heart still burn bright and I know with a surety that I will see him again. 

I love you, Grandpa Max.  Thanks for the memories.