In my dream I had walked down the street form my cousin's house to collect my son and her son-in-law from Grandma's house where they had been busy playing together. It was nine o'clock at night and we had got so busy at my cousin's that time had slipped away from us and it was time for the boys to go to bed. I wasn't at all worried about Normy, because I knew Trent (who is ten) would be playing so sweetly with him, and that Grandma would have a watchful eye on them both.
I walked through Grandma's yard, passed the big pine tree that used to have a chain on it for tying up various dogs, and up the deck stairs in the back. I stood for a minuet outside in the glow of a summer sunset, and watched through the sliding glass-door, as the two boys played happily despite their age gap. Normy was probably getting pretty tired because he was just sitting on the little brown couch laughing at Trent.
I opened the slider, (I could FEEL exactly how much exertion it took to open it and HEAR the exact whooshing noise that accompanies that pressure and movement). I stepped inside on the brightly colored carpet in the playroom and said something to the boys about getting ready to go back to Sara's house.
Then I moseyed, through the dining room, my feet creaking on the wooden threshold and walked over the little grate right there. I stopped by the telephone on Grandpa's little desk just as Grandma saw me and gave me a smile. But, she was in the midst of letting in a visitor at the red front door. A little old widow had come over for her weekly visit (Grandma's visitor is symbolic not reality.) and Grandma took her by the elbow and helped guide her into the formal living room for a little chat. I did think to my self, "Why is she having her sit on that couch? It's broken!"
I didn't have time to ponder it though, because just then the phone rang. I can still hear exactly how it sounds. Not the ring of their new white phone. But the old black one with the rotary dial that used to connect them to the party line they shared with my Aunt Mary Beth (and others before her) who lived down the road. I could feel the heaviness of the receiver in my hand and hear the click of the buttons as I lifted it.
"Hello Cochranes, this is Becky...."
It was my Grandfather.
"Grandpa, where are you?"
"Oh Becky, I had to take a trip. But I'm good. How are those kids of yours?"
And then I woke up.
And now I am sitting at my computer, with tears streaming down my face because I miss him, and Grandma, and all of Ripley so much it is making my heart hurt in a very physical way.
But especially Grandpa, who died this June.
The original plan was that the kids and I were going to spend three whole weeks in Ripley this summer while Smoochy had a training series to attend for his job. My sister was going to be there with her baby for all three weeks as well. Kate and I would also be there with my mother, who has been spending a month every summer for the the last few years with my grandparents "spoiling them" as much as she can. My grandfather's health has been in serious decline for a few years, and most of his care had fallen to my Aunt Mary Beth and recently an Uncle of mine who moved in with Grandpa and Grandma after he crashed n' burned his life. So, my mom's yearly visit was a real treat for everyone.
All of my plans changed though, when Jacob took this position within the company he works for that gave us the opportunity to move back to Omaha. Suddenly my summer looked like it would be filled with chaotic transitions, not peaceful days hanging out at Grandma's trying to keep my kids from breaking something made in the 1800s. I was very disappointed, but my husband knew how important it was for me to go this summer. In addition to spending time with my mother's side of the family, I was looking forward to seeing my paternal relatives as well. My father's family was holding a huge family reunion extravaganza. (Think: cluster of rented cabins on Chautauqua Lake) And as horrible as it seems to write, I repeated to him several times, I'd rather go to Ripley now and see Grandpa alive, than go back only for his funeral. So, my husband took a week of vacation, and in the midst of all our moving craziness we booked airfare for a week's visit in Ripley, NY.
A couple of weeks before my trip was planned, my Grandfather was checked into the hospital. He had been having problems wit is knees for YEARS. When I was much younger, he had one of his knees replaced. The surgery and recovery was such and ordeal, that he vowed he wouldn't go through it again. I think he regretted that decision by the time it was too late. It was almost exactly a year ago his leg and knee caused him so much pain, that he simply gave up walking. So, he was no stranger to pain in his legs. However, one night he started experiencing excruciating pain in one of his legs that was so terrible that it woke him up screaming and landed him in the hospital.
Many days and diagnostic tests later it was revealed that he had no circulation in this leg. The choice was either to have the leg amputated and never go home again (He would have been forced to spend the rest of his life in a facility that could lift him in and out of bed); or he could go home and allow the infection and possibly gangrene to run it's eventual course. It really wasn't much of a decision for Grandpa and the rest of my family. Grandpa came home.
My grandparents have lived in that house for over 65 years. It was built in 18?? by my Great Great Great Great Grandfather. It was the house were my Grandfather's father was raised. It is an old farm house that has been the focal point of Cochrane family life for generations. If your choice was between eking out a few more years of tortured existence in a sterile hospital room surrounded by staff, or coming home to the place that is as much a part of you as your fingernails, surrounded by your family to die, which would you choose?
My grandfather passed away at home, in his favorite spot, after visiting with each of his four children. (One of which drove day and night from Wyoming and made it in time to be at his side). It was two days before my scheduled trip. He was looking out the window at the the garden he had sewn year after year with affection; and beyond that to the barns and silos where he had toiled ceaselessly to provide for his wife and children, continue his family's legacy, and because he loved it. He died at home with tremendous dignity, which after years battling a failing body, was exactly what he deserved. My cousin told me that there was a breeze blowing through his white hair from the open slider. He died, like he was born, on his family's farm.
Today, my mother's 6 week trip to Ripley is over. Today she is going to get back on an airplane and head to Florida. I know she is happy to be going back to my dad, but I also know that her heart is breaking as she has to say good-bye. Good-bye at least for now, until next summer.
Today, I am going to work a little harder; be just that much more of an honest person; and I'm going to write a letter to my Grandma. Because that's what Grandpa would want me to do. That's the way he lived his life. Though, I don't think he wrote many letters!
Today, my cousin Brian, is going to kiss his baby son (who carries my grandfather's name) and is going to head out into the grape vineyards and work the farm. And the cycle is going to continue.
Grandpa in His Garden
Grandma and all Her Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren
Normy July of '08 sitting on the playroom floor, next to Grandpa's spot, in front of the slider.
This is the picture of Brian and baby Andrew I should show you.
This is the picture of Brian and baby Andrew I want to show you.
Trent playing so nicely with my kids. You can see the house and the deck in the background.
Cousin Sara reminding me about hollyhocks, and how grandma would turn them into little dolls for us with pipe-cleaners and flowers for skirts.
Grandma, Mom, Kate, and Morgan
My beautiful Aunt Mary Beth and Grandma
Those Crazy Niebauers and their matching reunion shirts.
My Grandpa
