The Greatest Man I Know

Let’s go back to when I was four years old. When I didn’t understand the meaning of death. It was about three weeks after my little brother was born when my grandpa on my mom’s side had died of lung cancer. He was told he didn’t have long to live when he was diagnosed. Though against all odds he held on for over a year, fighting the terrible disease. I personally think he held on just for Gunder, but that’s another story.

Stanley, my grandpa’s brother, my mom’s uncle, and my great uncle, is, by far, the greatest man I know. He lived a long, happy life, and it hurt to see him go. Since my grandpa had died when I was so young, I have always seen Stanley as a grandpa. He would come to sporting events. He would treat me like a granddaughter. Since he lived in Gilbert he was always around; when I was with him I always had this odd sense of security. Maybe it was because he was almost a century old, very wise, and had served in the Philippines during World War II, or it could be the fact that he was as strong as an ox. The reason, I may never know, but it was comforting. I had admired the way he lived his life. I enjoyed listening to his stories from “back in the day.” Things like growing up on the farm, what he did as he grew up, war stories, life after the war, his four daughters, working the farm, or whatever else he had to share about his life. It was all interesting to listen to history first hand from such a great family member. Last year I did my veteran’s report on him just so I could learn more about this great man.

Up until late last summer he remained really strong, and we all figured he’d be with us for a long while because he was in great shape for his age. He was still driving, going out, and taking care of himself. That all went away when he had a heart attack. It left him weak and not nearly as strong as before. It hurt so much to see him that way. He still gave his backbreaking hugs, and hand crushing handshakes, but he wasn’t the same. He was shakier. He couldn’t take care of himself as well either.

Not long after we were informed he had cancer; the heart attack had left his immune system weak, and unstable. It wasn’t just the heart attack that did it to him though. He was weak from the heart attack, and they couldn’t operate on him to remove the cancer because the operation would most likely kill him. They also couldn’t give him chemo for it because he was too weak to handle it. So either he had to get better by some miracle or suffer until he died. It seems as though cancer runs in our family because a lot of the deaths in my family have been caused by cancer.

After he was diagnosed with the cancer he suffered for months and months. Sometimes, he would get better for a while, but eventually he got worse all over again. Over the next few months she lost tons of weight, couldn’t take care of himself anymore, and couldn’t breathe on his own without oxygen. The daughter he had living with him struggled and prayed all the time hoping he would get better. We all did. We all wanted him to get better.

The last time I saw him almost made me cry. It was sometime after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. We were dropping off the hockey wreath to them that they had bought from my little brother. It was hard to look at him the way he was and talk to him. It just broke my heart to see him like that. He was so weak and fragile looking. It killed me to see him like that because I had always seen him as this strong man that had done many great things in his life. I guess deep down I just never imagined life without him. Like he’d always be there because he’d live forever.

Before we left we were talking about the veterans project I had done last year and he said to me, “I still have that report you did on me from last year. I treasure that. It was fun to tell you about it, and I appreciate the work you put into it.” I really couldn’t say anything to this. I had a lump in my throat, and really wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Not there. So I just forced a smile and nodded. He smiled, we hugged, and left soon after. “It was terrible seeing him like that,” I said later to a friend in a text to a friend. Just the whole ordeal was ripping me apart and breaking my heart.

One morning, in January, I woke up, and had this terrible feeling that something really bad was going to happen. I told my mom I didn’t feel good, and stayed home. Not that I’m encouraging staying home when you have a bad feeling, but this just wasn’t your ordinary bad feeling. I had this feeling before, and had been right then as well. By ten a.m., my bad feeling had been confirmed. I received a text from my mom. It said, “Stanley passed this morning at 6:40 a.m.” It left me in utter shock because just the day before I had prayed that his suffering would stop, and once again my intuition about bad things was right.

I knew it had happened, but at first it didn’t really sink in. I kind of went around in a daze for the next few days. It wasn’t until the visitation that it really hit me. I was kind of walking around aimlessly keeping my distance from the casket. People, that I didn’t know, kept coming up to me and talking to me. Telling about things I had done with Stanley, and how much he enjoyed my company. “He always said when you were in the room it was impossible to be upset because you always knew how to brighten things up,” was something said to me by one of his granddaughters. Another person, whom I didn’t know at all, came up to me and said, “Stanley loved having you around. He really loved that report you did on him, too. I don’t think he ever told the whole story to one person before that.” The whole time people kept telling me how much he loved and appreciated me. I would just stand there thinking, “Are you trying to make me cry?” though I never verbalized this thought.

Finally, after much procrastination, I finally went over to the casket with my mom and brother. Looking in the casket at him laying there, I about collapsed. It was then that it hit me full blast… He was really gone… Gone for good. I’d never be able to talk to him again, I’d never get to listen to him tell stories again, and I just broke down and cried. The tears streamed down my face as I stood there staring at his lifeless body. It was so unreal. I couldn’t move or say anything. I just stood there, paralyzed, crying until my mom pulled me away. Not long after that we left.

Two days later was the funeral service. It was a Monday, and I got lucky because it also ended up being a snow day. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a more beautiful service. There were so many people there, friends and family alike. All there for one sole purpose. To remember this great man. From the tears shed by others I knew that my pain was shared by all in the room. I heard many good stories about him that day. It was comforting to know that we all had some good memories of him that we could treasure forever.

I was still bitter that he was gone, and very upset with it. Though thanks to friends who are always there for me I’ve made it through. It took a while, and a lot of emotional support from people, but I can remember Stanley with great happiness. Sitting one night at home doing homework I realized all that I had learned from him, and expressed it all in a poem. How I felt, what I’d learned, and that I knew it all was going to be okay. The day of January 31, 2008 I shall never forget, but when I remember it I’ll remember it as a day when a great man went home. A day when all that I had learned from him would become evident, a day when I look back on it in the future I will be happy to have known such a great man, and a day that tells a story about the greatest man I know.