On Wednesday, September 28th, 2005, while I was out at the Agora for the Against Me!/Epoxies/Smoke Or Fire tour, I got a phone call from my mom between sets.
"Hey, I'm at a show!" I yelled. "What's up?"
"Oh... I can call back later," my mom said softly.
"No, no, let me run outside."
I quickly exited through the back of of the venue, sensing something wrong in my mom's voice, and began pacing in the dirt parking lot.
"Is Nugget okay?"
Nugget was my dog, who at the time was 16 and had been ill for close to three years, off and on.
"No, no, he's fine..."
"Then what?"
"It's... Papa. He's sick."
On Wednesday, September 28th, 2005, I found out my grandfather had cancer.
---
I'd never had a close family member die before. My grandpa on my dad's side passed away in 1995, but he and my grandma spent my entire life living in a retirement community outside of Phoenix, Arizona. So while his death obviously affected my family, I, being not even 13, wasn't too shaken up -- how could I have been?
But I was close with Papa. Not as close as I would have liked to have been, but having him and his wife, my Nana, living in Rockford, I spent plenty of time at their house (my parents made good use of their availablity to take "Mom and Dad only" vacations in my earlier years). As I grew up, I always admired Papa. Still putting in a full work week at his law firm, he was never too tired to debate me over any issue at night, from politics to societal issues to anything else under the sun. On holidays, he'd purposely bait me at the dinner table to draw me into an argument I would always assuredly lose. The thing is, I almost always knew I would lose, yet I would still do it, because every single conversation I had with Papa made me smarter.
To me, Papa was a modern-day Abraham Lincoln. Always standing tall at 6 feet, complete with a full head of natural black hair, even in his final days, the man was simultaneously the proudest and most humble person you would ever meet. He accomplished so much in his life, yet would never take credit for it. And if I so much as volunteered to mow his lawn for him (as he suffered from back problems in his later years, which eventually led to a doctor finding the cancer), he'd throw a fit, before eventually caving in to my (and Nana's) wishes, however begrudgingly.
He'd probably yell at me for writing this, simply because he wouldn't want the attention, no matter how it was given.
---
A month passed since the initial phone call. I returned home in mid-October to pay him a visit. It's funny: He didn't look ill when I saw him; just, after seeing him hardly age throughout my life, he finally looked like what people think 85-year-olds look like).
As was typical for him, he answered truthfully when I said, "How are you doing?"
"Well, Scott, I'm not well."
He then described, in almost painful detail, what he had. It wasn't his intention to sadden me; he simply wanted me to know the gravity of the situation. The situation wasn't good.
Pleasantries were exchanged; tears were held back; promises were made to see each other at Thanksgiving, another month away.
---
The Thursday before Thanksgiving, I made the cardinal sin of interviewing: I left my cell phone on while conducting an interview. As I talked with Fat Mike about the recording of his band's new album, my cell phone, buried in my coat pocket, began ringing.
And ringing, and ringing, and ringing.
I immediately got an uneasy feeling, and half-hearted the rest of the interview, wanting badly to check my missed calls, but at the same time dreading it.
They were all from my mom's cell phone.
I called back, getting my sister.
"Scott... You need to come home."
"Is everything okay?"
"Papa... He's a shell."
That's all she could get out before bursting into tears. I've never wanted to hug my sister more than I did at that moment.
---
I flew home the following night, narrowly escaping a massive snowstorm bearing down on Cleveland. My dad met me at the airport and took me right to Nana and Papa's house, where we arrived around 11 o'clock. He truly was a shell physically, but his brain was still sharp as a tack.
"Where'd you park?" he mumbled out.
"Oh, I'm in the airport parking garage," I said, trying to make small talk, not realizing that the preceeding sentence could possibly be the last thing he ever hears me say. "There's a big storm hitting Cleveland right now, so it works out A-OK for me -- I'll have no snow on my car when I get back!"
He winced. I think it was meant to be a smile or laugh. I don't really know.
We then discussed the possible promotion I might get at work, which I was more or less pitching myself for the following Monday. Even in his severely weakened physical state, he told me that I could get it, and that he believed in me.
The next week, I ended up not doing a good enough job of convincing my bosses I was qualified for the position. And what hurt more than losing the position was the fact that, in my mind, I let my grandfather down.
---
I saw him again four days later when I flew home that Wednesday for Thanksgiving weekend. His condition had steadily worsened over the short time period I was gone, though he was still somewhat cognizant of his surroundings. Seeing my Nana with a smiling face, even in the middle of what had to have been one of the most tragic moments in her life, was somehow reassuring. She is the strongest woman I know.
---
The morning of Thanksgiving, Nugget was virtually unable to walk. He had been developing a bad case of arthritis over the past few years, but just in the past few days before Thanksgiving, he had all but completely lost control of his hind legs. By the end of Thanksgiving night, he was unable to even stand up.
The morning of the day after Thanksgiving, my mom, dad, sister and I took Nugget to the veterinarian and had him put to sleep.
I flew home the next day.
Then, on Sunday, November 26th, 2005, not even two months after his diagnosis, Papa passed away.
---
I flew home yet again that following weekend for the memorial service. Nana had asked me to sing at the service, so my nerves were in full effect -- they got worse once the seemingly unending line of mourners showed up for the service. The room and foyer, both packed to their gills, housed hundreds of people touched in some way by Papa - and he was probably looking down on every last one of them, cursing them for wasting a beautiful winter Saturday indoors, chattering on about him when they could be out enjoying themselves.
For the first time since my college's graduation in May 2004, I sang in public. I performed two songs that day, "On Eagles Wings" and John Rutter's "The Lord Bless You And Keep You" -- the latter being the first time I performed it solo since my other grandpa's funeral, over a decade prior. With Nana sitting in front of me, and my mom and two aunts surrounding her, I sang -- deep down, wishing I could be performing a drum solo instead (Papa loved jazz, and never ran out of positive things to say when seeing me perform with jazz ensembles in high school and college).
At the service's conclusion, it began snowing outside. While many people thought it was the perfect ending to the afternoon, I secretly thought it was Papa punishing everyone for taking too long to reminisce about him.
---
What really hurts about the whole situation is knowing that Nana will be alone now. Nana and Papa loved each other as much as the first day they met, and it was obvious whenever you saw them together. Having put in a decade in various choral programs, all of which invitably toured, I found myself staying at dozens of elderly couples' houses all over America. And the one thing they all had in common was separate beds. At some point in each couples' marriage, a good night's sleep took precedence over holding one's lover close.
Not Nana and Papa. They had a single, king-sized bed for my entire 23 years. And while it might not seem like much at first glance, it's little things like that which tell you that these two people, having been married for over 50 years, were still as in love as they were that very first time they felt it.
While I do think I've loved and lost in my years (and even in recent months, throughout Papa's entire ordeal), it would be incredibly presumptuous of me to think that I've experienced the euphoric highs -- or the heartbreaking low -- that Nana has experienced with Papa.
---
After my mom called me that first night, I went back into the venue to watch the Epoxies and Against Me!. I didn't know what else to do. I don't remember much about their performances; I just remember singing as loudly as I could and throwing my fist in the air as often as possible during Against Me!'s performance, matching the band's collective output of sweat and emotion. And while I saw a good 32 shows from then until now, and listened to countless hours of music in the same time period, I didn't truly enjoy any of it.
It's funny. Most people use music to cope in times of serious stress or incident. I became the opposite. I spent countless days in virtual silence at work, letting my co-workers' stereos do the talking for me. I purposely avoided listening to music at home unless I absolutely had to. Nothing inspired me anymore; nothing made me happy.
Until earlier this week, when all of the sudden, I just started liking music again.
I don't know what triggered it; I don't know if I'm "over" the death of my grandfather (and, to a lesser extent, my dog). Maybe some part of my subconscious finally gave the thumbs up to the rest of my brain to let me enjoy music again. I really don't know what triggered it; I just know that, in the past week, I've listened to music almost nonstop, whenever possible. I don't know if I'm making up for lost time, or if I've just re-discovered my passion. But it's nice regardless.
And I'd like to think that Papa was looking down at me, saying, "It's time."
---
This truly is the end of my journal on here. To anyone wondering, I hope this helped explain the post prior to this, back in September.
To those who want to comment on this post, I'd rather you
donate to the American Cancer Society if financially possible.
Thanks for reading; you can stop now.
Current Mood: 
contentCurrent Music: The Anniversary - Outro In No Minor
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
toko2000's journal
depressed
melancholy
happy
STOKED