See you later, Gramps: the death of Floyd William Carver

On Sunday February 22, I had the profound privilege of being with Gramps as he transitioned from this world to being in the presence of his Creator just before midnight. "Privilege" probably seems like a poor word choice, but read on and I'll prove it a good one.

I've known Gramps all my life, although I knew him for only a little more than a third of his, having been born when he was past 50. He didn't talk much about his past, but by asking questions through the years I learned a few things about what made him the man he was. He was born into a poor family in Camden, Maine and lived most of his life there. His mother left his family when he was young, although his father remarried. Apparently he didn't have much of an education past 6th grade. He entered the Army during the WWII era and spent time in Panama and Europe. He didn't talk much about his combat experience, but he wasn't reluctant to share if you asked. It's a little unclear to me exactly when he met & married hist first wife, but it was some time around his enlistment into the Army. They had a son together that I know now as "Uncle Billy". I'm not sure when their marriage ended.

After his time in the Army was over, Gramps met Barbara, the lady my family calls Nana. Nana already had a daughter named Bonnie, and after they married the four of them took up residence together. Nana met my mother around the time she became pregnant with me. Mom was facing single motherhood, and Nana has always had a soft spot for women who need a shoulder to lean on. Although Mom ended up marrying my Dad, Nana & Grampa's house proved to be the only constant, stable haven that my siblings and I would have as kids.

Gramps was more than a grandfather figure to me. He was part father, part grandfather. He was part John Wayne, part Stumpy. He was quiet and softspoken, but had a hot temper when provoked. He always had a great sense of humor and was never afraid to laugh at himself (so long as you gave him a few days too cool down). He rarely expressed his love in words. But if you needed something, he was there. Always. Without question. I remember being treated to Burger King or McDonald's, week after week. And Sunday's at Dave's family restaurant--I still remember that smorgasboard! He and Nana took my whole family--my mom, my 5 siblings, and me--on vacation to the White Mountains in New Hampshire every year. They took us to Storyland, Attitash Mountain, Six Gun City, and every other tourist destination in the area, and paid for our motel stay. Can you imagine? Kids with our unstable background that got to ESCAPE. Spend a night in a MOTEL. Swim in a pool. EVERY YEAR!

They housed our entire family on many occasions when we didn't have a place to live. When I was a young boy, there were several times when things would become unstable at home and my mom would drive us kids to Nana & Grampa's house to spend the night. Words will never sufficiently describe the feeling of warmth and peace that I felt as a young kid when I stepped through that door. All the feelings of uneasiness, fear, and emptiness would just fade away as we entered. What a haven of rest. They never turned us away, they always gave of their food, time, money, and most importantly, love.

I will be eternally grateful for this.

Gramps tended towards the simple things in life. I think his hobbies consisted of mowing the lawn in straight lines, listening to the radio, and driving to Rockland to get a coffee and something to eat at McDonald's. He loved to play his guitar and sing. He had a strong, natural, easy, country/western-sounding voice. He would sit upstairs at his house, playing and singing old country and gospel songs by himself. I can remember spending many Saturday afternoons with him in his car while Nana "got her hair done" at the salon. He would get an order of French Fries with vinegar and ketchup from the takeout stand, and we would just sit there in the car, eating french fries, listening to the radio, and enjoying the warm summer breezes. What I wouldn't give to have just one more moment with him like that.

Gramps made the transition to a nursing home here in Camden a couple years ago after his struggles with old age made it too difficult for Nana to care for him. In a way, riding with him to the nursing home in the transport van was as difficult as watching him die.

One of my brothers commented recently on what kind of lifestyle Nana & Grampa would have been able to afford had they not spent their money on us as kids. But in my eyes, Gramps died a rich man. And this brings me back to the my unusual word choice, "privilege."

Last Sunday morning, I got a call from my mom saying that I should go to the hospital to see Grampa after church because he was pretty bad off. I hadn't been to visit him in a few weeks, and I had heard that he had fallen ill with some sort of respiratory problem, though I didn't realize how serious it was. I decided that time alone with Gramps was more important than Sunday morning worship (I think God understands in this case), so I decided to be the first at the hospital that morning. I knew that there would be a lot of people showing up there eventually, and I had some stuff that I had been thinking about that I wanted to tell him the next time I visited him in the nursing home. I arrived around 9:30AM and he looked pretty awful. He had lost most of his strength and muscle mass in the past few years while living at the nursing home, but as I arrived I noticed how rapid and labored his breathing was. He was mostly unresponsive, although I could tell that he was making efforts to acknowledge that I was there. I told him that I loved him and thanked him for all of what he had done for me. Those moments that I had that morning were priceless.

As family began arriving at the special care unit of the hospital that day, we began reminiscing about the wonderful memories we had of Gramps. There were times when the stories were so humorous that we had to suppress our laughter out of respect to Gramps, who was still obviously struggling to breathe. There was a point in the afternoon when someone told a really funny story and I actually saw his countenance change and his hand move. Barely conscious, laboring to breathe, and Gramps manages a chuckle. Didn't I tell you he had a sense of humor? Many of us took the opportunity to thank him for what he had given us. We took turns holding his hand. We prayed with him. We cried a lot. We sang songs to him. As I flipped through the hymnal, I tried to pick out hymns that spoke about Jesus and the good news of salvation that God promises to those who put their trust in him. He always loved music, and I felt that if he was afraid or feeling uncertain about what would happen to him after he died, songs about God's promises of life after death would be the best thing to help bolster his faith.

Gramps died with few material blessings and never achieved great social status. But during the last day of his life, he was completely surrounded by a family of people who loved him.

My memories of you are so sweet, Gramps. It was a privilege to hold your hand and sing to you on the last day of your life. No boy with my background could have asked for a greater blessing than having you and Nana in my life.

Thanks.