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I don't know if this has been done before here, but I was thinking about one of my departed grandfathers recently and thought it would be great to have a thread where we could tell stories about important people/loved ones in our lives that have died and why they meant so much to us; or, special things that they had done while alive, etc.
I'll compose mine soon, but if anyone has anything to share now, please do.
Rule of the post: It has to be someone you knew personally.
Chris L
I had a dear friend named Anoop Kohli who I knew from when we were adolescents in the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry Army Cadet Corps. He was eventually the commanding officer and I his second in command. We were also roommates after that and remained the closest of friends for many years.
In 2000 while working as an English teacher in South Korea he suffered his first heart attack and was forced to live under the care of his mother who, to put it mildly, was always batty. She wouldn't let any of his friends visit him while he lived near me. Ironically, just as he was getting back on his feet he found his mother dead one morning and was forced to move to Vancouver to live with his brother with whom he never really got along. In the fall of 2001 the wife and I were planning to move to Vancouver (the first time) and I was looking forward to seeing him again for the first time in a few years, but when I called him to make arrangements he told me he was going back to Korea and would leave Canada, just a few days before I would arrive in Vancouver. Three months later, in February of 2002 he suffered his second fatal heart attack.
To say that we were friends is an understatement. Were were fast friends at least, weathering personal tribulations together as close brothers would. I knew I could count on him to be there for me and nothing could stop me from supporting him either. I loved him deeply when he was alive and miss him dearly still in his absence. He was always a gentleman and respectful of others. He was also the merriest jester I have ever known whose laughter was easy to bubble to the surface and quite infectious and a man who enjoyed life's pleasures to their fullest. I wish fate could have given us more time together. Some of us gather annually to raise a glass to his memory and honour the years of friendship which he shared with us
He is shown here in a rare moment of seriousness when we both lived in Montréal.
http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-...76508_9271.jpg
X
I am fortunate enough to have most of the important people in my live still roaming about and well. I have a very strong bond with my grandparents from my mother's side. Fortunately enough they are still healthy - considering that they are pushing 80 now...
However I can recall 2 memories - among many others - of my grandparents from my father's side.
My grandfather died when I was just a little boy. It was 15 years ago. He was a cardiologist and died due to post-op complications after the removal of a malign brain tumor.
I don't remember him very well. But I somewhat regret his death because I have the feeling that I would, as a grown young man, connect to him. We have many tastes in common, namely music.
I remember the strong austere grip of his hand one time when we were crossing the street... This marked me very deeply and that's the clearest memory I have of him. Just a foggy thing but important, nonetheless.
My grandmother, his wife, passed away last December. Of her I have clearer memories. But the most marking of all was the following: my grandmother, shortly after my grandfather passed away started showing signs of both Parkinson and Alzheimer disease and for 10 years she drifted away into her own world... she had better days and worse days; last Christmas was a good day, one of the best I can recall. It was a happy day. The family gathered together and she was lucid enough to enjoy all 4 of her grandchildren: the big ones, my brother and I, and the little ones, my cousins... and she got to meet the newest acquisition to the family, my little cousin that is now 1 year old. When my brother and I arrived - both wearing funky mustaches - she recognized us and even liked the mustaches! And when I kissed her to say hello she was lucid enough to congratulate me upon the finishing of my college degree. And that is a memory I cherish very much. She passed away 3 days after that.
These were stories related to my family. I also have one that I cherish and is work related.
I don't know if there are many music lovers out there... contemporary music, that is... I am a composer and I have a musical language that is very specific and therefore have my own idols. I'm sure that other composers and musicians out here will relate to this.
In 2006 and 2007 I had the opportunity to attend summers courses in composition and analysis with Karlheinz Stockhausen, one of the "stars" of the 20th century music scene. He was, to say the least, an icon, a man that marked music in a way that, perhaps, only he has done. And I got to meet him and speak to him, though briefly. I met him for the first time in 2005 in Lisbon at a concert that he did. In 2007, when I attended the course for the second time I was already submerged in my current musical project: the composition of an opera.
At a given moment I thought that it would be neat to have the support of Stockhausen himself... so I wrote him asking for it. And he agreed to it. I received a letter, some days after that, clearly stating his support if my project. I was very glad. When saw him that summer and greeted him I thanked him for the support and he said "I hope it helps." And I answered in a almost nonsensical way "I suppose it will..." I learned a great deal from him and his music and had the chance to meet him, one of the gurus of 20th century music. Stockhausen died in December 2007. The announcement of his death was released on the anniversary of Mozart's death. One last symbolic action...
So this is what I have to share. I hope that's what was intended.
Memories of a person I cherish greatly are of my Grandfather on my Dad's side. A Korean war vet who worked with mortars during the war. Such work left him virtually deaf later in life. As a kid, I never really thought it was anything strange to go up and shout in one of his ears, it was just, Grandpa.
He was a recovering alcoholic who helped many people maintain their sobriety even when it meant getting up in the very early morning hours to be with or talk with someone who was wavering.
He was a man's man in that even though he chain smoked Pall Mall straights, he was tireless and worked like an unstoppable force first on the farm, then as a milkman. I still remember a hot and humid summer day when he was helping my uncle reroof his house. My Grandpa was up on the roof pounding shingles in pants and a shirt and at 60, was working circles around everyone else. He loved us Grandkids, laughed a lot, made great cholesterol laden Sunday breakfasts for us when we'd visit.
He used a DE, but I still remember his mug and brush with his puck of Williams and his tube of Brylcream in the bathroom. No cans of shaving cream for him.
Think of a lovable Jack Palance. A great guy.
I learned respect for others from him and learned a hard work ethic from him and my Dad.
Chris L
:-) My Grandad William (Bill) Hester. He was a Navy man. He invaded the beaches at Normandy as part of the Underwater Demolition Teams. He retired from the service as Chief Ship Fitter. He passed away on september 10th of this year after 6 years battleing heart-failure. He was as stubborn as an ass, an AMAZING prankster, and a loving man who never met a stranger. He had a wonderful library of war stories. As a "southern gentleman" many of them were off color but that didn't make them any less fantastic. Regretfully he lost most of his speach ability and the use of the left side of his body to 5 strokes. His wife Ruby was a "Rossie the Riveter" and a nurse. She was just as stubborn as he was if not more!
Adee Floyd Thompson.
-Every day he was alive, he thanked God for his hands.
-He loved my grandmother for 66 years (until he passed)
-Though he would go to church, he often remarked "God and I don't need a middle man."
-He loved being out doors, hunting, fishing, farming, or if he had to be inside he preferred the wood shop.
-He was in the 1st Marine's Raider Battalion (Edson's Raiders)
-He loved words.
He wrote this (which was only found posthumously):
I might have been wealthy
Except for three robbers of riches
Pilfering from my diligence.
Had I not learned early of the wiley trout
My gardens could have been productive niches-
Nor seen the whitetail buck over the sights of a gun
to cause me the ridges and valleys to run.
Had I never seen flocks of geese
Against a frosty harvest moon
Or snoozed in a sun warmed glade
While the game was still at noon.
I perhaps would have prospered in worldly might,
But my heart and my soul would have never been right.
So I guess I am glad for the forest and stream
That enter into my every dream
Of the day when I meet my Lord Devine
And thank Him for making the world to be mine.
By Adee F Thompson
Thanks for this thread Chris. Here's a story about my girlfriend's grandmother:
I met Momsie on Easter Sunday 2001. Scarlett told me the family always called her grandmother “Momsie” and so should I. We were introduced in Momsie’s kitchen. I had heard Momsie was a tough woman but I would have known that as soon as I saw her. From her wheelchair, Momsie was directing the entire household’s preparation of Easter dinner, which in Momsie’s house always included a leg of lamb. Momsie said, “Brad, Scarlett tells me you can cook”. I told her I do my best and some folks like what I cook. Momsie moved our conversation along until I found myself actually cooking the lamb, including the gravy. She would ask me questions about cooking and I’d answer as well as I could. Some of the questions were about the roast leg of lamb, some were about other recipes. All the while I knew, although Momsie was asking these questions, she already knew the answers. Momsie was testing me. I was very nervous while I was cooking, especially the gravy. But when she tasted her dinner, Momsie said, “Brad you can cook”.
Momsie had grown weaker over the last two years but she was still a tough woman. Only this Easter, Momsie was directing from a hospital bed. When Scar told me we would be visiting Momsie on Easter, I prepared a leg of lamb and made some lamb broth so her Easter menu tradition would not be interrupted.
We were told she hadn't eaten and is refusing to eat. However, when Scarly told Momsie I made some lamb broth for her Easter dinner, Momsie grew noticeably more alert. She said to sit her up so she could taste it. A cup with of warm broth was held so Momsie could take it through a straw, which she did, several times. Scarlett, being typically over-protective, asked Momsie if the broth was "too spicy" or "too hot". Momsie slowly and carefully took another sip before she said (surprisingly loudly), "It's good Brad". Then she lay back down and drifted off to sleep. I was told that my broth was the last thing Momsie ate before she passed on last night. I'm glad she liked her broth. I hope it brought her a little pleasure.
Great idea, I have enjoyed reading your stories. I would have to add my Dad to this thread. He was my hero. A man of integrity and a true Gentleman. He and Mom married on December 7, 1941. As they left the Church after their wedding they heard the news that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. Dad joined the Air Corps at the ripe old age of eighteen and served until the end of WWII as a Tail Gunner in a Liberator. Mom was a aircraft riveter in a converted Detroit auto plant.
Dad later continued his service to community as a Fire Fighter - EMS working his way to retire as a Lt. He was the type of guy who would give his shirt off his back if you were in need. Care and concern for others was always a priority. Even as an adult, I never heard a derogatory remark of anyone or a cuss word from him.
I stayed with him during the last weeks of his life in and out of the hospital dying from congestive heart failure. Once during the night I heard him call out to me; he was having trouble breathing. I got him sitting on the edge of the bed holding him upright as we waited for the ambulance. His only concern was that he had woke me up and how hard it was for me to hold him up.
Firefighters stood at honor guard at his funeral, and many spoke with us sharing stories of Dad. One veteran told the story of a incident when he was a new hire and still on probation. He had backed the ambulance into the station without raising the door enough and ripped the light bars off the top, leaving a shattered mess everywhere. He feared his 'punishment' from Dad who at that time was the officer on duty. Dad looked at the ambulance and the shards everywhere, said to him 'you sure have a big mess to clean up' and that was it.
He taught us kids values to hold dear for a lifetime. Dad was truly one from the greatest generation.
Sue
(photo of Dad sitting at the top from WWII)
Thanks Chris for the thread. And thanks Icedog for your story, it reminded me of my great aunt who lived to be 103 years old, and was sharp as a tack all the way (I was actually at her bedside when she passed away).
She broke her hip at like 95. By force of will she said she wanted to go home after a certain period of recuperation. "You'll need a nurse to visit and care for you, etc..." was a requirement for them to let her go. Once home she promptly dismissed the visiting nurse and resumed her business as usual!
Another time, we were over at her house and she busts out all of these old pictures of her life. Amazing stuff from someone who was over 100 years old! She had been a young woman serving in the USO during WW2, all sorts of stuff...
Anyhow, one thing your story stirred up for me was the last Christmas when we brought her some dinner and my mom's pumpkin pie. She was eating it, and knew the spicy pumpkin pie would give her some severe heartburn. "Ah well, it'll be worth it!" she said!
She was quite a woman!