Saying Goodbye to Grandpa Hanna

Grandpa as I remember him best
It's been a tough 15 months for my grandparents. I lost my maternal grandmother at age 15, but all the other grandparents kept on living for decades. My paternal grandparents died within six weeks of each other last fall, leaving behind the lone straggler, Grandpa Hanna. But on the morning of November 4th, this generation had officially exited from my world.

About 36 hours before making his final departure from this life, I was able to visit with him for about three hours. He slept for the duration of my stay so I was not able to share any final words or memories or news from the family with him (he always enjoyed hearing reports from what my siblings were up to). But as I read the hours away in the corner of his room, interrupted by periodic visits from hospice and other officials, I was able to reconcile the reality of what lay before me. This helped soften the blow that came with Monday morning's announcement.

Grandpa and Aaron in 2004
We grew up a few miles away from Grandpa, so he was never too far from our lives. My memories are a mixed bag:
  • Visiting his house as a child on Christmas
  • Reading every issue of Ranger Rick that he had gifted me as a child
  • Spending hours every month in the early 1990's home-teaching Keizer's finest Mormon households
  • Failing to learn how to drive under his tutelage
  • Seeing Grandpa attend one of my cross country races at Bush Park in the early 90's, giving me a small cheer at a quiet place on the course. 
  • Seeing Grandpa point to Willamette National Cemetery, as he was driving me to PDX for a trip I was taking in 1997, and telling me that's where he was going to be shortly.
  • Introducing my future wife, Meg, to grandpa in 2000 before anyone else in my family.
  • Making frequent trips to Redwood Heights to visit Grandpa and deliver snacks and treats to him. Meg faithfully visited him every week during our four-year stay in Salem, leading Grandpa to consider her one of his own granddaughters.
Grandpa's Legacy
With family far-and-wide, only my Mom returned to Oregon to participate in Grandpa's service, and she only stayed for effectively one day. Grandpa served in the US Air Force during World War II, so he qualified to be interned at Willamette National Cemetery, a short 6-mile drive from our house--and on Veteran's Day, too. We arrived first to the cemetery, and anxiously watched from the parking lot as other family and friends arrived (church members from Keizer and my Uncle's family). We then drove a short distance to Shelter #2 for a brief but heart-felt service that included the National Guard of Oregon carrying Grandpa to the shelter, firing three shots in his honor, and presenting the spent shells and the US flag covering Grandpa's casket to my mom. Some of us, including myself, shared random stories and thoughts to memorialize Grandpa. While I was speaking, I noticed that my oldest son, Aaron, who was standing at the back of the shelter, was crying uncontrollably. He made up for the lack of my public emotion, which was surprisingly absent, compared to the other funeral services I have attended. I don't know why I failed to shed any tears, but maybe being around Grandpa so much and seeing his gradual decline (and strident wish to get it over with already) helped lesson the shock.

We had to leave the premise while the cemetery personnel returned Grandpa to the earth that once bore him, so we all drove to Sweet Tomatoes to have lunch. Meg did her best to bridge the Asay-Hanna divide (she called me at work the next day telling me how she was now friends on The Facebook with my cousins that I really know nothing about), while I enjoyed conversation with the Rafns and watching Edward eat unmeasurable amounts of soft-serve ice cream.

Perhaps a return visit to read to Grandpa is in order?
We returned to the cemetery after lunch to offer our final farewell to Grandpa. With his body now lowered into the earth, and Jeff Kelly representing Grandpa's last ecclesiastical leader, my Uncle Kelly dedicated Grave # 703 (where he joined his second wife, Alice, someone I know nothing about) simply and solemnly. My two younger boys tried hard to embarrass me by running away several times during our graveside visit. Even though it was a pleasant Veteran's Day--blue skies and all--the cemetery felt peaceful and without distraction from other patrons.

Mom and I drove to West Salem, after taking the rest of the family home, to go through the physical possessions Grandpa left behind, and giving us some time well-spent in talking about the past, which was good as we were back in the van a few hours later driving to the airport for another farewell.




Location: Willamette National Cemetery, 11800 Southeast Mount Scott Boulevard, Portland, OR 97086, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Partied Like It's 1999

Image
1999 symbolizes my "freedom" time: I was a college graduate, gainfully-employed, virtually debt-free, and single/childless. I pretty much did what I wanted and didn't have to report to anyone or commit to any thing. This past week felt like I had stepped backwards in time, as Meg decided, on a whim, to drive to Salt Lake City--with kids in tow--and stay with my parents for a week. Since I wasn't part of the road trip, you'll have to encourage her to share any stories , although she has confessed to me that she's done with blogging. Here are the highlights of the back-in-time party that was this week: Exercise : Besides my daily 11-mile round trip commute by bike to the office, I went on three other bike rides around Clackanomah County, swam at the pool twice, and ran once. Cleaning : Organized some of our outdoor living space, cleaned the house from top-to-bottom, washed the G20, cleaned my bike, and manicured the outside landscape. Sleep : Every night wa...
Read more

Hiking the Timberline Trail

Image
I don't think I've been on a true backpacking trip before. Back in high school, my friend Bart and I planned a multi-day trip to Carl Lake, but we ended up turning around after one night of camping at Cabot Lake because it was raining so much and we'd rather stay at his family's cabin instead. I also hiked up to Moraine Lake as a scout leader, on the way to South Sister, where we camped in preparation to summit Oregon's third tallest peak, but we left all of our gear at the lake on the second leg of our climb. That was back in 2001. I first learned of the Timberline Trail by reading a brief summary of it in, of all places, Portland Monthly. Sure, it was 35 miles farther than I had ever backpacked before, and it involved two more days and nights, and I would be going solo. But the summer of 2016 is all about change and new beginnings for me. Day 1: Timberline Lodge to Ramona Falls I slept in Tuesday morning, as I was up late Monday night making my final preparat...
Read more

A Wild Black Sheep Chase

Image
It all started with a tweet. The tweet guided me to a blog. The blog inspired me to craft an e-mail. The e-mail led to a phone call. And the phone call led to my agreeing to trade my 1993.5 Infiniti G20 for a 2010 Black Sheep commuter bike (1 of only 13 in existence). All of this happened within 24 hours. From New Bike An informal part of our agreement to move to Portland was for me to get rid of my car, since I had committed to biking or riding the bus to work--and I never did drive the G20 once we moved to Portland, except once every other week or so to keep the fluids moving through the car. I had posted my car for sale at the G20 enthusiasts' site , but I didn't get any substantial bites, nor did I do much to promote its sale (Meg would like me to remind you that I took a year to sell my del Sol after buying the Maxima ). So when I saw a blog post about New Belgium's car swap at the Tour de Fat , I called Meg and proposed the idea to her. She thought it sounde...
Read more