I wasn't really planning on writing this tonight. I wasn't sure if I was ready to take a walk down memory lane so soon. However, Isla was pooped after a fun day with her grandma and went to bed early and Graham's gone at work and worship practice so I figured, why not? If you are not a Wilson (or Wilson relative), I give you permission to skip this post. It may be too long for the average reader. But, if you feel like hearing some recollections from my childhood about a really great man, read on! He was the father of 6, grandfather of 20 and great grandfather of 11 (all the grandkids/great grandkids except for my brother, and 2 great grandkids, Joseph and Elijah are pictured!)
January 25th, 1919 -- January 22nd, 2010
My Grandpa Wilson (also endearingly known as Charles, Chas or Chuck) died two weeks ago tomorrow, three days before his 91st birthday. Three days! It came as a surprise and so the grief hit hard and fast. But when I got to thinking about it, I had to smile a little. Grandpa had been suffering from Alzeimers for the past 5+ years. He had reached the point where he didn't really know who anyone was anymore and he didn't like to be "bossed around" and told he needed to wear pants, put on his shoes, get in the car etc etc. So you can only imagine how he felt about family gatherings with a huge family like mine with lots of "bosses" telling him what to do! So, through the tears, I had to smile. It just seemed so perfect that he would pass only three days before he would have been in the spotlight. Grandpa, did you plan that?
I have so many memories of Grandpa. He and my Grandma did missions work around the country and in Mexico so my family made whereever they happened to be staying our vacation destination. We visited them in Florida, Arizona, Oroville (WA) and Mexico. I have fond memories of all of these trips--meeting Yogi the Bear and going to Disneyworld in Florida, staying at the convent with the giant orange tree outside in Arizona, visiting the apple packing plant and "camping" in the church basement with all the cousins in Oroville, feeding rice and beans to the hungry and playing with the local street kids in Mexico. We also took my grandparents on an RV trip across the country to Illinois to see the cornfield where my Grandpa was born. All of us kids refer to that trip as the "Vacation-where-we-visited-more-dead-people-than-live-people" (I think we stopped at every cemetery between WA and IL so we could see the gravestone of some distant relative. We have enough pictures of tombstones to fill an album! Seriously.) Anyway, I loved vacationing and traveling with my grandparents. I'm pretty sure they were 86% responsible for my catching the severe case of the "travel bug" that I will probably always have.
My Grandpa lived through the Great Depression and I think he was a changed man for it! I have never met anyone who could use every single scrap piece of wood, wire, you-name-it like he could! And trust me, he would never be caught wasting. Ever. At one of the services held in his honor last week, many stories were shared about his ability to reduce, reuse and recycle, far before it became cool to do so. Take the dining room table I grew up using. He made it out of scraps of pink and gray formica, quite the lovely color combo. But it is so sturdy and is nowhere near expiring, even after twenty-some years of hard use by a family of six.
In the same way that he saved material goods, Grandpa did not like to waste money. I remember on our trip to Mexico, we decided to head out of the town of Guaymas (where my grandparents lived) to explore in our white rental minivan. There were 8 of us and only 7 seats so grandma sat on an ice chest in the space between the middle seat and the sliding door. The road we were traveling on had a toll. We paid the toll on the way out of town (which was probably about 50 pesos max--no more than 5 bucks for sure) but then my Grandpa didn't want to pay it again on the way home. So he took us on a "shortcut." We ended up on a never-ending dirt road, COVERED with potholes, bobbing along with my poor grandma, being nearly catapolted off the ice chest with each bump (she had a sore bottom afterwards, needless to say!) Anyway, this shortcut took a mere 4 hours. Oh and wait, it gets better! (FYI, when I was recounting this with my dad, it felt like I had to be making some of it up because it was just too strange but he confirmed my recollection is indeed accurate). So after heading hours off the main road in our now brown rental minivan, we of course come to a small river with no bridge on which to cross. Ha! After much trepidation, we finally decided that our best option was actually to follow the local Mexicans in their slugbug who instructed us to GUN IT and float/drive across the river. In the rental van. Wow. I'm happy to report that after all this, a) we successfully avoided the $5 toll, and b) we returned the rental car in basically the same condition we began with. Oh the memories!
For Grandpa's funeral, we were asked to bring things that reminded us of him to put on display. As I thought about this, I realized most of what reminded me of him was not transportable. Grandpa was ALWAYS working on a project. When he came to visit us (which he would do for weeks at a time during my childhood), we always had to have a list of things we wanted made/done to keep his hands busy. He helped us paint the exterior of the house, built the raised garden beds in the backyard, poured the concrete on our back patio, built the fence, made my sister and I bookshelves etc etc. He was a handyman and I think he truly could figure out how to make anything he wanted.
I did think of one smaller item that IS transportable that will probably will always remind me of Grandpa: a round cake pan. If you read a
much-earlier post, you'd remember that my Grandma was a famous cinnamon roll maker. She taught my sister and I how to make them. I loved having my hands in the dough, smelling the yeast, spreading the dough with butter, cinnamon and sugar and then rolling it up. I always wanted to use the biggest rectangle pans I could find to bake them (so that there could be more gooey middle pieces--my favorite!) But my Grandpa was just the opposite. He loved his rolls hard and crusty and so we would always make him his special cinnamon rolls in a round cake pan so they were all edges. I never understood why he liked them that way, but now the thought of it just warms my heart.
Grandpa used to have a couple of running jokes with me. When we would first see each other, he'd ask me how I was doing. I'd usually say "Good" and then he'd counter by saying "It's not polite to brag!" I'd then have to change my answer to "fine" before he'd drop it. Grandpa also really liked to tell me repeatedly about the time he taught me to walk at one of our annual family campouts. I wanted to hold onto his fingers and walk, walk, walk, up and down a set of stairs and all my poor Grandpa could do was walk along with me, hunching over so I could reach his hands. I don't think he ever let me live down all the back pain I caused him. He loved to tease me!
Grandpa also loved to hike and would always hike with the walking stick he made out of cactus. He would often wear red suspenders. He used to wear a cowboy hat whenever he went outside. We had some of his cowboy hats at the funeral and Isla got to wear one, along with my cousins Stacey and Maryclare. This picture makes me cry every time I see it. I will cherish it.
Grandpa was a really great man. I won't go into any more details. We did that already at the funeral. He played a big role in my life and I am so grateful for all he taught me. I am so thankful he was able to attend our wedding back in 2007 and meet our daughter this past November.
So Grandpa, as much as I didn't want you to go, I'm glad that you're finally home. I know that you were ready.
