One day I'm in junior high, thinking about singing group tryouts and other 13-year-old thoughts, when the principal comes to the door, Arnie Bauer. I'll never forget him, such a sweet, sweet man. He gently led me to the hallway and explained that my grandfather had suffered a stroke and I was needed to care for my young cousins so Aunt Donna could be with her father, the aforementioned Grampa Harm Tilstra. My mom had instructed him to put me on the city bus, though he felt it was enough of an emergency to drive me himself, in his very own car. He comforted me on that ride, the first time I'd ever heard sincere platitudes. It was great comfort and it shifted, once again, the rhythm of my Dance with Death.
Grampa'd been to lunch with Aunt Darla at the senior center, when he had a stroke. They got him to the hospital and hooked up all their thingies and did all their little procedures...
The first couple of days were blurred by the juggling of younger cousins. The feeling of being shut out of the whole process eventually came to a head. I demanded they break the rules, fudge my age (under 14s were not allowed off the elevator in those days & I looked 12!), whatever needed to be done so I could see my Grampa!! Tomorrow they said, tomorrow. Ah, I was so relieved, I would see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, hug with my own arms!!
When I got home, it was too late.
He'd died.
I got nothin. A peek through the lavender tulle
revealed too much make up on his dead-and-never-been-make-upped upper lip. And his hair was laying down on his head, instead of flopped over one ear, waiting to be pushed back up and over by his pinky-missing-hand. They'd probably buttoned both sides of his always-one-side-flappin union suit. Next time, they said, next time. I didn't believe them. I don't think Joanna did either; this funeral just done ruined her 3rd birthday, so she locked herself in the car. Smart kid.
The next Thanksgiving we spent with Gramma Bunnie and Grampa Bud; it was traditionally Grampa Harm's holiday, as he had usually been unwelcome at the Christmas festivities at his former mother-in-law's home. We all missed him, big and heavy and hurtin'. Then Gramma started crying. I did *not* understand; nor would I have wanted to at that point. I wanted to be selfish with my grief, sharing it only with those who
loved him. She couldn't have loved him, she left him years ago and shut him out of her life. Little did I know, I would someday come to acutely understand what it means to mourn the father of (most of) your children.
Birthday photos, celebrating 3rd and 1st years completions, respectively. 
Birthday photos, celebrating 3rd and 1st years completions, respectively. 
