He moved here shortly after his wife passed away. To be close to family, I assume, since that's the only reason I can imagine he would choose to leave the Pacific Northwest, where he'd built a lifetime of friends and memories. But he did. He left all of that and came to the deserts of Eastern Washington.
And so it was, at the age of 90, he was swimming in our pool one hot August afternoon.
A small, incredulous giggle escaped when I looked out the window and saw it. Sure, he had a little help -- the whole family was over to swim and enjoy some dinner -- but Grandpa Meurer was more comfortable in this situation than I imagined I would be at his age.
At that poing in time, I have to confess I knew very little about this man. He was my husband's grandfather, so I had only a handful of family visits to draw from. What I did know is that he loved good food. So that summer evening, I went back to the kitchen to make good on a promise for apple-blueberry pie that I had made two years prior.
In the past year and a half, Grandpa Meurer went from swimming in our pool, enjoying ribeye steaks and hosting milkshake parties to being unable to walk or remember things well and needing the specialized care of a nursing home. He was hospitalized recently for low blood platelets. While there, he was alert and in good spirits, but I knew then that our time with him was quickly coming to an end.
And this week he left us to go to his true home. He went home just as he lived: with grace.
I saw his grace the very first time we met. Brian and I were visiting them in their home in Olympia and after dinner, they all decided to play bridge. I went along with it, even though my card playing IQ is in the negative digits. It simply isn't an intelligence I possess. I witnessed Grandpa Meurer's grace that night because he was stuck as my partner. I do not remember the game well, except that he was very patient and that we did not win. And also, that they did not ever ask me again to play bridge.
I don't know I fully recognized this quality in Grandpa Meurer until after Grandma Meurer had passed away. She was the smartest old lady I've ever met and had a strong personality to match. For me, it wasn't until after she was gone, that he came to life. Suddenly, he was full of stories and jokes, questions and answers. What I had previous mistaken as his being quiet or passive or admittedly, at times, not very bright, I see now as his marvelous example of grace. He took the blame, he shifted the spotlight, responded with gentleness, not because of failure or unworthiness or personality but because he chose to.
That's grace.
Of course, when I finally understood this, my respect for Grandpa Meurer suddenly grew, a respect that has proven well-founded over the past year and a half.
Aging is not for the faint of heart or proud of spirit. Which is why Grandpa Muerer handled it so well. Aging requires a certain amount of compromises, which he peacefully negotiated. The indignities of having someone help you bathe or change your underclothes, eating a meal with people who cough all over your food or prattle on incessantly, being limited in the schedule you keep or the places you go or the people you see, having your requests or complaints ignored because of your age or perceived ability to understand things, the loneliness and depression....these he bore without whining. He was slow to let his personal discomfort impose on anyone else.
That's grace.
A couple months ago, I was in the room he had to share with another person at the nursing home. I had asked a few questions and had shared the latest stories from our life when we reached an uncomfortable silence. I'm not a skilled conversationalist, but I'd always assumed that lame conversation was better than none, so as boring as it must have been for him, I'd visit anyway. Grandpa broke the silence: "I'm sorry I'm not more entertaining..." I protested, flubbering my way through what could have been a more comforting response. But that he would be so thoughtful as to be concerned with my entertainment? When he was sitting, with a pained back, in a wheelchair in a dark room while a stranger was watching TV in a corner?
That's grace.
Grandpa Meurer, especially in the past six months, had many limitations. His visible weakness made it seem that it was I who had strength, that perhaps it was I who helped him. Now that he is gone, I can see how it really is: Grandpa offered me much more than I could offer him. He taught me more about grace than a book ever could. He embodied it. He showed me what it is to live, and to die, with grace.
Midweek, just after I learned that Grandpa Meurer was in the last days or weeks of his life, I ran into the verse that says "God gives grace to the humble". And so I found myself asking God to give to Grandpa Meurer what Grandpa Meurer had given us all these years. I had understood that he was afraid and, in spite of the faith he confessed, had doubt about what death would bring. Also, that his organs were slowly shutting down, that his lungs were slowly filling with fluid, seemed to be a potentially long and painful and, frankly, frightening way to die. I also knew morphine was no more calming or painless for him. So I asked for grace.
I went to see Grandpa on Thursday night. Kathy, my mother-in-law, was already there. There was peace -- undoubtedly from her lifestyle of prayer -- that permeated the room where Grandpa was lying, eyes closed, mouth open, bare chest steadily rising and falling. Kathy tried to rouse him, but he remained as he was. But when I took his hand, he wouldn't let go. We prayed together, Kathy and I, and when we were done, Grandpa's eyes were open. We got excited and talked to him; as we did, his eyes lit up and a a faint smile -- the biggest he could manage -- spread across his face. It was his last expression of grace to me. That last moment with Grandpa is one I'll never forget. His joy, the peace in that room, the grace we all rested in...
Feeling assured then that Grandpa Meurer was resting in spiritual grace, I began to ask more earnestly for physical grace. I went in Friday morning to pray with him, he remained unresponsive while I prayed, but his hands were warm, his skin smooth, and his breathing unlabored. He seemed no different than many other times when I have visited him in previous months. I was concerned this could take a while. But it was the next morning that he went home.
While those finals hours must have been agonizing, there felt a victory in the quickness of it, a confirmation of God's grace in his life. That he went in peace, so quickly, was a beautiful thing.
"Because Grace makes beauty / Out of ugly things." U2 - Grace
And so it was, at the age of 90, he was swimming in our pool one hot August afternoon.
A small, incredulous giggle escaped when I looked out the window and saw it. Sure, he had a little help -- the whole family was over to swim and enjoy some dinner -- but Grandpa Meurer was more comfortable in this situation than I imagined I would be at his age.
At that poing in time, I have to confess I knew very little about this man. He was my husband's grandfather, so I had only a handful of family visits to draw from. What I did know is that he loved good food. So that summer evening, I went back to the kitchen to make good on a promise for apple-blueberry pie that I had made two years prior.
In the past year and a half, Grandpa Meurer went from swimming in our pool, enjoying ribeye steaks and hosting milkshake parties to being unable to walk or remember things well and needing the specialized care of a nursing home. He was hospitalized recently for low blood platelets. While there, he was alert and in good spirits, but I knew then that our time with him was quickly coming to an end.
And this week he left us to go to his true home. He went home just as he lived: with grace.
I saw his grace the very first time we met. Brian and I were visiting them in their home in Olympia and after dinner, they all decided to play bridge. I went along with it, even though my card playing IQ is in the negative digits. It simply isn't an intelligence I possess. I witnessed Grandpa Meurer's grace that night because he was stuck as my partner. I do not remember the game well, except that he was very patient and that we did not win. And also, that they did not ever ask me again to play bridge.
I don't know I fully recognized this quality in Grandpa Meurer until after Grandma Meurer had passed away. She was the smartest old lady I've ever met and had a strong personality to match. For me, it wasn't until after she was gone, that he came to life. Suddenly, he was full of stories and jokes, questions and answers. What I had previous mistaken as his being quiet or passive or admittedly, at times, not very bright, I see now as his marvelous example of grace. He took the blame, he shifted the spotlight, responded with gentleness, not because of failure or unworthiness or personality but because he chose to.
That's grace.
Of course, when I finally understood this, my respect for Grandpa Meurer suddenly grew, a respect that has proven well-founded over the past year and a half.
Aging is not for the faint of heart or proud of spirit. Which is why Grandpa Muerer handled it so well. Aging requires a certain amount of compromises, which he peacefully negotiated. The indignities of having someone help you bathe or change your underclothes, eating a meal with people who cough all over your food or prattle on incessantly, being limited in the schedule you keep or the places you go or the people you see, having your requests or complaints ignored because of your age or perceived ability to understand things, the loneliness and depression....these he bore without whining. He was slow to let his personal discomfort impose on anyone else.
That's grace.
A couple months ago, I was in the room he had to share with another person at the nursing home. I had asked a few questions and had shared the latest stories from our life when we reached an uncomfortable silence. I'm not a skilled conversationalist, but I'd always assumed that lame conversation was better than none, so as boring as it must have been for him, I'd visit anyway. Grandpa broke the silence: "I'm sorry I'm not more entertaining..." I protested, flubbering my way through what could have been a more comforting response. But that he would be so thoughtful as to be concerned with my entertainment? When he was sitting, with a pained back, in a wheelchair in a dark room while a stranger was watching TV in a corner?
That's grace.
Grandpa Meurer, especially in the past six months, had many limitations. His visible weakness made it seem that it was I who had strength, that perhaps it was I who helped him. Now that he is gone, I can see how it really is: Grandpa offered me much more than I could offer him. He taught me more about grace than a book ever could. He embodied it. He showed me what it is to live, and to die, with grace.
Midweek, just after I learned that Grandpa Meurer was in the last days or weeks of his life, I ran into the verse that says "God gives grace to the humble". And so I found myself asking God to give to Grandpa Meurer what Grandpa Meurer had given us all these years. I had understood that he was afraid and, in spite of the faith he confessed, had doubt about what death would bring. Also, that his organs were slowly shutting down, that his lungs were slowly filling with fluid, seemed to be a potentially long and painful and, frankly, frightening way to die. I also knew morphine was no more calming or painless for him. So I asked for grace.
I went to see Grandpa on Thursday night. Kathy, my mother-in-law, was already there. There was peace -- undoubtedly from her lifestyle of prayer -- that permeated the room where Grandpa was lying, eyes closed, mouth open, bare chest steadily rising and falling. Kathy tried to rouse him, but he remained as he was. But when I took his hand, he wouldn't let go. We prayed together, Kathy and I, and when we were done, Grandpa's eyes were open. We got excited and talked to him; as we did, his eyes lit up and a a faint smile -- the biggest he could manage -- spread across his face. It was his last expression of grace to me. That last moment with Grandpa is one I'll never forget. His joy, the peace in that room, the grace we all rested in...
Feeling assured then that Grandpa Meurer was resting in spiritual grace, I began to ask more earnestly for physical grace. I went in Friday morning to pray with him, he remained unresponsive while I prayed, but his hands were warm, his skin smooth, and his breathing unlabored. He seemed no different than many other times when I have visited him in previous months. I was concerned this could take a while. But it was the next morning that he went home.
While those finals hours must have been agonizing, there felt a victory in the quickness of it, a confirmation of God's grace in his life. That he went in peace, so quickly, was a beautiful thing.
"Because Grace makes beauty / Out of ugly things." U2 - Grace
4 thoughts anyone?:
Michelle, thank you so much for writing this. It has been so difficult to watch Grandpa Meurer's health deteriorate this past year. But this gave me a different perspective of how he handled it and of his final days. Also, thank you so much for all the times you visited him and engaged in conversations.
-Kristin
Michelle, I'm sorry your family had to suffer this loss, and I'm so glad you took the time to write about his life from this angle. You have a really beautiful way of seeing a person's last days, as you have shown here several times. This also makes me wonder if you have a special gift for loving elderly people. It seems like you're awfully good and understanding them and being with them, and that is a piece of grace in itself.
Kristin, there are ways I feel like I missed out on a lot of who he was -- you guys have a much broader picture, since you had time w/ him when he was younger. Still, I'm thankful to have known him for the time I did -- thanks for sharing him...I definitely feel like I married into a great family!
And Charity, thanks for reading too -- I don't think of myself as being good at loving older people, but its a place I've been a couple times. But thank you. Sometimes I wish there were a more natural way to form relationships like this -- these people are real treasures.
thank you, Michelle, that was beautiful.
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