I did enjoy my time in Rochester. Kael wanted to see The Lion King. It was fine. Definitely not spectacular since it was just the same movie from 30 years ago but using CGI to make the animals look real. But, I wouldn't mind seeing it again. Grandma, on the other hand, said she hated it. She hoped they would use real, live-action animals, not realistic CGI. To be honest, I wasn't surprised by grandma's brutal honesty. She's never been afraid to speak her mind, no matter what.
After the movie, Kael wasn't feeling well. He just said he was tired and wanted to go home. Kael has a huge heart, and I could tell by his silence that he was worried sick about Fighter. I was too, but I wasn't nearly as attached to the little calf as Kael was. I think our visit to grandpa's grave on the way back from town made Kael even more upset. Kael was extremely close with grandpa. He didn't say a word from the time we pulled into the church's parking lot with roses for grandpa's grave, to the time we dropped him off at his home. I felt incredibly sorry for my cousin, but there wasn't anything I could do to ease his pain. I just prayed the calf would miraculously make it for Kael's sake.
When I approached my grandpa's grave, I was hit with an overpowering wave of grief. I managed to hide the pain just long enough to set the roses down on his grave. Grandma hummed grandpa's favorite hymn, and I was taken back into the church the day we laid grandpa to rest six feet deep in God's country. I vividly remembered sitting in the pew sobbing as a choir, 400 large, sang God Be With You one final time before grandpa's casket was carried outside. That was grandpa's favorite hymn. He didn't know how long he had left after his brain aneurysm, so he trusted that God would take care of his family once he was gone. But my grandpa also knew he'd be reunited with us in heaven one day.
I had to walk to the other end of the graveyard, away from my aunt, grandma, and cousin to collect myself. I didn't want them to see my tears.
I was really close to grandpa Bob. He was my hero. Losing him meant I lost one of my best mentors, when it came to learning how to live life without letting illness and disease define me. Grandpa never ever let his disabilities get in the way of his life. Why should I allow my disabilities get in the way of mine? Grandpa was also a staunch Christian. He never left God's side even when everything that could possibly go wrong, went horribly wrong. My grandpa lost his independence, his movement, and his speech to a brain aneurysm and many other health complications.
He went from being an incredibly strong farmer, to being confined to two canes, then a walker, and finally a wheelchair. His voice was slurred when half of his facial muscles were paralyzed by his condition, and his larynx got weaker and weaker over time, especially during the last five years or so of his life, when he stayed in the ICU for months with Pneumonia, unable to talk because he needed a tracheostomy every time he was admitted. Every time that tube was taken out of his throat, and the hole was closed up, his voice was even worse than before. The last time I saw my grandpa alive, I really struggled to understand what he was saying, when I used to have such an easy time understanding him before.
He eventually lost his ability to feed himself things like soup and cereal, because as he aged, his motor skills got progressively worse. He also needed help bathing and going to the bathroom. Yet, trapped in that crippled body of his was a brilliant mind. He was still extremely intelligent and witty, and showed that off whenever he had the chance. Unfortunately, people who were unfamiliar with grandpa often assumed he was mentally handicapped like he was physically handicapped, and treated him as such. Well, at least until grandma caught wind of it, or my grandpa got mad and roasted the hell out of anyone who tried to treat him like he had the intellect of a child.
If anyone ever had a valid excuse to curse God, it was my grandpa Bob. Yet, my grandpa refused to blame God for what happened to him. Instead, my grandpa's disability only forced him to get closer to the Lord, as well as to family. He attended church every Sunday, read his bible regularly, even though he struggled to see even though his thickest pair of glasses in his later years, and prayed over every meal. He never once complained about his condition. He would complain constantly about politicians and bad weather. But he never complained about being disabled.
In his mind, God was in complete control, and everything happened for a very good reason. And, judging by the life he lived, and the way he passed away, God certainly had grandpa's life in His hands the whole time.
