my dear grandpa

Dea made a comment on my piece about piano lessons.

Dea is my 3d amazing daughter. She reminds me of a story, and she may well not know the whole story. This is for you Dea!

My father was killed in North Idaho. Idaho is a long state, north to south. Grandpa and Grandma lived in South Idaho near where I live now.

Mom somehow was able to find a phone and called neighbors of Grandpa and Grandma, who relayed the message. I was 4, I don’t actually remember, but I’ll bet it was something like that.

Grandpa did not own a car, but he quickly packed a small case and rode his bicycle to the highway, with my aunt, who was about 11 on the back of the bicycle. Aunt rode the bicycle back home a couple miles away, and grandpa began to hitch hike to north idaho.

Going through Oregon and Washington was the fastest way, but it was close to 450 miles. Up the center of Idaho was shorter, but there was a LOT less traffic. So grandpa began hitch hiking on old US 30 toward my mom, baby sister and I.

Meanwhile, my dad’s brother came into town from California. It is unlikely, I think, that he knew of his brother’s death when he left California, I rather think he came up for some other reason.

When he found out what happened, he put Grandma and my aunt in the car (I vaguely remember something about my Dad's mother going too) and headed for where they hoped to find Grandpa. They found him about 30 miles from home. They drove on to be with my mother during that terrible time.

But the thing I remember about this story, and it is largely a story I have been told by people who are not around any longer, is that grandpa did not sit down and figure how to make the trip. He didn’t call Greyhound. He just got his bicycle and made it to the highway, stuck out his thumb, as a matter of personal faith and devotion to his daughter, who needed him.

Thank you Grandpa for a wonderful example of doing what has to be done for those you love.

You will always be big in my memory.