Songs for my grandfather

(My paternal grandparents, Carl and Euva, with Kyle and me at our wedding in September of 2005.)

Kyle and I've been talking for many months about going to visit my paternal grandparents in western Virginia. It used to be an annual spring trip we made together, but with our impending move, we skipped it last spring and we were struggling to figure out where we'd fit it in during the coming months. (After all, if Kyle was going to take a week of work, shouldn't we trek somewhere tropical, or at the very least to Texas, where we had good friends and the weather would be warm.)

Then two Wednesdays ago, I called my grandmother to see what she thought of the birthday flowers I'd just sent. They were lilies, which I knew she loved, and I knew she'd enjoy watching the buds unfurling even after her big day had gone by. We talk often and I could tell she seemed distant as she told me how beautiful they were and how happy they'd made her. And when I asked her how my grandfather was doing, it became clear why. The previous day, they'd been at the University of Virginia Medical Center, where they learned he had a leaky valve in his heart that left it operating at 25 percent of its capacity. She kept getting confused as she explained, and so he came onto the phone and after telling me how pretty the lilies were, began explaining the rest- how there was also a black spot on his lung (he was a lifelong smoker and always kept his corn cob pipe close by) that could be cancer. I asked him if he was scared and he launched into a lengthy lesson about the circle of his life - at least as far as he saw it- and how just when you finally find peace within and realize how blessed you've been, you die. Hopefully, I will find fulfillment sooner.

At one point, I think the battery on his phone died and when I was able to reconnect, he barely stopped for a breath, telling me "Your phone cut out..." and then restarting his story in the exact same place he'd left off. You did not talk with my grandfather, he talked to you.

After we finished our conversation, I immediately emailed Kyle and told him the news, and said that while it was unlikely my grandfather would die this day or the next, we might want to make our trip to see them a priority. I really wasn't that worried, because my grandfather was always convinced death was knocking at the door (he liked to read books about the latest medical misdiagnosis and how you might be the next victim)and as a result, I was fairly certain he'd outlive us all (suffice to say, he was well preserved).

I was right. He did not die that day, nor the next, but three hours into the next day - the first of spring- he suffered congestive heart failure, and died about 30 minutes after he begrudgingly arrived at the hospital.

One of the things I always boasted about was how lucky I was to have all of my grandparents still living, especially at my age. Kyle, who is eight years older than me, also has all four grandparents living. All eight of them were at our wedding, representing a combined more than 200 years of marriage. My Virginia grandparents had been together the longest, marrying in 1947 after knowing each other only seven days.

Having all of our grandparents living has in many ways defined Kyle and me, and our schedules. With me as an only child (and no cousins to boot) and Kyle as the only adult among his sister and many cousins who lives in New England, we struggle to find the balance between spending time with our aging grandparents while we still can and building our own lives. I must admit at times we feel overwhelmed by the expectation to be at every birthday and attend every anniversary party, but whenever we stop and think about who is placing that pressure upon us, we almost always realize it is actually coming from within.

We delight in being in their company. We take to heart the wisdom they impart. We appreciate the perspective they provide. We savor their stories. And as (relative) newlyweds, we admire their affection still apparent after decades upon decades of better and worse, sickness and health, and now, death do they part.

Of course, at times, they drive us batty. Like when we were at dinner a few weekends ago in NYC and my maternal grandmother asked me pointblank "When are you finally going to get braces" because "really, who are we kidding here?" Or when we arrived in Virginia to be with my grandma last weekend and she responded to my urging her to eat more (cancer more than a decade ago has made it hard for her to retain the nutrients from her food) by chortling "But then I'll have one of those" and grabbing the rubber tire that I am all too self-conscious about already. Sometimes I wonder who these people are and how could I possibly be related to them! And then I say something like "Kyle- you look like you just broke out of Sing-Sing" and it's like I have channeled one of them in all their crazy, wacky wonderfulness.

The death of my grandfather has reminded me what I have known all along- how fortunate I have been to have these people in my life. When my dad called us before the sun had even risen that first morning of spring, I broke. Me, this person, who is always so prepared for everything had not the first idea of what to feel or think or do or say, to myself, to my dad who had recently moved from Maine back to Virginia in part to be closer with his parents and to my grandmother, who had devoted 22,612 days of her life for better but often worse to a man she adored so much she'd married him after only seven days. Over the next five days, my family put me back together in the most unexpected ways: when we comprised a third of the congregation at the church we took my grandmother to for Sunday service; as we laughed and ate sushi with my dad, stepmom and Kyle on a rock in a river during a hike deep in the mountains; and when three generations of my family (myself, my dad and my grandmother) sang as one along with a recording by my grandfather of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" around the tiny wooden box sitting in the dirt that contained his ashes.

My grandfather was a hardened and at times hostile man- from poverty as a child and from pain (brought on by crippling arthritis) in recent years. I was as close to him as I believe his personality made possible. Yes, he was flawed, but in his absence, it is not those shortcomings that left me sobbing in the shower or at the sandwich shop. For he was still the man who made my father, the man who bought me my first little red wagon, the man who to my delight took me to every Civil War battlefield within a 100 mile radius of his home (though he considered it "The War of Northern Aggression"), the man who made me spicy homefries every single morning that summer I lived with them because he knew how much I loved them, the man who helped spark a passion for storytelling and the man who danced with me at my wedding while wearing a wicked grin and his trademark cowboy hat. As a friend remarked at our reception after learning who my grandfather was- "There is one in every family." He was my granddaddy, and that's how I'll always remember him.

When I was younger, my dad used to chide me for not calling my grandparents enough, reminding me that they won't be here forever. He was right, and I am beyond thankful that I talked to my granddaddy less than two days before he died, and that he got enjoy those perky pink lilies in his final hours, as well as the daffodils my grandmother picked for him the day before he died, because he'd been admiring them out the kitchen window.

To this day, I see my grandparents -all of them- as larger than life, and until I was woken by a ringing phone on Friday, March 20, I've always figured they were immortal. Today I know they are. They will always live on through me.

To learn more about my grandfather, Carl W. DePoy (German, not French as he always noted when signing off on the internet genealogy forums he contributed to) you can read his obituary here or a story done after his death on his contributions to the Shenandoah Valley's music scene here. You can also see the local television station's tribute to him here or see their coverage of a jam session held in his honor here.