My Grampa

Over the last 2-ish years my grampa had to deal with a lot of medical stuff. I don't think there is another word for it other than "stuff". He had to have a back surgery due to a work injury that led to a staph infection in his spine that led to 6 months of IV antibiotics administered by my gramma that led to other infections that led to more medication that led, ultimately, to cirrhosis.

The irony of this is that my grampa was also an alcoholic. But he didn't develop the cirrhosis until the medication. He wasn't in the best of health to begin with either. He had emphysema from smoking since he was 9 years old. He had experienced one or two heart attacks 10 years earlier. He has stents placed around his heart. But it seems was the medication that wrote his death sentence. He was only 64 years old when he died.

We knew my grampa would pass sometime this year. He was given the official diagonis and prognosis back in February. At first the doctors said 9ish months, but then quickly said less time as my grampa would take gigantic dips and downturns. He seemed to turn them around quickly though. My gramma would take him for perisentesis ( I don't know if that's spelled right) to get his belly drained since the cirrhosis caused fluid to accumulate in all the space around his organs. Not draining it would have made my grampa pass sooner as the pressure built against liver. But while this seemed to help in one way, it hurt in another. Everytime they drained his belly it harmed his kidneys more and more. By the end, he was in kidney failure.

 But the reason for this isn't to remember his death and sickness. I'll always remember how I was in Vancouver, Washington to be with my friend during her birth (caught the first nonstop flight out there with Ali) when I received the phone call from my mom that my grampa had passed. I'll always remember the weeks of stress and tears that led up to that day as I waited for that phone call. And I'll always remember the pain of seeing my grampa, seemingly asleep, the following Saturday after his passing, and how young he looked laying there. I'll always remember the pain of seeing my incredibly strong gramma cry and tenderly touch his face and stroke his hair before being told they were getting ready to close the casket and how she said she didn't want to see that. The reason for this post is to remember my grampa as I remember him. Not as an alcoholic, not frail, not sick. My memories of my grampa begin 10 years earlier and go backwards in time.

My grampa, Gordon Scott Hansen, was a rough and tumble kind of guy. But he had such tenderness about him too. He loved his grandkids. He loved being a cowboy and rancher. He loved playing pool. He loved Twizzlers. When I was 16 years old I was sent to live with grandparents for a time. He didn't make me feel ashamed as to why I was there, he just loved me. My grampa shared words of wisdom in the way only he could. He would sit up late at night with me and that's when he would just listen. He would warn me of those "mongloid geeks" in the world.

While living on their ranch, I had to take care of the chickens and pigs. Among other things, he let me help with the birthing of one of the sows, wrangle the sheep together, and drive the truck while baling hay.

I don't really want to share too much. I want to keep these memories for myself, really. But I want the world to know that for 20 years he was sober, beginning in 1985. He was my hero for quitting the stuff he did and changing his life around. He loved plumbing and was the contractor for the Vernal Temple. He did the plumbing at Beehive Elementary (where I went to school).

He was a good man and I miss him. I look forward to the day when I see him again. I'm thankful for the gospel of Jesus Christ that gives me that reassurance. I know I will and I know he is finding rest in the arms of the Savior.

I love you grampa. Always.