Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.
Exodus 20:12
As Granddaddy got up in years, his mindbegan to become cloudy. At first, it was almost imperceptible. He would simply forget where he put his keys, or the turn to make to go to the grocery store. He would typically recover quickly, and no one was any the wiser. Gradually, however, he got to the point where a normal 9-5 job was out of the question, but he was still a good worker and wanted to contribute. His church was kind enough to allow him to do some of the grounds maintenance. It was a small job, where he couldn’t get into much trouble, but after time even that became impossible.
While he still could, he and my grandmother went to church every week. They sang in the choir, taught Sunday school, andparticipated in any number of ministries around their church. For some reason, they had almost always gone to separate adult classes; he to the men’s and she to the women’s. One Easter, my girlfriend (who is now my lovely wife) and I joined them for church. I went with him to his men’s class, and she with my grandmother to her women’s class. This really pleased my grandmother, because it had been a while since she was able to go to her own class for fear that my grandfather would get into some mischief or unknowingly wander off.
My grandfather and I walked into the class and greetedsome of the members before we sat down. At this point, I couldn’t really figure out what all the fuss was about my grandfather. He seemed perfectly normal to me. Maybe getting a little older, but still basically the same man I had known and loved for years. We sat down and prepared for the day’s lesson. The class leader got up and said, “Sam, I see you have a guest with you here today,” indicating towards me, “would you like to introduce him?”
My grandfather stood up with such enthusiasm and a big proud smile on his face. I just knew that hewas going to lavish praises on me, and boast about how proud he was to have his grandson with him that day; he always had in the past. Then, he stood there and pointed to me and said, “Yes I would, I would like to introduce my longtime friend, Ralph Barnhart.”
As hard as I racked my brain, I had no clue who Ralph was; it was not a namethat I had ever heard. I couldn’t believe it; my grandfather had no idea who I was. This was a punch in the gut that I was not prepared for, and it really hit me hard. As I later discovered, he had introduced me as someone he hadn’t seen in about 30 years; long before I was even born.
I quickly interceded and smiled saying, “Granddaddy, you know I’m your grandson John David.” He smiled, cut up a little and laughed about it. However, it really hit me then, that he was truly gone. His mind was going to be with the Lord much faster than his body was. When he died, a few years later, my family was both amused and comforted by the fact that my grandfather was finally reuniting with his mind.
He and I still loved talking shop together. For most of his professional career he was a plant engineer for various textile plants around the Carolinas, Virginia, and Texas. His knowledge of things technical always seemed a little dated to me, but accurate. I worked in the same field for quite a few years, and knew quite well what he was speaking of. My mother and my aunt always thought he was talking gibberish, but I assured them that he was dead on. Of course it was dead on for about 50 years ago, but it was still dead on. I could always get a feel for where he was in time based on the technology he was talking about. It was as if I had a private doorway into his psyche that no one else could see. I cherished that he and I could at least still share this secret language together long after no one else could communicate with him. Based on “when he was” I was able to guide my conversation with him so that, to him, it was present day. We would talk about the motor he was working on, the transformer he reconnected, or the generator set that was giving him a hard time.
One thing I never quite understood, and was a little spooked by, was the fact that he called me Ralph until the day that Ralph died. Then he just didn’t know what to call me, so he didn’t. We didn’t realize this fact until some family had heard through the grapevine of Ralph’s death. Granddadddy had no way of knowing at all, or even comprehending at that point that Ralph had died, but somehow I think his spirit knew.
It was sad to watch him go. It amazed me just how fast he went. It would come in spurts. For a year or more at a time, I would see no perceptible change in him. Then something would snap, and it would seem as if he were making up for lost time over about a two-month period. It was painful for all of us to watch. Each of us dealt with it in our own way. We were all drawn to him, and we all visited him.
The last months of his life I would often visit him in the assisted care facility that he was in, and eventually died in. During this time pretty much all meaningful conversation had stopped, and if you got a grunt you were lucky. Sitting, and reading passages of scripture to him, or talking with him about my day were meaningful to me beyond measure. He would still look at you and smile, and squeeze your hand when you held his reminding me of the days that he would try to show me his strength by the firmness of his grip. It was painful to see him go, but I felt a sense of peace about it in the way that he seemed to welcome death as an old friend. Perhaps now he and Ralph are laughing together again, fixing the Lord’s textile mills.
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| Moses with Ten Commandments Rembrandt, 1659 |
As Granddaddy got up in years, his mind
While he still could, he and my grandmother went to church every week. They sang in the choir, taught Sunday school, and
My grandfather and I walked into the class and greeted
My grandfather stood up with such enthusiasm and a big proud smile on his face. I just knew that he
As hard as I racked my brain, I had no clue who Ralph was; it was not a name
I quickly interceded and smiled saying, “Granddaddy, you know I’m your grandson John David.” He smiled, cut up a little and laughed about it. However, it really hit me then, that he was truly gone. His mind was going to be with the Lord much faster than his body was. When he died, a few years later, my family was both amused and comforted by the fact that my grandfather was finally reuniting with his mind.
He and I still loved talking shop together. For most of his professional career he was a plant engineer for various textile plants around the Carolinas, Virginia, and Texas. His knowledge of things technical always seemed a little dated to me, but accurate. I worked in the same field for quite a few years, and knew quite well what he was speaking of. My mother and my aunt always thought he was talking gibberish, but I assured them that he was dead on. Of course it was dead on for about 50 years ago, but it was still dead on. I could always get a feel for where he was in time based on the technology he was talking about. It was as if I had a private doorway into his psyche that no one else could see. I cherished that he and I could at least still share this secret language together long after no one else could communicate with him. Based on “when he was” I was able to guide my conversation with him so that, to him, it was present day. We would talk about the motor he was working on, the transformer he reconnected, or the generator set that was giving him a hard time.
One thing I never quite understood, and was a little spooked by, was the fact that he called me Ralph until the day that Ralph died. Then he just didn’t know what to call me, so he didn’t. We didn’t realize this fact until some family had heard through the grapevine of Ralph’s death. Granddadddy had no way of knowing at all, or even comprehending at that point that Ralph had died, but somehow I think his spirit knew.
It was sad to watch him go. It amazed me just how fast he went. It would come in spurts. For a year or more at a time, I would see no perceptible change in him. Then something would snap, and it would seem as if he were making up for lost time over about a two-month period. It was painful for all of us to watch. Each of us dealt with it in our own way. We were all drawn to him, and we all visited him.
The last months of his life I would often visit him in the assisted care facility that he was in, and eventually died in. During this time pretty much all meaningful conversation had stopped, and if you got a grunt you were lucky. Sitting, and reading passages of scripture to him, or talking with him about my day were meaningful to me beyond measure. He would still look at you and smile, and squeeze your hand when you held his reminding me of the days that he would try to show me his strength by the firmness of his grip. It was painful to see him go, but I felt a sense of peace about it in the way that he seemed to welcome death as an old friend. Perhaps now he and Ralph are laughing together again, fixing the Lord’s textile mills.
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