Of all the subjects that parents teach their children, one that rarely comes up is death.  As a society we want our children to hold onto their innocence as long as possible.  Because death is a taboo subject that no one seems to talk about, I did not know the range of emotions that would surface when I experienced death first-hand.  I had expected to feel sorrow and grief, maybe anger and frustration, a calming peace, and just an emptiness that only death can bring.  However, the most overwhelming emotion was something I was not prepared to feel: GUILT.  Why was guilt the overarching emotion I was experiencing over the death of my grandfather?  How could I resolve this guilt and keep it from eating at my soul?

            My grandfather had been sickly for years, so when his death came on September 20, 2005, I was somewhat prepared to hear the news.  It did not make it any easier, though.  Whenever the telephone rings early in the morning, I almost expect there to be bad news; this has always been my experience.  On that morning, my husband answered the phone, and then called me into the living room where he handed me the receiver.  The first words out of my mother’s mouth were “Grandpa Fawson passed away this morning.”  I sat on the couch in stunned silence as the hot tears pooled in my eyes.  I choked on the words that were trying to make their way out.  I felt the sorrow, the grief, and the peace.  I knew he was in a better place; he was not suffering any more.  But even with these rational thoughts, it was not easy.  I was in shock trying to believe he was actually gone.  And then the guilt set in.

            Some of the memories I have of my grandfather are not the happiest.  Grandpa was a stubborn man.  After decades of working on submarines at Mare Island in Vallejo, CA, he had significant hearing loss but refused to wear a hearing aid.  He was also a shy man by nature, so this little shell he had built around himself was a perfect place to retreat.  During my third grade year at school, my grandparents provided before and after school care to me and my siblings.  It was during this year that I probably learned the most about my grandfather.  Grandpa was not the most patient person, and with us being kids, there were a few clashes along the way.  He had this electric organ that we liked to play, as quietly as possible.  I remember on one occasion I was playing the organ and my little brother came up and started pounding the keys.  We started fighting back and forth when all of a sudden we heard the loud footsteps of my huge grandfather.  He came in, shaking his finger at us and yelling, “You kids!  Knock it off!”  After episodes like this, I was careful to walk on eggshells around my grandfather because I did not want to see another explosion.  After thinking about the memories of my grandfather, digging to my very soul to find something positive, I realized that as crazy as they sound, there are three things that defined my grandfather: peanut butter, word search puzzles, and Bob Barker.

            Grandpa loved his peanut butter.  It accompanied almost any meal.  But, it could not be just any peanut butter.  It had to be Skippy Creamy Peanut Butter.  This smooth, sweet peanut butter was always smeared on a slice of white Wonder bread.  Around our house, my mother would refer to this concoction as “plastic serendipity”, so imagine my joy when Grandpa and Grandma would let us indulge in such a sinful treat.  Grandpa was also an avid word searcher.  He had books that he kept by his favorite chair in order to engage in these mental gymnastics.  As a third grader, I had just learned how to do word search puzzles and I loved them.  I would beg Grandpa to allow me to do some of his word searches, but the answer was always a resounding “No.”  So, instead I would pull out the decades old coloring books they had stashed away for when the grandkids would visit and try to occupy my eight-year-old mind as best I could in a mind-numbing adult home. Usually my grandparents would let us entertain ourselves by watching cartoons before and after school.  However, there were two shows that Grandpa insisted upon watching.  We were welcome to watch with him or we could go in my grandparent’s bedroom and watch television.  In the morning, Grandpa had to get his fix of “The Price Is Right” and the afternoons were occupied by Judge Wapner and “The People’s Court”.  At first I opted to go watch television in another room, but soon became intrigued and started watching “The Price Is Right” with a very young looking Bob Barker.  My favorite game to watch was “Plinko” and I tried to make up a similar game with my siblings by using a pegboard and golf tees.  Those brief memories of my grandfather are all I have left of him.

            The last time I saw my grandfather was in June of 1997 at my wedding.  Shortly afterwards, he and my grandmother moved to Southern Utah and he vowed he would never return to California.  From that time on, his health deteriorated considerably.  My parents made annual trips to visit my grandparents and upon their return, my mom commented about how frail, how sickly, how thin my grandfather looked.  These comments made me apprehensive because I knew the end was closing in.  He had always been a “pack rat”-a trick he learned while living through the depression-and so it was a great surprise to all of a sudden hear of my grandfather going through and getting rid of his junk.  I have heard that some people will start to put their earthly affairs in order before they pass on.  Grandpa did not want leave Grandma with the long and arduous task of going through and discarding his earthly possessions, so he took it upon himself to make that part of the process easier.  I knew I needed to visit him, soon, if I wanted him to meet my children and to also say my final goodbyes.

            One night, I awoke in a cold sweat with an overwhelming feeling that if I wanted to see my grandfather alive, I needed to be on a plane to Southern Utah by the weekend.  Immediately I started looking at flights on the Internet and became greatly discouraged.  The nearest major airport is in Las Vegas, Nevada.  I could have flown in there, rented a car and then driven two hours to St. George, Utah or I could have caught a charter plane from Las Vegas to St. George.  Either option did not sound ideal to me and financially it would have been a burden.  I could not justify spending over one thousand dollars on an airline ticket for a weekend only to see my ailing grandfather.  I have definite memories of how my grandfather looked, so to see him in any other state was a little overwhelming.  Selfishly, I chose not to go.

            When I got the call that my grandfather had passed away, I was a bundle of emotion.  I desperately wanted to be at the funeral, say my final goodbyes and be with my father in his time of grief, but I was torn with the responsibilities of being a parent.  My son had just started first grade and I did not want him to miss school, especially since he had not been absent in Kindergarten. We were hoping for perfect attendance that year as well.  My oldest daughter was almost two and my baby was only six months at the time.  I had thought about catching a ride with my parents to the funeral, but I felt that I could not intrude.  I did not want to pull my son out from school and my husband could not take time off of work to care for our children, either.  It would be a hard car trip with two young babies, especially since my parents drive a Honda CR-V.   I would have had to be sandwiched in the middle of two car seats; I couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount of baby junk I was going to need just for a weekend trip.  I would have been better off renting a moving van.  I had just started a new semester at Sac State, and while I know professors would have understood, I have a hard time missing class.  Then there was the money issue.  I knew we had the money for the trip, but we were planning a trip to Disneyland in November as well.  We had already promised Carter, our son, we would be at Disneyland in a month and a half and he was anxiously counting down the days.  To disappoint him would have devastated me.  So, with careful thought and prayer, I decided to stay at home with my family while loved ones gathered in Southern Utah for my grandfather’s funeral.

            As I reflect upon why I felt guilty after my grandfather’s passing, I came to the conclusion that because of my selfishness I was never able to say goodbye and my children did not ever meet their great-grandfather.  In the past four years, I have been to Disneyland twice with my family.  Each trip has cost a considerable amount of money but we had saved for it.  I could have easily used that money and taken my family to visit my grandparents, but, in all honesty, Disneyland is more fun. As a child, I had always wished my parents had taken us to Disneyland instead of visiting family members.  I cherish those memories I have of the road trips we would take, but mostly it was the trip itself I remember and not what we did.  Again, selfishly thinking of myself, I want to make memorable moments for my family.  The task I now face is how to teach my children about their great-grandfather.

            My son is starting to understand the relationships between my grandparents and me because he is starting to understand his own relationship with his grandparents.  He was only six and a half when my grandfather passed away, yet he was aware of how painful it was for me.  He will ask me, at random times, when my grandfather passed away, or ask why he passed away, or will announce out of the blue as we drive past the local T.G.I.Friday’s restaurant that that is where we ate the night my Grandpa died.  To him, death is a mystery, much like it was to me at that age.  He doesn’t understand that I felt guilty because he never got to meet his great-grandfather, but he has seen pictures.  I felt it was important to find something I could share with my children that would help connect them to their great-grandfather.  They have all, especially my three-year-old daughter, developed a taste for the creamy goodness of Skippy peanut butter.  Sometimes it is all I can get my daughter to eat. While she indulges in a huge spoonful of peanut butter, I think back to the jar of peanut butter my grandfather had strategically placed in the china hutch behind his dining room chair.  And although “The People’s Court” is still being broadcast, they can never replace Judge Wapner.  Instead, we have found a new courtroom show that we delight in watching, “Judge Judy”.  These little things help me to feel closer to my grandfather.  The thing that brings the most peace, though, is knowing that he is smiling down from heaven and seeing my children for the first time with a body that has not been worn down with time and age.  Shortly after his passing, I had a dream in which my family and I were seated around the dining room table with my grandfather sitting in his chair at the head of the table.  We were indulging in ice cream sundaes and Grandpa was ecstatic at the idea of eating ice cream.  The dream itself was not what gave me peace, but more the feeling I had that he was at peace and happy in the place he had gone.  This dream helped dissolve the guilt that burdened my heart.  I faced my guilt and learned I can only do what is in the best interest of my family.