Remembering Grandpa Harold

I've been putting off posting because I realized my next post needed to be about my grandfather, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But nevertheless, here we are, so let me tell you about one of the greatest men I've ever known.

My Grandpa, Harold Eugene Hasenkrug, was a grandfather, father, friend, uncle, brother, husband, police officer, carpenter, hunter, fisherman...so many things. But most importantly, he was a generous, kind, sweet man. He didn't put up with any crap--being disrespectful to your mother or your grandmother was the quickest way to get him riled up--but he was always a wonderful example of an old-fashioned gentleman, even until the end.

Probably close to ten years ago, Grandpa started getting pretty forgetful. Gradually we noticed that it was more than just the forgetfulness that comes with age, and it soon became clear that it was the dreaded Alzheimers (or something like it). He started having a hard time coming up with words in conversation. We all do that from time to time, but it started becoming more and more frequent, to the point that you had to be ready to supply the right word. Yep, you had to be adept at mind reading to be able to get through a conversation with him. And it was frustrating to him, but he was still pretty sweet. It got harder, as Alzheimers does, and eventually last summer the difficult decision was made that it was in everyone's best interest for him to move into a Memory Care Facility.

My mom has been back and forth between Utah and Montana six times since I had my surgery in May. It was a long, crazy summer and fall. She told us he was going downhill, and suggested we try to to make a trip out to see him. In mid-July, Amy took a whirlwind weekend trip and drove over for a few days. I wasn't able to join her, but we talked frequently while she was there. She told me his decline was much more dramatic than any of us had realized, and it came as quite a shock to her. Then she told me I really needed to go.

Right before Labor Day, my mom was up there again, and she called one night and told me if I was going to go, I needed to do it soon. These comments were becoming more and more urgent, so I thought it over and made the very spontaneous decision to head up to Montana over Labor Day weekend. (I literally decided to go around midnight, got up early to pack, stopped by work at 7 AM the next day and explained the situation, then Allee and I hit the road.) I didn't tell anyone I was coming, I just went.

When I got to Great Falls, my Grandma was home, but my mom was up visiting my Grandpa. Grandma was totally surprised and excited to see me, and I immediately felt a lot of confirmation in my decision to go. It was wonderful to spend time with my mom and Grandma, but the best part was spending time with my sweet Grandpa.

I'm not going to lie, I was nervous about seeing him. My sister had made a quick trip in July to spend some time with them, and she had thoroughly prepped me for what I would find. She said it was much worse than she had expected, which was really hard on her. I knew he might not recognize me--in fact, he probably wouldn't. I didn't know how I would feel about my Grandpa not knowing me. I didn't know how frail he would be, or how much he had declined. My sister had advised me that the best thing to do was to flirt shamelessly with him. Armed with that information, my mom and I went up to see him.

He was sitting at the table in the dining room when we got up to his floor. He was skinnier--much skinnier--than I remembered, and more frail. For the first time, my Grandpa looked like an old man. And the truth is, he didn't know who I was. He asked my mom several times, and I don't think it ever really connected. But it didn't matter. I had a cute baby puppy with me (my Mom/Grandma's puppy), I was a sweet, young, blond girl (he remembered he had blond girls in his life he loved), and I took Amy's advice and flirted more than I've ever flirted in my life. And it worked. He was funny, and silly, and even if he didn't know why he was supposed to, he loved me. We had dessert with him and my mom convinced him to show me his room--as soon as we got there, he got out his comb and combed his hair for me. :) It was very sweet. He's had trouble speaking clearly for quite awhile, and sometimes it was very difficult to understand him. You can imagine my surprise, then, when we were leaving and I said, "Grandpa, can I come back and visit you again tomorrow?" and clear as a bell, with a smirk he replied, "I don't know, CAN you?" We got a good, long laugh over my silly Grandpa, Alzheimers and all, correcting my grammar. I made a face and said, "Okay, okay, MAY I come back and see you again tomorrow?" He just chuckled and said, "Yes, you may." :) What a joker.

Giving me a hard time until the very end... :)

The next afternoon I had another nice visit with him, this time my Grandma and my mom came up with me. He tired easily and visits couldn't be too long, but he was in a good mood and we had a nice time. My mom got him talking about when he first met my Grandma (he could still remember that time period--in fact, one time, for a few moments, he was telling me a story and I suddenly realized he thought I WAS my Grandma, fifty years ago, which was a strange experience), their first date, and some of the things they did together when they were young. It was interesting to see how much more clearly he could speak when he was reminiscing about things from long ago.

The next day my aunt and uncle got to town for a visit, and that night my aunt and I went up to see him. It was a rough visit, and I understood much more clearly after that experience exactly how bad things had gotten and how hard it was on him. Even though it was difficult on all of us, part of me was grateful I was able to get a glimpse of that part of his life. Seeing that first-hand made it a little easier to let him go, knowing my strong, independent grandfather would not want to be that way for very long. That was supposed to be my last visit with him, and I was pretty sad when I left.

I had to leave the next morning for the 12-hour trek back to Portland. I didn't want to leave too late, since I had to work the next day--the first day of school--but I couldn't bring myself to have my last visit with him be a rough one. I got up early and asked my mom if she would come up with me for one last visit, and she agreed. I prayed the whole way there that this last visit would be a positive one. At my request, we stopped by the convenience store to buy him a Pepsi and some Cheetos--staples he ate at lunch every day when I was a kid. He was sleepy when we got there, but in good spirits, and we had a really great visit. He made jokes with us and we laughed and laughed. He could not get enough of the blond girl flirting with him, and he was VERY excited about the Pepsi. I unscrewed the cap and gave it to him, and he closed his eyes and took a long drink. When he opened his eyes again, I said, "Is that good, Grandpa?" He smiled and said, "Yeah. REAL good." It was a perfect last visit with my sweet Grandpa. Knowing it was probably the last time I would see him, I hugged him and kissed him and said, "I'm sorry I have to go, and I probably won't see you again for awhile, but I love you very much, Grandpa." And he looked at me, maybe with a glimmer of recognition, smiled, and said, "I love you, too."

He passed away on November 28th, early in the morning, after my Mom cleaned him up and shaved him and got him ready to go. He was an amazing man, and I am so blessed to have had 30 years with him on this earth.

This one's blurry, but I LOVE it.

I love you, Grandpa.

Thank you for being the best grandpa a girl could ask for, and for being mine.

I miss you, and I always will.

Until we meet again...