Goodbye, Beppa

Got word on Tuesday that my grandmother was not doing well (after several months of steadily worsening health), and after my parents left on the 6-hour trip to western New York, a cousin called and said that the doctors, "don't expect her to last the night." So when the phone rang a few minutes past midnight, I knew her struggle was over and that my parents hadn't made it in time.

When we were there last June for my grandfather's funeral, Beppa (we all called her this, Dutch for "grandmother") put on a brave and determined face. But like so many of that generation, when one goes, the other tends to follow shortly after. It is often the case that each has their own medical problems that come with advanced age, so the closeness is most likely coincidental. But it would be foolish to say that the loss doesn't impact the survivor --- a combination of stress and loneliness (my grandparents had been married for over 60 years with few days apart). I'm sure that psychologists or family studies professionals would explain it more clinically, but in simpler terms, it's similar to a quote from the television show due South --- "My mother died, and my father stopped living." Some people define grace as "the acceptance of God's will" or some-such... not being afraid to go. And yet, in this case, Beppa seemed a little tired of it all, knew what was going to happen, and accepted it. Always the stubborn Dutchie, she refused to go to a few doctor's appointments. Frankly, I don't assign blame or find any fault with this, nor do I think it was willful in any way. She was a tough old bird and fought as ever. Medically, they did all they could; they did more than they should have. At a certain point, the bodily "robbing Peter to pay Paul" of modern medicine does just as much harm as good. At a certain point, when you know what is going to happen, you just want it to be over, for whatever peace may come.

I caught a ride with my brother, sister-in-law and their children (they live just down the road) and we drove up yesterday morning in the Jeep. Made excellent time, too.... An average speed of 80-85 m.p.h. shaves about an hour from the trip. More on this later.

Western New York (hereafter referred to in this blog as WNY) is a great example of what happens when people are taxed into oblivion to support five levels of government. It's really depressing to drive through and see houses with three sides of Typar paper, sheds on their last legs, and piles of various and sundry objects in yards. This is what happens when a government is more concerned about supporting itself than its people. Browse through the WNY news and it's the same story of staunchly anti-business government, tax increases that never seem to produce anything and dramatic population flight (mainly to the Mid-Atlantic states and the South). All you can do is shake your head. That said, the grass is definitely greener in WNY than it is here in CT. We still have a lot of tan thatch while they have green lawns and fields.

The service was nicely done as those things go. It was nice to see that side of the family and a number of their friends and neighbors who came to pay their respects. As it is most of the time with me, I spent much of the wake listening and moseying around. We said our last goodbyes. This morning, they had a short burial service.

And then, we headed home. Me and my nephew watched Uncle Buck and Bedtime Stories on the car DVD player. A little east of the Berkshires there was extensive tree damage --- downed, large sections of tops split off and hanging. Might have been one of the ice storms we had this winter (and evidently, they had a worse bit). Then, a little way past the Blandsford rest area, my brother was pulled over by a Massachusetts state trooper. He was going about 80 m.p.h. in a 65 m.p.h. zone. Anyway, my brother is one who can say, with apparent ease, "Yeah, I'm on the job in ___(town omitted to protect the guilty)___" ("on the job" being the lingo that he is a police officer). After looking at his driver's license and police department ID, the trooper said, a little hesitantly, "All right.... Enjoy the rest of your weekend." So there you are, boys and girls --- proof that it pays to have badge. He relies on it too much, though, and one of these days, professional courtesy might not be extended.

A sad trip, but one that we knew was coming. Rest in peace, Beppa. Or, as I prefer, walk the fields of gold with Pakke and the Whoopkas.