As the 20th century closed and the 21st
began, my wife and I moved with our two boys to Modesto, California. I was
working all over the San Francisco Bay Area, mostly in the Silicon Valley. I
would drive 5 hours on a light day, often commuting as much as 2 hours or more
to get to my first appointment or store visit of the day. The drive time,
coupled with the 9 or 10 hour workdays, made for some long weeks, but the work
was satisfying and we had some great friends who had also coincidentally moved
to California. The San Joaquin Valley has its share of detractors, but we loved living there! The rest of my family was mostly back in Utah, with a few
relatives scattered around Northern California, where I had grown up.
One morning, as I approached the Bay Bridge on my way to San
Francisco, I got a call from my wife, Darcie. She told me my parents had just
arrived from Utah and were with my grandpa at the hospital in Grass Valley, two
or three hours north of our home. Grandpa was not doing well, and she said it
would be good if we could see him. I turned around and ‘raced’ home, at least
as fast as dot-com-bubble Bay Area traffic allowed. Soon Darcie, Ethan, Liam
and I were driving north to Grass Valley to see Mom, Dad, Grandpa and Grandma.
We had been married nine years; Ethan had just turned 5 and
Liam was about 7 months old. With family spread from Southern California to
Canada, we had become road trip pros. The kids behaved perfectly as we drove
quietly, nervously, and prayerfully toward the town where Grandma and Grandpa
lived.
Marvin Anderson—my dad’s dad—was the perfect grandfather.
Grandpa seemed to be an expert at everything he picked up. He was a great
guitar player, had a beautiful singing voice, was an engaging storyteller, and
he was the pun-making champion of the world. He was an accomplished golfer,
fisherman, pilot, inventor, scientist, photographer, and repairer of clocks and
watches. He had even built and piloted his own plane and boat! He was always
learning, reading, studying; always experiencing new hobbies and projects.
When I was in the seventh grade, I wrote a report about
Grandpa for my science class. We had to interview someone who had a scientific career,
and he worked in Quality Control at the Lawrence Livermore Laboratory. I learned
of some of the things he had worked on—really amazing stuff like nanotech, nuclear
power and laser technology. But the coolest things I learned about were those
he had invented. One of them was pretty amazing—a tool that could drill a hole
the diameter of a human hair through an inch-thick piece of steel! But my
favorite invention was, of all things a mousetrap.
The lab was crawling with mice—overnight they got all over
everything in the lab. He showed us photos that had been taken with a timer—it
was like a horror movie, with mice everywhere—in
drawers, on desktops, on benches, all over the floor. Being a bunch of
engineers and scientists, they went to work—you guessed it—building a better
mousetrap. Rather, they each went to work building their own improved designs,
with friendly competitions to see whose trap could catch the most mice in a
night.
Grandpa’s design was ingenious. It attached to the side of a
water-filled bucket. A mouse would smell the bait (caramel or peanut butter
worked best) and climb up a strip of cloth on the side. At the top of the
bucket, they would need to crawl through a cylinder to reach the bait, which
they could now see as well as smell. When the mouse got near the far end of the
cylinder, close to where the bait was suspended, the cylinder pivoted and the
mouse fell into the water and drowned. Incredibly, the perfected design won the
contest, nabbing 100 mice in a night!
I think Grandpa was even more excited, however, to see how
the mice learned to work together to combat the design. They teamed up and
trusted each other—with several mice holding down the bucket end of the
cylinder with their body weight while another crept to the end and brought the
bait back to share with the others. Grandpa set up time lapsed photography to document
the mice’s ingenuity in ultimately defeating his mousetrap, and was clearly
fascinated with the mice’s creativity and learning through trial and error.
We figured Grandpa’s years at the lab and exposure to
radiation likely contributed to his developing leukemia. After being diagnosed,
he still continued to care for their mountain home and property in the Sierra
Nevada foothills, and most notably, taking care of Grandma while she recovered
from a stroke and her own serious health issues. I can’t imagine enduring
something like chemotherapy, let alone literally lifting, carrying and doing so
much for someone else while enduring that disease and treatment regimen.
Grandpa quietly endured the ordeal and loved and served his wife. Eventually,
they sold their home in the woods and got into a place that could help with
their care, and of course wouldn’t need all the maintenance their acres in the
pines required.
When we got to the hospital, we learned that Grandpa had
contracted pneumonia in his weakened state, and had a serious blood infection. Before
we went in to see Grandpa, Dad let us know the prognosis was poor. He was breathing
with the help of an oxygen mask and was on morphine—he was in intense pain. He
was barely able to speak and drifted in and out of consciousness. Dad warned us
that Grandpa had some cancerous spots removed from his face and that he had
lost a large amount of weight. In spite of the physical toll the illness had
taken on his body, he was still Grandpa, and I was grateful we got to spend
some time with him.
We spent about an hour and a half reminiscing about the
great times we’d had with him, what we had been up to lately, and how much we
loved him. We told him how grateful we were to see him and how much he meant to
us. We also tried to show love and support for my parents, who I’m sure were
experiencing tremendous stress, uncertainty and worry. I’m sure seeing their
grandsons gave them a little bit of peace during this difficult time.
During our time with Grandpa he would occasionally make eye
contact but didn’t show many signs that he understood us. As we neared the end
of our visit, we again expressed our love to Grandpa and said goodbye for what
we thought could be the last time, not quite sure how much Grandpa had
understood. As we got up to leave, Grandpa leaned up slightly, looked at his
great grandson Ethan, and whispered, “bunch of grapes” a couple times with a
smile on his face. I remember smiling back at Grandpa and touching his arm,
wondering for a moment what he meant, but glad to see some recognition and a
smile.
A few seconds later Dad smiled and echoed, “bunch of
grapes.” He knew what Grandpa meant! “Grandpa has a picture on his fridge of
Ethan in his Halloween costume—as a bunch of grapes!” Ethan, now five years old,
had worn dozens of purple balloons taped to his clothes the Halloween shortly
before he turned two. Amazingly, Grandpa had recognized Ethan from the old
photograph, and it brought us all a moment of joy.
With visiting hours over, we spent a little more time with
my parents and then got on the road home for some rest. Grandpa passed away
just a few hours later, my dad at his side. The next few days were bittersweet,
as the family gathered and we got to remember together so many great times.
Ultimately, I look back at this time with gratitude and joy—grateful we got a
chance to see Grandpa again, and overjoyed that our presence seemed to make a
difference to him while he suffered physical pains for the last time.
I think of all the little moments and factors that led up to
and impacted our last few memorable minutes with Grandpa. If 23 month old Ethan
had been a ghost with a sheet on his head for Halloween, Grandpa may not have
recognized Ethan, or gotten that same little burst of joy upon connecting the
dots the way he did with the grapes. Likewise, if Darcie had not insisted on
taking and sending the photo, those moments would have been different. (This happened
before we got a digital camera—back when you would shoot 12, 24, or 36 photos,
take the film to the drug store, and hope you got a few good shots).
Had I been driving another hour or so that morning when I
got the call, we would not have had enough time for me to get back home, get
the kids, and get up to Grass Valley while visiting hours were still in effect.
We’d have missed the chance to see Grandpa one last time. Most days, I worked
much further south. About nine out of ten days I would have been too far away
to get to the hospital in time. Had Grandpa not had that photo on his fridge,
and looked at it literally every day for a couple years, he may not have had
that same reaction and recognition he did. Even if he had, it’s unlikely he
would have whispered anything else as singular and cheerful as “bunch of
grapes!”
I thank God—who sees all patterns and has a plan for each of
us—for his hand in creating a joy-filled memory for me. I’m grateful for each
little instance and decision that led to this sweet moment—all overseen and facilitated
by Him. Many would say this was just a nice coincidence, or that there is no
one watching over us in so much detail. But I know He influences us daily. The
trick is, we’re often unsure if a thought, idea, or prompting comes from Him or
from us. In my experience, I often get that confirmation after the decision is made, once I see the results and the patterns
of action and consequence unfold. I believe the more we make these choices with
the Lord’s will in mind, the better we get at noticing and discerning where
those ideas come from, earlier in the whole process.
What I know without a doubt is that when we get a thought,
and think it’s either a pretty good idea or perhaps a prompting from the Lord,
we ought to act on it. That’s really the only way we will find out where the
prompt is coming from—by seeing it through. We learn best by doing. More importantly, those little
decisions can make a big difference in the lives of others—many times without
us knowing it. 
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