I’ve always believed in the circle of life, that as one enters, one must go. Of course we have a lot more people in the world than we ever have, so I guess my math is a little fuzzy, but I’m still going to use it.
We had some of our best times at the beach, particularly St. Augustine, where Grandmom and Granddad had a timeshare for many years. This photo was taken in 2005.
It’s been easy for me to hold that belief because it’s never affected me, at least not in the way it is today. Last night my grandfather died at the age of 91. He had been in failing health for quite some time, but that doesn’t make this any easier. It’s especially difficult because I couldn’t be with my family during his final hours. You see, our Little One is still cooking. These have been some of the most agonizing few days I’ve ever experienced.
Many of you know how close I am to my grandparents. We moved back to the South to be closer to our families, but particularly to be close to them. Lisa and I have been so blessed to spend some wonderful time with them the past 11-plus years. We’ve had trips to St. Augustine, including a sunset cruise along the intracoastal waterway, kite flying, celebrating Grandmom’s birthday, walking along the beach, watching granddad work with his stamps, eat Grandmom’s delicious desserts (Granddad often licked his plate or bowl to get the last crumb or drop of pudding), picked blueberries and much more.
I couldn’t ask for better and more loving grandparents. They welcomed Lisa into their home from the beginning. One of my favorite lines from my grandfather was one Thanksgiving, my mom and Lisa stayed back at my parents’ house while my dad and I went to eat some of my Grandmom’s freshly made sweet rolls. I walked into the house and my Granddad asked me: “Where’s your better half?” I didn’t think much about it and responded without hesitation that she was back at the house and would be over in a few minutes. But the more I thought about what he said, the more touched I was.
Granddad loved his sweets, so much so that he would occasionally sneak a bite when he knew he shouldn't because of his diabetes. On this day though Grandmom served him a dish of yum.
In fact, Grandmom would often joke that after Granddad was done with a dish it was clean enough to put back in the cabinet.
He made sure he got every last bite.
I spent many summers in Newberry, S.C., where Granddad was a chemistry professor. He was so much more than that though. He has a lot on his resume about what he did while at Newberry, including serving as interim president, but it’s not what’s listed on a piece of paper that made the difference. I thought about going to Newberry for college and spent a night on campus to see what it was like. Spending less than 24 hours there I realized what a huge impact he had on students, teachers, administration, etc. “Oh, you’re Dr. Park’s granddaughter…” I would hear at almost every turn.
To be honest, I was a little scared of Granddad when I was growing up. He was definitely the disciplinarian and very serious (at least it seemed so to a kid). My brother, Matt, and I became good friends with the Riebe family that lived across the street from my grandparents. Mark was the oldest (he and I played together the most), Matthew and my Matt were good buds and then Michelle, the baby (not so much any more). Somehow (I won’t divulge the names of the innocent, Dottie, you know who you are) we started calling Granddad (his first name is Conrad) Cornbread. Of course, we would never call him this to his face for fear of facing his wrath. But we thought we were so cute.
It so funny to me now that I thought he was mean when I was growing up because the man that I came to know as an adult is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet. We were so blessed that his dementia brought out the sweet side, because so often it does not. Maybe that’s because there was nothing but sweetness and kindness inside.
Up until three years ago, my Grandmom and Granddad were living in their duplex on the campus of the Lowman Home, now called the Heritage at Lowman (go figure, but I digress). Grandmom still lives in the duplex. Granddad contracted pneumonia and was hospitalized. After a scare there, he recovered enough to be released to the nursing center, which is where he died Saturday night. When Lisa and I would visit, we would push him around in his wheelchair through the corridors of the nursing center. All of the nurses knew Dr. Park, and he said hello to EVERYONE he passed (maybe that’s where I get it from).
As many people know, we Parks like to pick -- blueberries, peaches, strawberries, okra -- you name it. Lisa and I loved picking blueberries with granddad.
On one such trip he introduced Lisa and me as his granddaughters to one of the nurses. We just wrote it off as Granddad having a senior moment, but when we got around the corner onto the next corridor, he asked softly “is that OK that I said you were both my granddaughters?” Trying to hold back a tear, I said: “Of course it is.” We were his girls and he was our Granddad.
We had an annual tradition for several years in which every July 4th weekend we would stop by Columbia on our way down to and on our way back from Charleston. On the return trip, we would go blueberry picking with Granddad. We Parks like to pick, but we get up EARLY to avoid the crowds and heat. Lisa joined us on a few occasions. One time our friend Sandy came with us. We went out a little later than usual, so the temperature heated up quickly. I went back to the car to get some socks and when I came back I couldn’t find Granddad. I asked Sandy and Lisa where he was and they pointed to a tree. All I saw was Granddad sprawled out on the ground. I thought he was dead. I knew Grandmom was going to kill me for killing Granddad. Fortunately, he was OK, just hot. Unfortunately, he would only go picking with us one more time. I usually go picking by myself or with my Dad now but I always feel like Granddad is just a bush away.
Joseph (left) and Dylan visited Pop in October 2010.
With all of the gardening, picking, etc. that Granddad did with his hands, you wouldn’t think they would be soft. As he aged, the tops of his hands looked more dry and gnarled, but underneath were the softest palms you’ve ever felt. It was like slipping your fingers into butter. And he liked to hold hands.
My family comes from a long line of Lutheran ministers. Granddad was a chemist, but his dad was a pastor and his two brothers were pastors. And the line extends much further. I’m not sure why my grandfather was named Conrad, but a dear friend of mine shared this story from the Bible that made me think this was my Granddad Conrad, too.
“An old cobbler named Conrad had a dream that the Lord was coming to visit him. So he washed the walls of his small shop and his shelves until they shined. He decorated the shop with holly and fir. He put milk and honey on the table to offer to his special guest. Then he sat down and waited.
As he was waiting, Conrad saw a poor barefoot beggar walking in the rain outside his door. He felt sorry for the man and invited him in, and gave him a pair of shoes. The clean floor was now dirty from the rain and the mud.
Just as he was about to clean it up, Conrad noticed an old lady outside who was bent over, carrying a heavy load of firewood. He invited her in to sit and rest. He shared some food with her and then walked home with her, helping to carry the wood.
When Conrad returned to his shop, he thought of all that needed to be done to prepare for the Lord’s visit. He began to clean again and hoped he had time to find more food. But just then, a knock at the door. He answered hurriedly. It was a small child crying, lost and cold. He picked up the child, dried the tears, gave her something to drink, and walked her to her home down the street and around the corner.
Conrad hurried back to the shop. He was too tired now to clean or to find more food, but still, he waited. Evening came, and Conrad began to wonder if the Lord had forgot.
Then he heard a soft voice break the silence in the shop. It said, ‘Lift up your heart, for I kept my word. Three times I came to your friendly door, Three times my shadow was on your floor. I was the beggar with bruised feet; I was the woman you gave to eat, I was the lost child on that homeless street.’
You couldn't find a better love story. These love birds were married for 67 years. "I never heard him say a cross word to me," Grandmom said.
Conrad smiled to himself, put his feet up on the table, and settled back in his chair to pray and talk with his Saviour so fair. ”
There is so much more I could say about Granddad and stories I could recount about his kindness and generosity. We will miss Granddad terribly and I’m upset that Lil won’t be able to meet him. But we will raise her to be like her Great-Granddad, and if she’s even half the person he was, she’ll be doing just fine. Fortunately, she stills has her wonderful Great-Grandmother to learn from and we can’t wait!
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