Grandpa got ran over by a lathe, dear - part two

I finally realize that there is only one hospital that my grandparents would be able to go to so before my next meeting starts, I sneak out to make the phone call.

The hospital's operator transfers me to the ER and I ask the person on the other line if my grandpa has been admitted.

She replies that it is now against federal law to give out that information.

I remain calm and explain my situation.

"I'm at least five hours away and I haven't been able to get a hold of anyone. I just want to know if my grandpa is okay."

"Well, would it be helpful to know that if you called their house that nobody would pick up the phone."

Okay, they're at the hospital.

"And would it be helpful to know that if you called their house in about two hours, somebody would pick up the phone."

And they are leaving soon. I hope he's not refusing to be admitted.

He's a stubborn old S.O.B. and I love him for it. He's a man's man. Still hunting duck in Mexico at 90 years old.

My favorite story about my grandpa comes from Number 2. It stems from a conversation that he had with my grandparents a few years back.

My grandpa was telling Number 2 about what you need for your boat if you were going out on a lake to go fishing. The last required item was a Folgers coffee can.

"What do you use the coffee can for?" asked Number 2.

"You take that with you just in case you have to take a leak," my grandpa responded.

Number 2 didn't get it. "Why don't you just stand up and pee over the side of the boat?"

Without blinking an eye, my grandpa smiled and said.

"I don't want to get my dick wet."

VW

Grandpa got ran over by a lathe, dear - part one

After the Commander's grandfather died, I realized that the Chicken only had three great-grandparents left and one of them had never seen her in person.

I wanted to rectify that.

I made plans to take a couple of long weekends this month so we could make a trip to the Bay area to see her grandmother and a trip out to the river to see my dad's parents.

I haven't seen my dad's parents since the funeral. It is time for a visit.

As this weekend approached, the Commander was ready to scrub this mission. The Chicken had been sick (and the truth is, I had been too. I was throwing up so violently last weekend that the blood vessels in my eyes exploded. I was El Rojo Ojo).

But before we could cancel our trip, my grandfather did just that for us.

He was out in his work shed (which is a bit of a misnomer since it is larger than my house) and he had a lathe fall on him.

That lathe caused some sort of injury that days later forced him to get medical attention.

That's when my grandma emailed me at work to let me know that they were going to the hospital.

So, I'm kind of freaking out. I'm five hours away. I don't know what is going on. I call Number 2 to see if he can find out anything but I'm going to be in the dark for the next few hours because I'm going to a meeting where I'm leading a team through some team building exercises.

I'm already going to the worse case scenario and I don't think I can handle it.

VW

No New Tale to Tell

I promised that I wouldn't break from the story until I hit the 100th post and with the exception of our trip back east, I've been able to maintain doing just that.

But now that I've surpassed the 100th post, I realize that there is another milestone that is quickly approaching.

I think the end is near for this blog.

For my three fans out there that tune in every day, don't worry - it isn't ending tomorrow.

I still have some stories that I haven't shared yet.

The Wood Lady will be making another appearance.

Number 2 will make a very important decision regarding his future.

And I will reveal a couple of very, very strange things that happened around the holidays (just to be a little bit of a tease, on Christmas Eve last year, Number 2 received a phone call from our dad. Not a joke, not an imaginary story, 100% true).

I also purchased the youareoutofthewill.com domain and I'd like to move everything over to that site. Thanks to iLife '06, I'm learning how to do just that.

Originally, I thought I would have about 50 posts left in me. We'll see if that continues to be the case.

What I do know is that getting my thoughts down has helped me stay sane these last few months.

I hope you stick around and see how this ends.

Believe me, you won't want to miss it.

VW

I'm in the club

Last year, I went to the AMC theater at Downtown Disney in Anaheim and I ran into Wild Bill.

I used to work with Wild Bill and I have never met a more genuine person in my life.

He is a slightly built man with a hint of a southern accent whose gray hair always seemed to have a "Dennis the Menace" cow lick in back.

He is also simple.

Not quite retarded, just simple. He must be around 50 years old now but he probably has more in common with the kids he works with at the AMC.

It had been a few years since we've worked together and he really looked a lot better that he used to. Somewhere along the way, he got his teeth fixed and now could smile without grossing everyone out (he was a yuck mouth).

"VW, it sure is nice to see you," Wild Bill said as he took my ticket.

"Wild Bill, how the heck are you?" I asked.

"Ohhh...not so good. You know my dad died and I sure miss him," replied Wild Bill.

"I'm sorry to hear that. How long has it been since he passed away?" I asked.

"Ohhh...it's been a little over nine months," responded Wild Bill.

The conversation ended as I had to get to my movie. I couldn't help but think about how sad it was that poor simple Wild Bill would still be bringing up his father's death nine months after his passing. It seemed really strange and sad to me then.

Now, I know what a dick I was to be thinking that.

Because I'm part of that same club.

There are multiple life event clubs at work and you don't get invited in until they begin to happen to you.

About to get married? All the married people start talking to you and giving you advice.

About to have a baby? People that have NEVER even spoke with you now can't wait for the latest update on your bundle of joy.

But have a parent die. Well, this is much more of a secret club. It has to be. Because the people that are not in this club don't want to hear about your loss.

It may sound harsh but it is true. It's only been a couple of months since all this went down with my dad and I've already had friends say things like "it's getting close to time for you to be over this" or "maybe you need to get some therapy."

I get where they are coming from. I wouldn't want to hang around with Debby Downer either.

But every single person that I've heard this from has one thing in common.

Both of their parents are still alive.

Today, these people have no idea of what's eventually heading their way and they don't need me to be a harbinger of their future.

So I've cut back talking to them about my dad and this blog and I reach out to others that I know are in the club.

I first went to a former manager of mine who had lost her father immediately before I started working for her. She put it all out on the table for me.

"This is the worst moment of your life. It sucks. And there is nothing you can do about it except to let it suck."

She's right. But she's also in a much different place than me. I'm still a new member to this club and I'm so raw emotionally that it is painful to hear this.

I also get to welcome in some people in my life to this club. Three friends of mine have lost a parent since I've lost my dad.

I try to be there for them because I get where they are at. We talk about the people that are not in the club and how they don't understand us right now.

We know that someday, we'll need to be there for them.

VW

It's not you, it's me

When I was a teenager, I did most of my father's banking.

I would ride my Schwin beach cruiser about two miles to the closest Farmers & Merchants branch.

I knew everyone in there. The lady that I babysat for worked there.

Also, the bank manager was somebody that my dad had dated for a time. She was always nice to me.

It seemed like I was there all of the time.

And then I wasn't. I got too busy with balancing work and school and I no longer had the free time to help out my dad this way.

So it was really strange going back to his bank to take care of his estate's banking needs.

Our lawyer had told Number 2 and I that we needed to open up a joint checking account sometime in the next 30 days for the rent checks that we were going to receive from my dad's duplex.

To do that, we were going to have to close one of my dad's accounts and use that money to fund the new joint account.

Number 2 and I went to an F&M branch that was really close to my house and got in line.

When it was our turn, we approached the bank teller window and received a friendly greeting from the Samoan girl working behind the counter.

"We'd like to close this account please," I said.

You could tell this didn't happen to much for this teller. She got a little flustered and after a few minutes, she took our information over to the acting bank manager (another Samoan woman).

I watched nervously as the two of them whispered back and forth. Were they going to let us do this?

The bank manager approached and greeting me not with a smile but a sad look on her face. I thought she might be trying to be empathetic due to our loss.

"VW, I understand that you would like to close this account," she stated.

"That's correct," I replied.

"Is there anything that we did that is causing you to take your business elsewhere? I'm sure that if something happened, we could find a solution," pleaded the bank manager.

This conversation got really awkward, really fast. She almost looked like she was going to cry.

"It's not you guys, it's me. I don't bank here on a regular basis and it really isn't convenient to keep this money here."

She stopped pleading with me to change my mind and went ahead with our requested transaction.

Number 2 was about to bust up laughing.

They gave us a cashier's check and we were on our way.

The moment the doors closed behind us. Number 2 lost it.

"Dude, you just broke up with a frickin' bank!"

And that was exactly what I had just done.

VW

The Big Booty Call - conclusion

I didn't want to call Fat Kathy from home just in case she had caller ID.

This is going to be the only conversation that I have with her.

I brought my cell phone into work and once the morning got underway, I snuck away from my desk around 10 a.m. and sat on some stone benches just outside my office building.

I'm kind of freaking out about this call because I have no plan. When the Commander and I first started dating, I used to create an outline of potential conversation topics (I know. I'm a geek. But it worked for me.).

But for this conversation, there was nothing to plan.

I dialed her number and pressed connect on my phone. There was no turning back now.

She picked up the phone on the third ring and answered with the name of the medical office that she works at (is that where she met my dad?).

I know it's her. I remember her voice. But I still ask, "May I speak with Kathy please?"

"Is this VW?" she asked.

A million seconds pass before I answer with a meek "yes."

"VW, thank you so much for finding me."

What am I supposed to say to that but, "you're welcome."

"VW, I have to tell you something. Your father was so proud of you and your brother. He would brag about you boys at every opportunity and I just want you to know that you meant the world to him."

Great. I'm sitting outside my office building with many of my peers walking by and I have to hide my head because Fat Kathy has just broken me in only three sentences.

I silently sob until I can get out and even meeker "thank you."

"What happened?" she asked.

I went on to explain what Number 2 and I had been going through over the last few weeks leading up to this conversation.

I didn't tell her about finding the letter that she wrote. I wanted to spare both of us any embarrassment that might have caused.

She then went on to tell me about their relationship.

"I met your father shortly after your parents divorced in 1980 when I was 25 (Holy Shit! Fat Kathy is 50 now!). I loved him very much and we had a very special relationship that could just never advance past what is was."

"I thought that he loved me. He told me that he did. But I also got the sense that he never got over the divorce."

"Your mother was the love of his life and the regret that he had for letting the divorce happen....well...it was a big burden for him to carry."

I'm stunned now. I don't know how to respond. My parents have been divorced for since I was 10 (Holy Shit! I'm 35 now!) and it no longer seems right to think of them as being man and wife.

"VW, I haven't seen your dad in a couple of years. I got married five years ago and we haven't talked much since then."

You see, there IS somebody for everyone. I congratulate her on five years of marriage.

"Could you tell me where he is buried?"

I tell her the cemetery but the truth is she'll never find him. I haven't put the grave marker in yet. I've paid for it but I just can't do that final act.

Not yet.

Because while I recognize that he is gone, the moment that grave marker goes in is the final thing that I need to do to say goodbye to him.

And I'm not ready yet.

"VW, thank you so much for calling me. I have to go now."

And with that, our conversation is over.

I wipe my eyes and leave the stone bench for my cube in my office.

I stare at my work computer for the rest of the day.

Is anything ever going to go back to being normal?

VW

The Big Booty Call - part three

It took five days but Fat Kathy did finally email me back.

After reading the letter that she had sent to my dad, I was a little nervous about double-clicking on what she sent me.

I shouldn't have been. There wasn't much to it.

Fat Kathy wrote:

Dear VW,

I am so sorry to hear that your dad has passed away. I just returned
from vacation and was very surprised and saddened by your message.
Thank you so much for notifying me. Even though it has been awhile since I
have talked to your dad, he still had a special place in my heart. I
would be most appreciative if you would please give me a call me a call
at your convenience, I would like to ask you a couple of questions.

Thank you.

Kathy

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She wants me to call her.

Shit.

Why did I send that email? Why didn't I just leave well enough alone?

And what questions does she want to ask me?

It takes me forever but I finally reply with some famous last words.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

VW

The Big Booty Call - part two

I had never seen Fat Kathy with the lights on.

She would be sitting on the couch with my dad and the only light in the room was the pale blue-ish light coming from the television.

I can't believe it has taken me 35 years to figure out that she was a booty call (or maybe he was the booty call).

How fucking stupid am I?

I would be coming home from either working or going to see a movie and her perfume would hit me as I walked in the door.

She would say "Hi" and I would grunt back. I would always quickly make my way to the safety of my bedroom before my dad would try to be cool with me, only to embarrass me in front of Fat Kathy.

She would call too.

In the days before caller ID, I was my dad's personal screener.

"If it's Fat Kathy, tell her I'm not here," he would tell me sometimes (yes...he called her Fat Kathy too).

There was never any rhyme or reason as to when Fat Kathy would appear and I guess that's really how a booty call works.

You only let them come over when you want some.

And now I'm left with Fat Kathy's phone number.

I don't know why but I need to call her.

It turns out the phone number is a work extension.

The voice mail begins.

It's going to ask me to leave a message.

Shit. What do I say? What do I say?

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"Hi....ummm.....My name is VW. I'm not sure if I have the correct number or person but I think you knew my dad.

Ummm...I found your number is his belongings because we've been cleaning things out.

You see, he passed away a few weeks ago.....I'm sorry you are finding out this way....If this is who I think it is, I thought you'd want to know."

"If you want to contact me, please email me and I'll call you back."

I hung up the phone wondering if she would respond.

It would be five days before I would hear back from Fat Kathy.

VW

The Big Booty Call - part one

There are just some things that I would rather not have pop into my brain.

Mostly, they are made up of the most embarrassing moments of my life (occasionally fueled by alcohol).

But I think the one thought that you try to banish the quickest is the one that I have to deal with next.

The idea of your parents having sex.

Just the concept makes me want to shut my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and say "I CAN'T HEAR YOU" over and over again until the thought goes away.

But I found something in the box that I picked up from my dad's office and now I was going to have to deal with that concept head on.

It was a letter. It was stamped personal and confidential.

Looking back, I shouldn't have read it. It wasn't any of my business. But I'm at a point where I have to examine every artifact that I find from my dad's life.

It looked like that it was from my dad's ex-girlfriend, T.J. (She was the one that jumped on the hood of my dad's car during their final break up fight).

I go ahead and open the letter.

Immediately, I'm sorry that I did.

I'm not going to reprint the letter here much less go into the details of the letter.

It is just too graphic.

Here is what I can tell you.

It was written about five years ago by someone that my dad had ended a sexual relationship with. (I want to stick pencils in my eyes just looking at what I've just written).

She is hurt and confused in the letter. She also takes responsibility for being the catalyst of the end of this relationship.

Like any car accident I've ever passed, I can't take my eyes off of this letter.

I read it over and over again.

Because it doesn't make sense to me.

I thought it was from T.J. because of the how the letter was signed.

But I realize that the return address from Garden Grove and not Altadena where my dad and T.J. once lived together.

It took a while but it finally clicked. This letter wasn't from T.J. at all. It was from another woman and I wasn't entirely sure who it was.

But I had a pretty decent guess.

I think it was from Fat Kathy - my dad's booty call.

I tell myself to throw away the letter but I can't do it. I've spent the last few weeks taken care of all of my father's unfinished business.

And now I had one more item added to my list.

I'm going to tell Fat Kathy that my father is dead.

VW