My Grandpa Bright passed away a few weeks ago and I decided that I wanted to share some of my personal thoughts and memories with everyone at his funeral. Here’s what I read.
I have been blessed.
Blessed to have had the opportunity to share the past 40 plus years of my life with grandparents.
Here I am today, still very blessed, but with a few less grandparents to share my time with and make more memories. Both of my mom’s parents passed away last year, and now my Grandpa Neil. While they are no longer physically here with us, they have left behind many wonderful memories.
I wasn’t fortunate enough to have known my grandmother Jeanette. She died from cancer shortly after
I was born and Grandpa Neil married Mildred when I was three years old, so I’ve never known any different. But everything I’d ever heard about Jeanette was that she was a wonderful person and I would have loved to have known her.
My experiences with Grandpa Neil and Mildred were much different than that of my mom’s parents. They all had farming in common, but their lifestyles and personalities were much different. Harold and Clyda were John Deere Green, a bit on the loud side, a bit outspoken and a little bit crazy. Neil and Mildred were International Red, a bit on the quiet side, not so outspoken, and a little bit more serious. Their differences seem to have trickled down into my parents personalities, as well as my own. Aside from my wavy Bright hair, I tend to take after my mom’s side of the family… a little loud, outspoken and crazy!
Grandpa Neil was a somewhat reserved guy, not too talkative in larger group settings, a bit of a nervous worrier – (he chewed one and a fourth of his fingers clean off – that was actually from a farming accident!) more of a listener and observer. He was a friendly guy with nothing bad to say about anyone (at least from my own experience).
If you asked him how he was doing these last few years, he’d typically reply, “moving slow.” And I would quickly respond, “But you’re STILL moving, right?” I always felt that he was doing pretty good for a farmer living at home in his nineties.
I had many good times as a kid with Grandpa Neil and exploring around on the farm.
Riding Uncle Art’s red metal tractor. Running around the yard with their big, beautiful dog – King. Shooting pool in the basement – making sure to put the protective cover back on when I was done. Playing with Aunt Sally’s Ken and Barbies – along with my brother, Curt and cousins Amanda and Mary. (I’m sure we helped decrease their value greatly!) Climbing on, and jumping to and from the large round hay bales that Grandpa had lined up outside of the barn. Easter eggs hunts in the yard with Aunts, Uncles and cousins. The Christmas Eve envelopes filled with a little bit of cash-o-la!
One (somewhat-funny) memory that I had as a kid, happened while staying with Neil and Mildred one summer day. It was June 11th, 1979 to be exact. John Wayne had died, and I had an accident. No, I didn’t break Mildred’s coffee pot, or run Grandpa’s International tractor into the side of the barn… I wet the bed.
It was funny because Mildred was completely convinced that my little “accident” had to have been directly associated to this great American actor’s death. In reality, it was probably from my incredibly weak bladder and all of the un-managed Coca Cola consumption that occurred earlier in the day at a street parade. Other than his name, I don’t think I even knew who John Wayne really was at the time.
Consequently, I didn’t have too many overnighters at Grandpa Neils. But when I did, I had to be pretty imaginative to keep myself entertained.
During the day, Mildred would watch her Soaps while Grandpa was off doing “farmer stuff.” This was not going to cut it for my young and restless hyper-active personality. It was off to the barn for a little mountain climbing adventure! Wee!!!
Have you ever slipped off of a hay bale? Stacked twelve or more hay bales high?
Well, like sands through the hourglass, I thought the days of my life were gonna be over. My lanky body shot off the top hay bale and I took a dive straight to the bottom of the barn. Obviously it didn’t kill me, but it left me with a sore leg, bruised rear-end and a new appreciation for watching Soaps with Mildred!
During a different visit, some of Grandpa’s cattle got out. We hoped in his pickup and went on a “fence check” – you know, driving along the fence line to find where the cattle made their escape. It was a new adventure for me and I loved it! I wanted to beat Grandpa and be the first to find where these beastly bovines broke out. After driving over the humpy, bumpy, grassy edges of the field for some time, Grandpa’s hand raised up off of the steering wheel, and he pointed to the downed wire fence. Drats! Farmer – 1, City kid – 0.
A couple of years ago, my Uncle Art, son Caleb, Grandpa Neil and I hoped in his truck and wound up doing a fence-check together. Regardless of who spotted the break in the fence first, it was a nice, new memory that four generations of Bright boys got to share together. How cool was that?
As the years moved along in full swing with no sign of slowing, the amount of time we spent together became less. Our personal visitations dwindled down to just a couple times a year – Christmas Eves and Bright Family Reunions – neither of which Grandpa Neil was very talkative. So, I made it a point to call him every month or so, to keep us up-to-date with the things going on in our lives. Before the end of every call, he’d tell me three things: “Come and see us sometime,” “take care of that family,” and “tell everyone hello.” As short or long as the conversations were, we always had a good visit and enjoyed hearing each others voice.
My Grandpa Neil was a strong Christian and a role model for me in the growth of my own personal faith. It pleased him to know that my family shared in his beliefs. I prayed that his strong faith would give him the comfort and strength he needed in his last few days with us. Our shared faith is what comforted me during these last few weeks as his health was failing.
I will greatly miss the “moving slow,” wavy-haired, bib-overall-wearing farmer that I called Grandpa.
I have been blessed.
After starting this drawing a few weeks ago, I’m finally calling it good to go and ready to share.
