Grandpa Ray Lindquist

This weekend we laid my Grandfather Ray Rigby Lindquist to rest in Logan Utah. He was born July 22, 1918 and passed away on June 13, 2007, he was 88 years old. In the last couple of years he had been afflicted by congestive heart failure and diabetes. He had trouble walking, and was loosing feeling in his legs. Several weeks ago he fell down, and my Grandmother called 911. He was admitted to the hospital and found to have very thin blood, and had had an additional heart attack. In a testament to the generation from which they came, later that evening my grandmother, also 88, walked the mile back home. My brother drove up to Logan from Tooele and my Aunt Faye and Sharon flew down from Bellingham. My Grandfather was diagnosed as having an infected gallbladder, he was too weak to operate and the antibiotics weren't clearing things up. On Monday June 11th he made the decision to return home under hospice care and Thursday, June 14th he passed away, services were set for Saturday June 16th.

Stacey and I's wedding anniversary is June 16th. I had a bunch of frequent flier miles on United and had for months been planning a trip back to San Francisco, we hadn't been back to the area since we moved to the Pacific Northwest in April of 2004. Of course you can't ever plan for passings, and I was able to cancel our flight and hotel with a full refund. I booked a flight on Southwest leaving Friday night at 8:30 pm. Stac and I went out to eat the Metropolitan Grill in Seattle and she dropped me off at my car at work and I drove to SeaTac. When I arrived at the airport I found my flight had been delayed an hour. We took off at 9:20 and landed in Salt Lake at 12:20. I got my economy car rental at Alamo and left for Logan at 12:48.

Heading up I-15 it was like I was driving back in time. The hot summer evening had cooled to around 75; I rolled the windows down, stuck my arm out the window and tuned the radio to an All 80's station. As the songs played out, it was if 25 years had rolled back and I was carousing around after midnight. The all too familiar road stretched out in front of me as I drove by the flaming spouts of the oil refinery, through Ogden and Brigham City to Sardine Canyon and down into the beautiful Cache Valley where I grew up. I rolled into the Best Western on main at 1:55 am, my sister Sara had left a key at the front desk and I wearily climbed the stairs to room 222. I inserted the electronic key and got red lights, the key didn't work. I walked back to the front desk while the attendant re-coded my key and then back to bed. My brother Josh didn't stir as I climbed into bed, set the alarm and fell asleep.

A scant three hours later, the alarm cranked off at 5:05 am. Groggily I woke and rang my brother Jon on his cell. We had arranged the night previous to go for a run, and he said he'd be by in a few minutes. We drove up Logan Canyon to Spring Hollow campground to run the Crimson Trail, a series of limestone cliffs halfway up the mountainside of Logan Canyon. As we started running up the river trail, a crashing sound in the water startled us as a young yearly bull moose started out across the marsh. We ran adjacent to the river till we came to the switch backs that climbed up to the cliff walls. A young deer walked along the trail ahead of us. A steady steep climb to the top as the sun broke over the north western end of Logan Canyon, the crisp clean air was refreshing as we ran along the cliffs. A steep decent led us back to our car and we were back home by 7 am.

I showered and lay back down to catch up on a little sleep, which resulted in a rooster tail for the rest of the morning. My brother Josh woke me at 8 and we all gathered for breakfast at the hotel. Afterwards we checked out and Josh and I dropped by to say hi to Roy and Emilie, Stac's parents, who had our anniversary and Stacey's birthday card. We visited for a few moments and then headed for the viewing.

My Grandparents are very private people, and given some sadness in the later years, they wanted a small simple ceremony. No funeral, just a graveside service. As a compromise to my brother's sense of farewell, we had a viewing at 10am. For me these are always moments of poignancy and pain of loss. For me the body left behind is an inanimate reminder of the real person who has carried on, an empty shell that is a shadowy representation that has lost its vitality and waits a future reunion. These are moments of quiet, of pondering and remembering. Moments of goodbye, moments for tears.

After our final farewells, the casket was closed and the pallbearers gathered to carry Grandpa to the hearse, and we proceeded to the Logan cemetery on the hill. Jon conducted, Faye gave a life sketch, Anne and Sara sang a hymn and then I gave a few thoughts. They focused on the fact that when we are born into this world we inherit a legacy, first and foremost to our parents for the nature and nurture they give us in raising us from children to adults. However there is also the generational legacy that stretches back beyond our ability to conceive, as our parents parents, and theirs before and so on and so on. We came because they settled, committed, worked hard and prospered. In the end we make our own way, but the foundation upon which we build were laid before us, long before we were twinkles in the twinkle. Most often in our lives we only touch two of these generations, some are blessed enough to witness three. These extra-generational connections are special because freed from the responsibility of parenthood the tender relationship between a child and grandparent is one solely based on pure love. Grandpa was a man who always loved and accepted me and my children. Whenever we were in town we'd always stop for a visit and he would sit my children, his great grandchildren on his knee and play with them. I closed looking forward to the day we would be reunited, sealed across generations by priesthood power.

Anne then sung a traditional Scottish Song that Grandpa had requested be sung as his funeral :



Going home, going home,
I'm a going home.
Quiet-like, some still day,
I'm just going home.
It's not far, just close by,
Through an open door.
Work all done, care laid by,
Going to fear no more.
Mother's there, expecting me,
Father's waiting too.
Lots of folk gathered there,
All the friends I knew.

Nothing's lost, all's gain,
No more fear or pain,
No more stumbling by the way,
No more longing for the day,
Going to roam no more.

Morning star lights the way,
Restless dreams all done.
Shadows gone, break of day,
Real life has begun.
There's no break, there's no end,
Just a living on.
Wide awake with a smile,
going on and on...

Going home, going home,
I'm just going home.
It's not far, just close by,
Through an open door.
I am going home.....
I'm just going home....

Going home, going home,
Going home, going home,
Going home....


(mp3 of the music)


Then the Honor Guard gave my grandfather his military rites, honoring his service in World War II. They carefully folded the flag that draped his coffin, and it was presented to my grandmother by a marine who had been in the battle of Iwo Jima and seen the famous flag raising. They then played taps, and fired the 3 volley 21 gun salute. It was touching as they told of the meaning of the flag to them as they had served with dignity and gratitude.

When my grandfather was in the hospital and still had strength and coherence I spoke with him on the phone. The Last words he said to me were : "You be careful on your hike. Love you and your family. Love you Mark, you keep in touch, we'll talk to you soon."

Talk to you soon Grandfather, talk to you soon.

(Flickr Set)