Jen's Column / Grandpa's Memorial Service

Hey all! The following column ran just last Wednesday, December 17. (Look how on top of things I am!)

In other news: Lisa and I have chosen a triathlon for this summer! We're going to do the 1/4-mile swim, 14-mile bike, 4.4-mile run in Waseca on August 2, 2009. Preliminary training starts in January, but the bigger commitment doesn't start until May. Who is in?! (IF I CAN DO THIS, YOU CAN DO THIS!!)

OK, the column...

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If you're a regular reader of this column, you know that my grandfather passed away last month.

My grandfather was a fantastic storyteller, and in his absence, we've been telling and retelling his stories. The one where he couldn't figure out what happened to the fortune in his fortune cookie — and then realized he'd eaten it. The one where he fought another boy during recess in grade school and his mother was so worried that she took him to a psychiatrist in Chicago. (The psychiatrist told her to go home and have more children.) The one where a friend had White Castle hamburgers flown in from Minneapolis as a going-away present before my grandparents left for Arizona one year. My grandfather loved those White Castles…

Last weekend, we had my grandfather's memorial service. It was a simple service, as he would've wanted it to be. Images from his life played on a giant screen to the soundtrack of Marlene Dietrich — his lifelong crush — singing Falling in Love. The pastor read a few verses. Members of the VFW presented my grandmother with the American flag. I read the column I wrote when he died — even though I worried I'd never get through it after that whole flag thing (man, that's touching…).

Then we opened the floor to my grandfather's friends and invited them to share their stories.

Dr. Thorsgaard — my childhood doctor and a man who worked with my grandfather for decades — was the first to stand. He looked to be choosing his words carefully, and then said, "The thing about Van was that he didn't really care for anyone who thought they were too important."

Everyone laughed. Everyone nodded.

He went on to talk about my grandfather's interests ("You know, he really liked hobby farming… but he didn't know what he was doing.") He talked about what a caring and talented physician he was. He talked about how much he loved his only child, my mother.

Another colleague got up and told a story about how my grandfather had invited him out to his farm. "He said he had a herd of cattle out there," he remembered. "That he was having friends out for a round-up."

"Really?" the man asked. "How many heads do you have?"

"Four," my grandfather answered.

A neighbor told about the time her sister and brother-in-law came out to see their new house for the first time. "They took a wrong turn and ended up Doc Van's house," she said. "They called us hours later and said, 'We're at your neighbors and he's making us martinis. We'll be over later.'"

One of his old nurses got up. "One day he said to me, 'Let's go, we've got a house call,'" she recalled. "I asked where we were going as we got in his car and he said, "Dairy Queen. I just had to get out there."

The stories went on and on… each prompting rounds of laughter from the crowd.

I knew going in to the service that I would never forget my grandfather. That I would make sure that he lives on in the stories I tell my children in the hopes that they'll tell their children.

But after his memorial service, I'm reassured that he lives on in other lives, too. That longevity isn't only in bloodlines — but in every life you touch. And it is clear to me now that my grandfather touched many, many lives.

I can only hope the same can be said of me when it's my time to go.