As the youngest of three children I was never specifically asked to grow up. Being the “baby” meant my older sister and brother always knew more and did more. I was the smallest, the last to do anything, the one everyone protected. My childhood skipped along with little pressure or responsibility other than the basics. There was always someone older to handle everything. My parents never told me anything that might stress me out, upset me or cause me heartache. Standard operating procedure in my family was my sister knowing the most, my brother knowing a condensed side of the story and me receiving a very watered down, “everything-will-be-ok” version of whatever the issue or tragedy might be. I truly believe I wasn’t grown up until the day it fell to me to be the adult who knew the details and had to pull us all together.
At this point in my life, I was happily married. My siblings had their families and my parents were enjoying life as “empty nesters.” This particular October day, we were all working; a seemingly normal day. When my office phone rang at “that” moment I never imagined it would set in motion a course of events that would transform me.
“This is Temple, how can I help you?”
“Temple this is Mary Beth.”
“Yeah...?” Why in God’s green earth would my aunt be calling me at work? Right away I knew there was something wrong. Really wrong and I didn’t want to know what.
“I’m at the hospital with Grandpa Les. You need to come. It’s urgent. I can’t reach your parents. I’ll meet you out front.”
I was immediately on auto-pilot. I calmly walked into my boss’s office, told him there was an emergency and I had to go. I was frantic inside, but outside managed, somehow, to hold it together.
Grandpa had been in the hospital two weeks prior and of course no one told me anything specific concerning his condition other than it was intestinal in nature. Each time I visited him, he had been tired and weak. I remember feeling heartbroken because he had always been my strong Grandpa. He was a cattleman, horseman, and farmer. He was bigger than life. He had been released to go home a week ago and didn’t that mean he was fine?
My aunt was waiting for me when I arrived at the hospital. She explained Grandpa Les was in the emergency room because of an accident.
“What kind of accident?”
She had hesitated. “Well…Temple…he…well…he …shot himself…in the head.”
Wait.
“WHAT??!”
She ushered me down the hall and we stopped at a door marked “Family Counseling Room”. I began to feel a darkness coming over me. She described how my uncle had found Grandpa, motionless and shot in the head. I was silent. What was I supposed to say?
She gently pushed me into the waiting room. Grandma Ardy was glassy eyed. The sheriff was there and gave a polite nod. My uncle mumbled they were trying to figure out how serious things were. It was at this moment I realized Grandpa was still alive.
My aunt then explained how they had been trying to reach mom and dad and couldn’t. She instructed that I had to find them and get them to the hospital. Where was my sister, the strong one, the one who knew how to handle these things…the ADULT? She wasn’t answering her phone either. I looked around thinking there had to be someone else – anyone else – to take care of this. I’d never before had to be responsible for anything this enormous.
My throat went dry and it sunk in there was no one but me. I slowly walked out to the nurse in the hallway. “I need a phone and a phone book.”
She walked me back to her office and handed me a box of tissues. “Take all the time you need.”
I sat. My entire body shivered; I was so cold. I called my husband and after finally spitting out what happened, he was on his way to the hospital. I wiped my tears and began to think…hard. And then it hit me. Call my parents’ neighbors. I quickly dialed and was surprised at the calmness of my voice when I explained to Mrs. Ball that Grandpa was in the hospital and if she could see if mom and dad were home. When she confirmed she saw them outside, I asked if she would go tell them to call me. I waited and thought of the irony; I was passing into adulthood as my Grandpa was passing away.
The phone rang. There it was. The moment I passed into adulthood, although at the time I didn't realize it. The weight and seriousness of the situation hit me so hard I almost laughed. I was going to have to be the one to tell my mom her dad shot himself in the head.
So I did. Then I told her to bring dad and my brother. And I hung up.
My shivering became a distraction. I was so cold. But, I had to keep going. It wasn’t about me. My aunt had asked me to do this and I wasn’t going to let anyone – especially Grandpa and Grandma- down. I finally reached my sister. She went from shocked to furious in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t expecting that, but could, for some reason, understand it. I told her to come.
I sat and reflected; I wasn’t going to be the same after this. I walked out and received instructions from the nurse and then waited in the lobby. Not a living soul was in that lobby. I was alone, cold and scared. I longed for my family. My husband came and was the strong shoulder I needed, but when my mom, dad and brother walked in I put on my newly acquired "adultness" and readied myself. I could be strong.
I hugged mom, but she didn’t want to be hugged and pulled away. I explained they were taking Grandpa upstairs to ICU and we were to wait until they settled him in a room. At the end of the hallway I saw him being wheeled out of emergency. He was covered with mounds of blankets and I remember thinking, “Keep his feet covered. It’s so cold in here.”
My aunt, uncle, and Grandma joined us. We looked at each other, dazed, and proceeded upstairs. We headed down a long hall to a private family room. As I walked past the ICU I saw Grandpa’s bed. I couldn’t see him because of all the blankets, but for some reason I paused to make sure his feet were covered up.
When my sister arrived I saw her at the end of the hallway. We locked eyes and for the first time ever, she looked to me for the answers and not the other way around. We strode toward each other, meeting in the middle. Dad came and we clung to one another, trying to hang on to what was, knowing that it wouldn’t ever be again.
Grandma stayed next to Grandpa the entire time. Everyone had their own way of saying goodbye. My mom explained to me what Grandpa looked like so I could be prepared. Another set of details that were for adult ears only. I chose not to see him. Throughout the day, the rest of my family was filled in on the details. Half-hearted attempts were made to talk about something we knew nothing about... suicide.
They pulled my Grandpa Les off life support in the late afternoon. After, we all walked out together, lingering in the parking lot with nothing to say, but not wanting to leave one another. After hugs and mumblings, my aunt and uncle took Grandma home. The rest of us went to have a sandwich. It seems odd we went out to eat, but we didn’t know what else to do. We were all new at this, trying to decipher what had happened. We were all in on the details, including me, and it left us aching and confused.
Over the next several days I explained to people what happened. The enormity of it was almost suffocating. Some voiced suicide was a sin, selfish and shameful. I struggled with what I had been taught versus what I had witnessed the day Grandpa died. He lived a successful and respectable life. I just couldn’t believe he wasn’t with God. With this belief and being there first-hand, I was left with a new understanding of what it meant to be an adult. Did I want to be this new adult? I had doubts. Still, I had grown up that day whether I wanted to or not. I am thankful for what I learned from Grandpa’s suicide. Being adult means facing difficult and real situations and trying to maneuver through them. He taught me that life’s experiences aren’t always easy or pleasant, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t worth having.
*Copyright 2009 by Temple Kinyon*
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