I lost my grandpa this morning, and instead of waiting a year to process it subliminally, I figured I should start to put down some thoughts and feelings.
Grandpa Tibbitts was a kind and patient man. I love hearing stories about him from my dad, and I loved hearing him tell stories. Despite not getting along with his dad when he was younger, my dad never painted his dad in a bad light. In the stories where my dad got in trouble, my dad always made himself the villain. That says a lot about who my grandfather was. My dad, who can say some pretty colorful things about people he doesn’t like, never said one bad word about his father. NEVER.
My dad really respected his father, and as a daddy’s girl, I automatically respected my grandfather. If he was a man worthy of my fathers respect, than he was worthy of mine. But he deserved it. Every little bit and more.
My grandfather flew for the Air Force in the Vietnam war. It didn’t matter that it was an unpopular war. He was going to serve his country. He flew some of the most dangerous missions flown during that war, and he lost more friends than I can even possible imagine. But when he would come home, and face protestors, he didn’t fight. My dad tells the story of walking with my grandpa while he was in his uniform, and having protestors spit at him, and call him ugly names. My dad wanted to fight them, but my grandpa held him back. My grandpa easily could have taken them. My dad pointed as much out. His answer to my dad was that he fought in the Air Force to defend those peoples right to protest. It didn’t matter if he disagreed with their opinions. He was fighting for freedom, both of those at home, and for those in Vietnam.
When my grandfather retired from the Air Force, he took up various other jobs. The one I remember being told about is that of a delivery driver for Hostess. Despite being Major Tibbitts, he didn’t view it below himself to take such a job. He enjoyed the work, and the paycheck.
The man I knew was a kind, loving grandfather. He drove to Vegas for my baptism, and stood in the circle at my confirmation. He gave my dad a fathers blessing when his health wavered, and drove with my mom and us kids back to Vegas when we had to pick up some more things while my dad was recovering from his transplant in Utah.
I remember watching on his television the news coverage of the terrorist attack on the twin towers. I remember my questions being patiently answered, while the other kids played, and the adults talked. I may not have completely understood what was happening, but they didn’t chastise me for asking.
When I got older, he fed my desire to read, showing me his collection of books in the basement, and inviting me to read what I wanted during my visit. One of my greatest regrets is that I was too shy about my own writing to share with him. I don’t know if he knows I published a book because I never told him... but I was afraid because I value his opinion, and part of me knew if I told him I had written a book, he would have insisted on reading it, and I was afraid I’d disappoint him.
I remember loving going over to his house for a big family dinner. I got to spend most of my holidays and birthdays with my maternal grandparents because we lived in the same city, so the rare holidays we traveled to spend time with them was precious, and wonderful. I was disappointed when I discovered that such family dinners didn’t occur anymore when we moved to Utah.
My grandfather had this soft yet firm way of letting you know you had made a mistake. I don’t remember it being directed at me, but I deny seeing it directed toward my father. It made it clear that he loved you, but you needed to make a correction.
What I remember most about my grandfather is the way he smiled. I may not remember the context of all his smiles stored in my memory, but I can remember the smile, and I can see that smile, smiling down on me as I write this. I know he loves me. I know I am sealed to him. And I know, that he is with our Heavenly Father. It is up to me to live a worthy life to return to my Heavenly Father’s presence, because my grandfather is already there.
I wonder if he’s talking to my Grandpa Sorensen and Great Uncle Bill.
I was a little surprised when I saw my mom crying as she told me the news that my grandpa was sure to pass soon. It wasn’t her father. But then she made a comment. Now that he’s gone, my mom said she has lost all the great father figured in her life. Her dad, her uncle, her father-in-law.
You hear bad remarks about in-laws, but my mom didn’t feel that way about hers. A big part of that was the way my grandpa welcomed her in. He went as far as telling my dad that if my parents got divorced (it was a fair comment because my dad had already been divorced twice) that it would be my dad who was no longer welcome in his house. If my parents got divorced, my grandpa saw what a great woman my mother was and immediately placed blame on his own son. Fortunately my parents marriage is 31 years strong. And my moms relationship with her father-in-law is one of great love and adoration.
My little sister said that with my grandfather’s failing health, she was afraid her future spouse would never get to meet grandpa. With no prospects, I know he won’t meet mine.
All this rambling to say that I love my grandpa. I feel like I’ve already said my goodbyes, but I hope this serves as another one.
The time will come when I can give you a hug again. I don’t like hugs. But I look forward to that day. I’m glad you have rest, and peace.
Until next time.
Your granddaughter,
Alyx K Tibbitts, your middle child’s middle child.
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