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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 10 of 10. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
I can just picture my grandfather, lying down in my grandparents' camper in their backyard, pistol stuck under his chin. I wonder if he was calm or if he was crying. I can picture him pulling the trigger. I didn't see his body, but they told me how he was found, what he was wearing. My great-aunt found his body, tried to keep my grandmother from going out there, but she did anyway. I probably would have too. My grandmother said there was a pool of blood under his head. He was wearing his khaki pants and a flannel plaid shirt. The red one. It was November 7, a Wednesday, and my grandmother went bowling that morning. She said when she left he was still in bed, lying on his stomach, and he turned and looked at her in a funny way. He said, "I love you," which is what he always told her when she left and she told him the same thing. She went bowling.
When she returned, his truck was there but she didn't see him anywhere. The bed wasn't made, which was unlike him, and his watch and wallet were lying in the middle of the bed. She went in the kitchen and his note was on the table. She sat down and read it, and went to the living room and called her sister. She came right over and it was then that they started looking for him.
My uncles came over after they found him. Of course 911 was called and police and an ambulance showed up. The neighbor said she thought she might have heard something, but certainly didn't think it was a gunshot.
I was at work. They found him about 2 p.m. I was in meetings all that afternoon. When I got out of the meetings I had three messages from my mom asking me to call her, it was an emergency. My first thought was that my grandmother was dead. I was freaking out and my friend came home with me to be with me when I made the call. When I called my mom she said, "Dad killed himself this morning." I collapsed on the floor, screaming NO NO NO and crying. I doubt I will ever forget it.
Do you know what the last things he said to me were? I had called my grandmother and she wasn't home, and I was pretty depressed at the time, and I talked to him a bit and he said, "Now don't you go and do anything stupid." He told me he loved me when we got off the phone. He always did.
I went home to where my grandmother lives and where I was born. She was in a state of shock. My aunt told me the truth - what she had read in his note. Somehow I was calm and determined to be there for my grandmother. My parents came from Michigan and were the last to get there.
I went to the funeral home with my grandmother and my uncles b/c my mom wasn't there when she had to go view the body. He was dressed in his army uniform, with all his medals of honor, and there was an american flag embroidered on the inside of his coffin. You couldn't tell where the wound was.
He was buried with full military honors. The army sent pall bearers and so did the marines. They played Taps. My grandmother was handed the flag that was placed over his casket.
I talked to my little cousin a short time after the funeral. He was in a mental hospital, age 9. His mother wouldn't let him see my grandparents after his 4-year-old sister said my grandfather touched her. My cousin, who was very close to both of my grandparents, was very upset that he wasn't allowed to go to the funeral.
It's hard, because when I think about my grandfather, I think both of the man I knew, the man who was a good provider, solid, strong, thoughtful, stubborn and military to the core; and the other side of him - child molester. My family is in denial. My cousin and her children are estranged. I still love him, but that seems so messed up, because how can I love someone who would do something like that to a little girl? I'm angry at my cousin for not letting her kids see my grandmother, their great-grandmother, but at the same time I can understand. I just see the pain it causes my grandmother. She was forced to bear the brunt of all of it.
For a while I couldn't believe that she had no idea what was going on. Part of me still doesn't. But people have reassured me that sometimes one can be in such denial about an issue, especially one so traumatic, that they can completely not even realize what is happening. I was angry at her, but I'm not anymore. It wasn't her fault. I know some people, my cousin especially, wonders why she didn't do something. But I really don't think she realized. My cousin, who was living with them at the time, didn't realize either until after she had moved out.
I still think about the time my grandfather took me golfing with him. About my trips with my cousin and grandparents to Virginia, the mountains, Arkansas. About him bringing my grandmother little gifts, for no reason at all.
About 2 years before he died, my grandfather stopped a bank robbery. He received a nice blow to the back of the head, but was okay other than that. The bank robber wasn't so lucky. His injury helped the police catch him. My grandfather was honored in the paper and on the news.
He used to go out of his way to help other people. Really out of his way. He always seemed so honorable. People really liked him. He was in his church choir, in another gospel choir, still worked at the golf course, where they now have a plaque in his name at the first tee.
How can someone be two different people at once?
Posted by justyourlaugh on July 17, 2003, at 15:18:33
In reply to sometimes..., posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
penny,
you write beautifully.
i am sure his judement day was carried out,
karma? god? heaven or hell?
it is not our job,,lets leave that to the masters.we can focus on the good..
the fond memories..
the strength of others..
the way the house still carries his presents ..you are very compassionate...try not to carry around everyones sorrow and confusion,that coat does not fit well..it was made for the powers of the universe..
j
Posted by kara lynne on July 17, 2003, at 17:39:26
In reply to sometimes..., posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
Wow Penny. I don't even know what to say. I just kept thinking that should be published. Very powerful.
Posted by fallsfall on July 17, 2003, at 17:50:44
In reply to Re: sometimes..., posted by kara lynne on July 17, 2003, at 17:39:26
Penny,
My friend's parents were abusive - physically and emotionally. She has the same question - how can the parents who abused her be the same parents who loved her?
Your story is filled with joy and pain. You knew the grandfather who was loving and generous.
Although - someone else may have a wiser answer. My vision is obscured by Borderline splitting - Black and White thinking. Perhaps those who can tolerate ambiguity will have a better answer.
Posted by whiterabbit on July 17, 2003, at 19:05:02
In reply to Re: sometimes..., posted by fallsfall on July 17, 2003, at 17:50:44
It's a sad fact that people are often remembered for the way they died instead of the way they lived. This happened to me when my brother was killed in a military aircrash - a major plane crash, 250 soldiers killed - that was vaguely attributed to "ice on the wings" by our government.
This aircrash haunted me. I was very close to my brother, who had joined the Army because I did. I had nightmares about this plane falling from the sky, about the screaming...although I had been a frequent air traveler during my Army career, it was 10 years before I could force myself to board another plane, and I cried while the plane took off - I was terrified, sick with terror. I've never been able to think of him without thinking about his death; the last time I saw him, tall and strong, blond and tan - and the way he came home, incinerated pieces of small bones and teeth, probably not all of them his.
On Christmas I brought roses to the memorial where his ashes are kept in a small glass case in the wall. I was so afraid of losing control, maybe fainting or wailing out loud in this quiet place. I sat on a bench and stared at the urn, and all of a sudden I got very calm...because I knew, I KNEW for certain...that Shayne was not there. It was almost like someone had whispered it to me: "He's not here."
And I thought, "What? Those aren't his ashes in that urn?" But that's not what the whisper meant.
Prehaps they are his ashes, or prehaps not, and it didn't matter either way. Once the spirit leaves the body, that body is no more "the person" who inhabited it, any more than a snakeskin is still the snake that shed the skin.I like to think that the spirits of those soldiers never fell from the sky at all. Who is to say that it can't be true? And I try not to think of his death, but his life. It wasn't an easy life nor was it always lived well, we are certainly alike in that way. But he had a generous heart, and my life has been richer for the bond we shared.
That we share. I love you, Shayne.
-Your big sister
Posted by kara lynne on July 17, 2003, at 21:18:37
In reply to Re: sometimes..., posted by whiterabbit on July 17, 2003, at 19:05:02
All I'm left with with is a damn cyber-hug. It's such an injustice in conveying to you what your post did me. For the lack of anything better,
((((gracie))))
Posted by tina on July 17, 2003, at 21:57:33
In reply to sometimes..., posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
I'm sorry for all that pain Penny. You share it artistically and poignantly though.
Keep the good memories. Forget the rest.
Posted by whiterabbit on July 17, 2003, at 22:17:50
In reply to Re: sometimes..., posted by kara lynne on July 17, 2003, at 17:39:26
Posted by Dinah on July 18, 2003, at 8:46:05
In reply to sometimes..., posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
I'm sorry, Penny. What an awful memory to have as your final one of your grandfather.
We faced this with a friend of the family, and I did a lot of thinking about it then. My personal opinion is that some people can compartmentalize parts of their lives. So the grandfather you knew and loved, the grandfather who was a hero, was still all those things. But since you have said that he admitted to the other side of him in his final letter, it's clear that there was a compartmentalized part of him that did things that can't be forgotten. Not even by him, obviously.
It must be hard for you, on a continuing basis, to see all the strife in your family, and to understand all sides of it, and love everyone involved, and feel helpless to do anything about it. Can you remember that you are helpless, that you can't fix it, and not place too much of that burden on yourself?
Take care of yourself, Penny.
Posted by Penny on July 18, 2003, at 10:20:46
In reply to sometimes..., posted by Penny on July 17, 2003, at 14:46:50
Thanks, all, for your kind words. I just needed to get that out.
Oh - and, Gracie? It makes me sad to hear about your brother. You're right - he's not in the urn with ashes. He's somewhere else. And you carry him inside of you always. (((Gracie)))
P
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