a tribute to christian fisher beiler, aka “granddaddy”

21 march 1976

I was eight years old, just one month from turning nine. I remember the days like they were yesterday . . . still.

I can remember back to Christmas of 1975 where we all were in the farmhouse living room enjoying our Christmas celebration. Granddaddy had a little Chihuahua named Corky (do any of you Beilers remember that?!). I have a favorite photo of me holding Corky, wrapped up in a blanket, he was sick. I also remember burning my fingers on the lamp that was in his bed to keep him warm. It hurt when it touched it! (I guess I needed to learn that lamps are hot?!) Corky’s bed was out in the small bathroom/mudroom that Granddaddy would come in through from finishing his day. I remember having that photo in my little red “locked” diary for 1976.

Granddaddy to me was always the one to get hugs from. I also remember him always having candy in his pocket.

Sometime I wonder if these memories are real or if they are just ones that I made up in my mind as I remember the man that my eldest daughter is named after. I loved him so. Even now as I am writing this I am getting teary about him.

I remember that winter being the one that we had the most snow in many years.

I don't remember being told that Granddaddy had died of the cancer that struck him soon after Christmas. It was pancreatic cancer that took him very fast. I never went to see him in the hospital, John Hopkins in Maryland. I am thankful for that, as I remember Mom saying that he was hooked up to a lot of tubes.

I remember the days of the funeral very well. I remember walking up, holding Mom’s hand, to see him in the casket at the viewing. I remember looking up at Mom and saying, “Where is my Granddaddy? That is not my Granddaddy!“ He had lost so much weight that he looked like someone else. I still have the bookmark that has The Lord’s Prayer on it from the Memorial Home, it has been in my Bible for the last 32 years. It is one of the few possessions that I truly treasure, along with photos, and written words from over the years. I have kept some sort of journal or diary for years, those hold a special place in my heart. I wonder where that red diary is, from 1976. I still know what it looks like.

I can remember the months after Granddaddy’s death. The sale of all the farm equipment and the farm house and farm. That was sad for me, as I am sure it was for many in the family. It was all a part of what needed to happen, but in my little nine year old mind (by then, as it was Spring, and after my April birthday), it should not have happened that way. I have memories of the house, of Aunt Shirley and me laying in her bed as she would tell me these elaborate stories. I loved those stories. I remember the stairway in the middle of the house, how steep it seemed. I remember the smell of butter cooking in the kitchen. The smell of butter cooking STILL takes me back to Grandma’s house, which is part of why I cook with it! I remember the walk down the lane to the end where my Great Grandparents lived, with their souvenirs from Florida (the cascading shells hanging from macramé in the corners of the room). I remember the smell of the barn, of the cows, of the stored soy beans. I remember the fun we had playing in the barn, playing hide and seek with the other cousins in the summer. I remember the attic in the farm house. I remember liking to play up there by myself. The smell. The fun seeing things, to my memory, it was the typical attic, with things stored. That smell. That wonderful attic smell. (Which, I am sure, would now make me sneeze with all of my allergies!)

I remember the drive to the church for the memorial service. I remember sitting up in the balcony (or some sort of room that looked out over the sanctuary) looking at ALL the red roses that were on Granddaddy’s casket. I remember my Uncle Steve giving a single red rose to EVERY female in the family at Christmas from that year on (thanks Uncle Steve, I saved them for many years, many jars full!). I remember the burial plot, that I have only ever visited one time since. And, that was during college when I lived with Grandma one summer.

One more memory. I always thought it was sad that the Lord allowed him to die so close after my Grandma’s birthday (18th of March). Just this year a thought occurred to me, and Grandma I have never asked you this, but would like to know. Was it special to you that the Lord allowed him to last that long? To be there for your birthday? I don’t know what Granddaddy’s last days were like.

I used to always wonder if Granddaddy was watching me from Heaven, because I knew that he was there. I am very thankful that I will one day be reunited with him, and with all of my family who believes in the Lord Jesus Christ.