This is my Grandpa Church - Commander of the Coast Guard Station at Humbolt and Master Gardener at Willow Creek.  This guy had fruit trees that could make you weep.  He took us kids in every summer.  Worked us hard but then we played for hours on that gorgeous of rivers The Trinity.  On occasion we'd get pulled out of bed in the dark of morning and off in the truck we would go up the logging roads that wove the Alps of Northern California.  We had such great adventures and all the while he would be pointing off in the distance at some big bird on a limb or bear tracks or the tail end of a mountain lion as it scurried away.  And within miles of our return to the house we all hollered Hey Gramps - Turn Your Hat Around which meant we want to go really fast.  In the back of a truck 30 miles an hour seemed like an out of control slide.  

They sold that ranch when they felt too old and needed access to better health care.  My Grandfather sat in a hospital bed as a double amputee for eight years.  He begged to be taken out of there.  I'm convinced if he had known his route he would have preferred a massive coronary on B Deck with the melons and not be discovered for weeks.  HealthCare ShmelthCare - this is a lesson to be learned for us all.  Who wants to vegetate in an environment where you never get to see the stars or the seasons or hear birds or the distant swells of the sea.  We ought not to fear death so much that we put ourselves in these kinds of states.  You know how it feels after having a cold and you get yourself out of bed and start moving about newly invigorated.  Well the opposite is the life draining experience of never getting out of that bed and then slithering into that satin lining of eternity.   Resist at all costs.  Go out with a bang - smiling!

Everything from his estate was divided between his two sons.  Since my father died on Xmas day that puts my StepMother in charge and she says she wants to take a year to decide.  We are all on pins and needles wondering.  Three houses full of antiques, photos, guns, rings, trophies, cameras, journals, paintings, needle pointed stools, figurines,  medals, bibles, tools, chaise lounges, a quiver and bow.  She could haul it all off to Mexico if she so chooses.  I told him to write a will.  There may be one.  It's not the getting of things that is important.  I just know the contrast of feelings when something is given and when it is not.  That feeling will stay in our guts for ever.  A voice from beyond the grave 'Here baby, I wanted you to have this'.  If silence is all that comes the effect will be brutal.  Ten children left dumbstuck.  Any semblance of cohesion  in the bonds of heritage, heirs to our humble histories, chewed up and cast aside as unworthy children.  It comes with the territory of growing up in such a large family.  To be singled out as special was a constant issue.  Heaven for bid you should have something more than the others.  The daggers would fly.  Jealous rivalries plait our very cores.  If you got a pat on the head the others lined up 'pat me too'.  

We discussed long ago his writings.  I told him I would take them as far as they could go.  "Who do you want to play you Dad - Michael Cain, Sean Connory, Jack Nickalson?"  It would be amazing to hear it all from his perspective.  What did he think of us, what did he crave or lose in life?  I will not beg for these journals.  The fire will go out in my desire to write this story.

I am at a stage in my life where I am letting go of things.  It's not the things that I want from him.  More than anything I want for the others a gesture.  A gift from him that I know will be cherished way beyond it's intrinsic value.  A pleasant closing of a chapter - I so long for it to end that way.