Grandpa Seegmiller

When I was a young teen, I went "hunting" with Grandpa Seegmiller, my mom's father, up at Big Rock Candy Mountain in Utah. I didn't have a hunting license, so I stayed back while he actually went out to hunt. We camped by a stream, shooting handguns and .22 caliber rifles at targets on trees. We built a fire inside a washing machine basin, which was great for keeping the fire contained but still putting out a ton of heat. It was an idea that he or one of his friends had, and he talked about mass-producing them. Grandpa sang about the Lemonade Springs and Big Rock Candy Mountain. I'll never forget Grandpa's rendition of Burl Ives' song, and I'll never forget that trip.

Monday was my monthly office day, meaning that I went in to the city office building and only had to stay for three hours. Usually, all the ALTs employed by the Imabari City Board of Education sit together in a closet small room, studying or chatting from 9 AM until noon. Sometimes the BOE guys need to use the room for a meeting, and so we have to go to the top floor (13th) of the main city office building. I generally prefer going there, since it's a lot less claustrophobic. This Monday was one of those days.

I occasionally bring my laptop with me to work to study, which is usually effective, since there is no internet connection at either of the two work spots. This week, Paul informed me that if you sit in a certain area of the 13th floor, there's an unsecured wireless network. I gave it a shot, and he was right. The connection wasn't strong enough to watch the World Series, but it was just fine for normal browsing.

Right before it was time to go home, I decided to check out Emily's blog, since I hadn't really read it for quite some time. When it loaded, I was shocked to see a post about how my Grandpa was in the hospital and might not make it through the day. I frantically checked the timestamp to see when she had posted. It was from earlier that day. The clock struck twelve and it was time to go home.

I didn't even know that my grandpa was sick. I was a bit upset that nobody had called to tell me. I pedaled my bicycle home and went to call Mom, only to find that the power source to our Vonage phone had somehow been unplugged. They couldn't have called me if they wanted to. I plugged the phone in, only to realize that the battery on the cordless receiver had died due to being unplugged. Luckily, we had an old corded phone lying around that I plugged in and used to call Mom.

Our conversation was brief. She said she had flown to see Grandpa at the hospital in Las Vegas, and that he was pretty lucid, and would like to hear from me. She mentioned that his aneurysms (which I didn't even know about) were bleeding and that he didn't have much longer, but that he was singing songs and telling stories to help ease the minds of all the visitors.

I got the number and called Grandpa. His step-son Jonathan answered the phone, telling me that the nurses had just given him some medication and that he would be asleep for another hour or so. I tried to distract myself by paying bills and doing the grocery shopping with Stef, but I was too anxious about getting to talk to Grandpa that I couldn't put it out of my mind.

When we got back home, I called Grandpa, and Jonathan again answered. He said that Grandpa was there and wanted to talk to me. Grandpa picked up the phone, and I asked him how he was feeling. He said, "I feel like I'm about to check out of this world," and the line went dead. I frantically redialed, hoping that those weren't his last words. After getting his voice mail a few times, I finally got back in touch with him. He told me that the Vonage line had acted up and started screaming like an alien at him, so he hung up the phone.

He asked me how my family was doing, and after giving him a quick summary of our happenings, I asked him a question that I knew would get him to talk. "I know you've been to Hong Kong and China, but did you say that you also came to Japan?"

He told me all about the time that he came to Japan, and how wonderful the experience was. He said that the bigwig CEO of the company he was doing business with, who drove a big American Cadillac--can you imagine that in the narrow streets out here?--took him out to dinner at a hibachi-style grill with another colleague. He ordered steak for everyone, and the cook came out with a huge slab of meat.

Unsure how he was going to eat so much meat, he breathed a sigh of relief when the cook cut the slab into three pieces. After a delicious and entertaining--"You know how those places are, throwing the knives around and everything," said Grandpa--meal, he glanced down at the bill, which was being picked up by the CEO. $100 a steak.

The CEO then asked if it was all right if they stayed in a Japanese-style inn instead of a typical "Americanized" hotel. Always seeking adventure, Grandpa gave the thumbs-up. When he got to the hotel, the hotel attendant showed him his bed--how it was "all rolled up in the closet", and how it just went straight on the floor.

His business partner later invited him to take a bath. It was a big communal hot tub with showers surrounding it. You had to sit on a little stool and wash off really well before dipping into the water that was so hot, you weren't sure if your skin would melt off or not.

After the bath, the CEO suggested he get a massage. Grandpa had traveled around Asia before, and knew that "massage basically meant a trip to the nearest whorehouse." He politely declined the offer, prompting his associate to explain that massages in Japan weren't like Hong Kong massages. They were real massages. "A 55 or 60 year-old woman then came out and proceeded to beat the crap out of me," explained Grandpa. "But, I'll tell you what. My back didn't hurt at all afterward."

The next morning, when the CEO asked what he wanted for breakfast, he requested "whatever people normally eat in Japan." He was treated to a "feast" of rice and these super-salty little fish that looked like bullheads that he used to catch as a kid.

It didn't matter to me that many of the things he told me were normal parts of Japanese life that I've experienced countless times--it was just great to hear Grandpa talk so fondly of his experiences. He was always a master storyteller. At one point during the story, he asked if he'd already told me this before. He hadn't, but even if he had, I would've wanted to listen anyway.

The talk got a bit more serious as he mentioned that he felt so fortunate to know how and when he was going to die. It gave him the opportunity to say goodbye to all the people he loved. He gushed about how much everybody meant to him, and how blessed he felt to talk to all his kids, including everyone from my family. He got a kick out of talking to Matt, who he said he didn't often get a chance to talk to.

He told me that he loved me and was proud of me for the choices I've made--for going on a mission, marrying a great woman, and learning all the languages. He said he'd always remember me saying that it was a family tradition for him to cook bacon and pancakes when he stayed at our house.

He was proud of my family and the adventures I've had, and again encouraged me to write a book. He himself was writing a book about all his different careers and experiences. For those who don't know, he was heavily involved in the invention and production of compact discs, and was involved in many different cutting edge business ventures.

He didn't think he'd last more than a day. If he did hang on, he said, he'd get a computer in the hospital room and type as much as he could, since he had only written up to 1960 or so, and that's when things started to get good.

He again said that he loved me and that it was great to get to talk to me again. When we said goodbye, we both knew that it would be the last time.

Monday night, after I had fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of our phone ringing. Stef was more alert than I was and went and answered. When she came back, she said that Grandpa had passed away and that Mom wanted to talk. When uncle West went to visit him, he perked up a bit, after which he went into a violent sounding sleep from which he never woke. Mom and I talked for a few minutes, laughing about some of the stories that Grandpa told me.

I could tell that getting to talk to Grandpa before he left was helping my mom and her siblings cope. I know it did for me. When my dad's parents died, it all came so suddenly, and I never had a chance to say goodbye. I felt extremely blessed that the day he went happened to be my half day. I'm grateful that I stumbled upon Emily's blog post which clued me in to his condition. I feel so blessed to have gotten the chance to say goodbye to Grandpa Seegmiller.

He got to go out mostly on his own terms. Apparently he had known about his aneurysms for a while. He was on his way back from a hunting trip in Idaho with Clark when things started to get bad. His wife didn't want him to go on the trip at all because she was afraid that it would kill him. He responded that he didn't want to die at home. He got to go horseback riding one last time and watch Clark bring back a buck. It was the perfect way to go.

Grandpa was a trailblazing cowboy in a time of mechanized industry. His body is set to be buried at the same cemetery where my father's parents are enterred. His body may soon lie there, but his spirit is now blazing trails in that Big Rock Candy Mountain in the sky. I love you and miss you, Grandpa.