It was a year ago in June that my grandpa passed away… I wrote this story when I returned home from the hospital in Bloomington, IN. I didn’t want to forget any of this… It’s my last moments with him so if you are one of those people who cries at movies… get some tissues or don’t read this… …. The Measure Of A Man
I felt that I wanted to post this about a week ago, but didn’t know if I should… But then again, it’s my journal and all… so here ya go… it’s long… DEAL WITH IT! 
How often do we fly through this lifetime… this short speck of existence, and not realize what our true intent is? When do we stop to realize what is really important? Even now… we start to read this and think, “Wow… this is pretty long, I have other stuff to do still… Maybe I can read it later…” Why are we so rushed? Why do we not obey God’s commands to slow down and rest? Why does it take a tragedy or a smack in the face for us to realize how fragile we are?
I just spent the last six hours driving back from Bloomington, Indiana where my Grandpa Phil lay dying in his hospital bed. The whole thing was pretty fast. We found a little under a month ago that he was sick. A week later it was confirmed. Biopsy results were returned and the fatal blow had struck. One of the most caring and gentle men that ever lived would soon no longer. It started in his lungs… moved to his liver… and quickly ate his body alive… Cancer has no compassion.
When I arrived in his room on Thursday June 6th, I couldn’t help but think how only two weeks prior he was walking around his house, kicking my butt at board games like he always did, and watching TV in his favorite chair. Even then, he knew something was wrong, but it hardly stopped him from living out his life. Despite the pain in his legs from the blood clots that were developing, he still wanted to serve US at the dinner table. This man didn’t know the meaning of the word “surrender.” He never let his problems affect others and was the first one to see the bright side of every situation.
So now I walk into the hospital room to find him lying on his back, hooked into IV’s and breathing only with the aid of oxygen tubes. His skin and eyes a jaundiced yellow from his liver shutting down and poisons invading his body. His legs riddled with blood clots and suffering constant headaches with fear of a brain tumor… Amazing… simply amazing… He smiled as we walked in the room. My God…. why has this happened? Initial reactions can’t be recorded here. Words can’t describe the feelings I felt. The feelings of sadness, of anger, of feebleness in the situation… Somehow I kept it all in.
“Hi Grandpa. How are you doing?” What a stupid question to ask. I can SEE how he’s doing. But it was all I could think to say.
“Well, I’m alright… I’m pretty tired,” he responded. I walked over and hugged him. My younger sister and mother did as well. I can’t imagine the pain my mother feels. To have to watch as her own father dies… I started to tear up as I looked around the room at all the pictures, flowers, and family members that were there for him… but somehow again I managed to keep it all in.
The next day revealed to me the slow process that he’s been going through. Granted, everything has happened in a matter of a month, but when you live it, every second seems like an hour. Hundreds of visitors came. Hundreds of visitors left. Friends, relatives, ex-relatives, nurses, doctors, a barbershop quartet, and even two dogs trained to visit hospitals… It was rare to walk into the room with fewer than ten people in it. One of the doctors even said that they hadn’t seen that many people visit a room in almost twenty years… They loved to make comments about the visitors… they’d walk in and tease my Grandpa saying, “Oh come on… you’re having a party and didn’t invite me?” At night his children stayed. Between his three daughters and son, someone was always there for him.
Even my uncle Travis was there. Travis was the “loner” of the family. He rarely came to parties and just did his own thing. My Grandpa hadn’t seen Travis in probably nearly twenty years despite living ten minutes away. The whole family knew it and tried to get Travis to visit… but he never did. Friday night… Travis was sitting on that bed holding his father’s hand and looking into his eyes. My Grandpa motioned for Travis to come near him and he lifted his hand to Travis’ ear. Words can’t express what my Grandpa said next.
“Travis… I’m sure glad you’re here. All these years… I thought you were mad at me… I thought I’d done something wrong…But now I know that you love me… Thanks for being here… You’re a good man.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the room… all his sisters were crying but trying to do it silently… Travis just sat up…. And bit his lip…
“Thanks dad… I love you.”
“I love you too…” my Grandpa said and he kissed him on the cheek.
What can one do besides question their priorities now? What is important in your life? If you ever wanted a reality check… there you go.
Over the week he had trouble keeping his mouth moist due to all the medicine they’d had him on, so periodically he’d ask for some ice. Someone was always there to spoon-feed it to him. Eventually they came up with a gel he could use to keep his mouth moist. It was a great help because at night, as he slept… if he slept… his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth so tight that he’d start to choke. But he never complained. In fact, he did quite the opposite. He told every nurse or doctor possible how good of a job he or she was doing. He said that he had read a few articles over the years about the hospital having bad service, but he hadn’t had a thing to complain about and wanted them to all know that.
Even in his weakened state… he was complimenting anyone he could and lifting everyone above himself… One such instance was when a friend was visiting with their children… The kids were talking to each other on one of the chairs… they weren’t yelling and in fact were rather quiet for kids. Grandpa said, “Can someone close the door… it’s a little loud.” We figured the noise in the hallway was keeping him awake and asked him if that was the case. He replied, “No… I don’t want them disturbing the other patients…” and he pointed to the kids. I couldn’t believe it. He was really drugged up, half asleep, and still concerned for the OTHER patients in the hospital… unbelievable… I just laughed and shook my head.
There is a striking difference between the first three floors of the Bloomington Hospital and the fourth floor. You see, the first three floors are for normal hospital routines. They cook and serve meals, heal the sick, perform surgeries, and even deliver babies. On the first three floors, they can bring people back to life, straighten broken limbs, and when the occasion calls for it, treat severe injuries. But once you step onto the fourth floor… you realize that this floor is different. The walls are a pink color as compared to the first three blue floors… The halls are quieter… People whisper a lot more… The fourth floor of the Bloomington Hospital is the Cancer patient’s floor. When patients arrive on this floor, few leave. Few can. When that hits you… you realize how fragile we are. When THAT hits you… you can never view life the same again.
Saturday morning, my uncle Clarence brought his guitar to play for my Grandpa. Apparently over Memorial Day a few weeks back, there was a big party at my Grandparent’s house… Sadly enough it was overshadowed for everyone by knowing what was most likely about to come with my Grandpa. But none-the-less, my Grandpa said it was the perfect day for him. He said he couldn’t have asked for a better day. During the party, Clarence was strumming some chords that he knew. He said he didn’t know more than four or five chords and he just plays what he thinks sounds good… but he likes to play. A few people jokingly took shots at him for repeating the same chords and my Grandpa came to his defense and said, “Clarence, you can come play for me anytime.” So Clarence brought the guitar to the hospital and played for a while as we all sat in silence and let the music fill the room. He quit after about five minutes since admittedly he was only repeating a few chords and said he wanted me to play instead. I opted out at first because Clarence had played for twice as long as me and I didn’t know much more than him… But everyone insisted that I played and when my Grandpa asked me to, I didn’t have a choice.
I had a flashback to a few weeks prior… I was sitting in my Grandpa’s living room for the first time in nearly four years. I guess I’d always been too “busy” to join the family on trips to see him… and when I learned he was sick I knew I had to get down there… I had brought my guitar as something to do while visiting in case I got bored. He asked me what was in the case and I told him. He asked if I could get it out and show him some stuff… I did. He went and got his Mandolin. He didn’t know how to play it anymore. It’d been more than thirty years since he’d played. I tuned it for him and together we goofed off on the instruments. That was a heck of a fun time… but today only one of us had the strength to play, and all eyes were on me.
Have you ever felt like you were trying to start a fire with two sticks and some kindle? The tools are all there, but unless you know how to do it effectively, you aren’t very helpful. This is how I felt as I sat down and picked up the guitar. “How can I play anything worthy of this moment?” I asked myself.
As I started to strum a few chords, my aunt asked my Grandpa if he liked hearing it and he said, “Yeah… the music is soothing. It calms me…” I was confident now. My skill didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was able to help him now. I felt like God had just used me in a situation that I had NO right to be used in. I was so blessed. I sat there and clumsily strummed some of the worship songs I knew along with some chords I just thought sounded nice… and my Grandpa listened to every note. It was beautiful.
On a higher level… this is the relationship we have with God. My best efforts are such trash to him… yet he tells me, “That pleases me… it’s beautiful… Thank you for doing as I ask.” Our skills don’t matter… We can never do well enough to impress God, but he loves us despite our shortfalls. And it’s beautiful.
Later that day a few friends were visiting him and he was telling them how Clarence and I played him some music on the guitar… and how good it was… “It’s so kind of you to lie…” I told him… He just laughed and insisted that we knew what we were doing… I was just so glad that I was able to play for him…. man… at least I was able to play for him…
Saturday evening we spent time praying in a group. About 15 of us gathered around his bed and held hands. Emotions ran wild in my mind. I kneeled there, at the foot of my grandfather’s bed, praying for God to spare his life. “GOD!!! I know you have the power to heal him. But you may wish for him to go this way. Lord do your will, but if at all possible… PLEASE… spare his life…” That prayer sounded very familiar to one Jesus prayed before being arrested. “Lord if it is possible take this cup from me, but your will be done, not mine.”
It was then, when on my knees… on the tile floor of room 4515, that I realized how big this was. See, I prayed the words… and I meant them… But I never thought the exact thought of, “God knows what he is doing here.” It was as if Jesus just held out his hands to show me the nail shaped scars and said, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been here before.” I felt the warmth of his love. I felt his hand on the situation. I realized that literally hundreds maybe thousands of people, some of which didn’t even know my Grandpa, were petitioning God for the same things we were that day. God was aware of the situation, and God knew exactly what he was doing.
The rest of that day was very hard. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to help but knew I could do nothing more than pray and just be there. I met people I didn’t even know existed, and I met people I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years. I hugged probably close to twenty people I’ll never see again. Yet in all that, I felt so alone. I struggled so much with God. I just couldn’t rest despite God telling me to. I wanted to be so strong. I wanted to be the pillar of strength there. I wanted my mother and sisters to see me with my head up high and smiling so they knew that things would work out for the best. So somehow… I again managed to keep it all in.
He hadn’t eaten more than a bite of food in four days. He drank a few sips of water for the first day. The second day he ate a bite of peach cobbler and drank some Ensure health drink. The next day was similar only he drank some milk, coffee, juice, and water as well. Today he ate nearly nine bites of his lunch and drank a full glass of water. It’s odd really. He has improved in his outward appearance, but inside he is worse than ever. Now if you knew my Grandpa, you’d know that he had quite a large stomach. However, in the months preceding his sickness, he lost nearly 25 pounds. By Sunday, his liver had swelled up so much that it looked like he gained it all back despite not eating for four days… But he never complained. Instead, he joked about it. He said that he was just destined to have a gut because it ran in his bloodline. “It’s the Stillions…” he’d say.
Even in times like these… God uses our problems to turn around for good in other’s lives. My Grandpa knows this with all his heart and has tried to influence a few of the men in our family in various ways. He asked to see uncle Clarence one on one to tell him to go to church… Clarence has really fallen away and we’re not sure if he is saved at all… Also, Grandpa outlined scripture passages before he went to the hospital… in a Bible… and gave them to Travis Saturday night. Travis isn’t saved and my Grandpa is highly concerned about him knowing God. My mom, and her sisters Karen and Julie are saved, but their sister Lisa is still checking it all out and so is Travis now. It’s amazing how even to the last moments of his life, he’s still trying to reach them for Christ. Well done Grandpa… well done.
My Grandpa’s best friend since childhood visited often. Charlie was a rather large robust man. He was a strong Christian and prayed daily with my Grandpa. It hurts to see a grown man cry sometimes. These days were full of those times. My Grandpa’s best friend watching him lay there… knowing what’s coming… since childhood they’d been able to call each other or have lunch together. That’s never going to happen again. My Grandpa will never again answer his phone at home… and he’ll never again go to a restaurant… Charlie would no longer have Phil as a friend. And I hurt for him. I could severely empathize with him. God… what would it be like if my best friend were in that situation. How do you say goodbye to a man you’ve known for so long? What do you say to a guy that has never owned a new car in 71 years of existence because he gave every last penny away to his loved ones?
I remember in 1994, I was trying to get money to buy a Sega Saturn video game system, and I sold him my old Nintendo system… He knew he wouldn’t have any use for it, but he offered me $100 for it and let his grandkids play with it… $100!!! For a twelve year old, that was a jackpot… and for my Grandpa, it wasn’t exactly “easy” to do. But somehow, he scraped the money together and sacrificed for me. I didn’t realize at the time how hard it was… But now… How do you say goodbye to a man of that stature? How do you say goodbye?
Sunday was the final day I could stay. We had to go home. No one expected my Grandpa to be alive by this day… but he was. My mother had to go home to prepare papers to take leave from work so she could come back for my Grandpa and my older sister who had joined us on Friday night had to get back for work on Sunday night. I had to leave because I had to drive my mother home… she hadn’t slept all night and I hardly wanted her making a six hour drive herself. We made our way to the hospital to say goodbye.
Up to this point, I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say. I knew the lines I wanted to use… I knew the emotions I wanted to feel… none of it mattered. Five thousand years in ARMY Ranger training couldn’t have prepared me for what I was about to do. How do you look a loved one in the eye… and say goodbye… knowing that you’ll never see them again in this lifetime? Where do you begin?
I asked for everyone to leave so I could have a few minutes alone with him… and as they left the room my sisters said their goodbyes and I just stared out the window looking down on the traffic below. Cars whizzing by… so busy… so unaware… I heard the door close and knew it was time to say goodbye. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t turn around. Here I am. The pillar of strength… Here I am. I pulled myself together and walked to my Grandpa’s side and sat on the bed. I leaned over and hugged him. He hugged me back and I put my head on his chest and just cried. Here I am. The broken grandson… Here I am. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Not like this. As I sat there… he started telling me things that I really didn’t want to hear. I liked them… but they meant that the conversation had to begin… and I had to go through with this…
“Brent… I’m so proud of you. You’ve become such a strong young man. You need to watch out for your mother and take care of her…” I pulled up and tried to wipe my eyes… I held his hand… It was cold… I’ll always remember… it was so cold… I finally gathered myself and in a wimpy voice… I managed to talk…
“Grandpa… It’s so weird being here. I know you’ll be ok. I know we’ll be ok. I know God is in control, yet I’m so sad to go through with all of this. I know I’ll see you again… I know that if God doesn’t heal you now… then you’re going to get rid of this old body… and you’ll be dancing with Jesus… You’re going to be happier than you’ve ever been on Earth…”
“If God doesn’t heal me here, then he’ll heal me in heaven… I’ll have a new body… I’ll be fine. Either way, I’m going to be fine. I’ll get to see my parents again… and my brother and sister… You know… Sometimes, when I’m watching that sermon on TV… and they talk about heaven or things like that… I can picture the front of our church, that cross they have… outside by the sign… with my parents standing there… and my brother… and sister… and they’re so happy… smiling… and I know that I’ll get to see them again… … I can still remember you when you were young. You had your curly blonde hair with your big glasses… and I remember when you stepped in the dog poop in our yard… and your dad was yelling at you…” I laughed through the tears… This wasn’t as I’d pictured it… “You’ve grown into such a strong man Brent… you’re very smart… I remember that poem you’d written a while back…”
“Yeah that was about four years ago…” I added.
“Has it been that long? Yeah… Well, I remember reading it and being very proud of you… and I’m so glad that you’re into church and have a relationship with God. It’s so tough these days as a young man growing up as a Christian… I know it is. In my day we didn’t have marijuana or anything like that… it wasn’t available… We were never mocked for our faith… We never had to go through what you guys do, and I’m so proud that you are the way you are despite what you’ve been through…”
“Thanks Grandpa… … … I love you…”
“I love you too.”
I hugged him and kissed his cheek… he did the same… I was still holding his hand… and I stood up… and squeezed his hand… he squeezed back with all his strength… and looked into my eyes… and said… “Keep the faith.”
I’ve never heard God speak in an audible voice… but I bet this is about as close as I’ll ever come. The rock hard stare into my eyes with the firm grip on my hand… He couldn’t have said anything else at that moment that would have been any more fitting of his character. I swear to my grave that my Grandpa’s final words to me will never be lost. He had all the words in the world to choose from… He could have said, “I love you,” or “Take care,” or “Live a good life… Be a good man…” No. Instead, he looked me in the eye and said the only thing worth saying, “Keep the faith.”
I just smiled through the tears… and said… “You know it….”
“I will see you again Brent…”
“I know you will… and I’ll see you again Grandpa… Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
With that… I walked out of the room. People were standing outside the door ready to go in… They entered and I left… I leaned against a wall outside for a few minutes crying… then pulled myself together and walked on. I made my way to the elevator with my mother and sisters… feeling fits of rage well up within me only to be subsided by immense sadness…
Funny isn’t it? How the whole time I wanted to be strong… the whole time I wanted to show my Grandpa that things would be ok… but in the end, I was the one who broke down… in his arms… And he was the one reassuring me. I realized then… that not only did he never complain… he never cried.
He was set in his faith so soundly. He knew what was going on. He was our pillar of strength in his own weakness. God works in strange ways. I’ll never fully understand his reasoning this lifetime… But one thing is for sure… I’ll always remember the day Jesus told me, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been here before.” And even if I forget my position… God knows I’ll always follow those words ringing in the back of my mind… “Keep the faith.”
An Unworthy Servant for Christ,
Brent Pirolli
6/9/2002
