Papaw

          He died right in front of me. Laying in that hospital bed, in the living room in his house, surrounded by his family, he took his last breath. Ever. I watched it happen. It was hard. I cried, we all cried. It hurt like hell. It seemed like he was already gone as he sat there in a coma for three days, three days that felt like an eternity. For three days he lay there, every breath could have been his last. Yet he fought. Fought against all odds. Fighting the fluid in his lungs, the heart failure, the lack of food or water for six days. He fought it all. He fought until July 4th, at 2:45 p.m. when he took his last breath with all of us watching, the last breath he'll ever take on this Earth.
          I thought I was ready. I was tired of seeing him fight, of seeing him suffer, of seeing his wife, my grandmother, suffer. My grandfather had been gone for weeks, months, hell he was probably gone for years. Because my grandfather was a hunter, he was a fisherman, he was a man who refused to be held back by anything. He would do as he damn well pleased, because he had earned it. His entire life was earned, nothing was given to him. Every bit of his life was carefully constructed, built nail by nail and board by board with his bare hands. He constructed a family, one that he was proud of and didn't miss any opportunity to brag about. He wasn't overly affectionate. He was a hard ass. He was tough to please. And if you didn't do something up to his standards you could bet that he would tell you. Things were done his way or they weren't done at all. Was he perfect? Not at all. But to my mother, he was Daddy. And to me, he was Papaw. And for us that was everything.
          But unfortunately that man had been gone for a while, and in his place there was a shell of his former self. A shell of a man, who was forced to stare at his pond, not more than a hundred yards away from his house, and long to cast out a line. Who stared a few hundred yards farther out that same window at the woods he used to hunt, longing to try his luck in his deer stand, trained eyes watching a pile of corn anxiously awaiting any sign of that prize buck.
          Bits and pieces of my Papaw still remained. He was still the keeper of the coveted fourwheeler key, the keeper of the candy, and he still loved to tell a good joke or a good story. And that's what was remarkable about him. Though his health was failing fast, his spirit shone just as bright as it did the day he let me drive his fourwheeler for the first time, constantly reminding me not to go too fast and to dodge all of the mudholes. It shone just as bright as the day he took me fishing, and taught me how to bait a hook and the best way to catch the big one. His spirit never waned, down to his very last moments of consciousness, when he returned home from the hospital with the grim prognosis that he wouldn't make it much longer. The hospital could do nothing for him, but still his spirit shone through in a bright smile when he said what may as well have been his last word. "Home."
          My grandmother is the only angel I've ever met. For 58 years she had been his wife, doting on his needs, taking care of a man who was not easy to please. My Papaw would sit in his recliner, and as his tea glass ran dry, he would rattle the ice. Without a word, my grandma would rise and head to the kitchen, bringing back the pitcher of tea and refilling it. Strange as it may seem to people in this generation, that's how their marriage was built, that was their life. And it worked. It worked for 58 years. And in the 58th year she promised him, that if the hospital couldn't do anything for him she would bring him home. To the home where they had lived and loved. And she did. And in the 58th year, she sat right beside his hospital bed, clutching his arm with the love of 58 years, as he took his last breath. More than three quarters of her life lay in that bed, and when he stopped breathing, more than three quarters of her life passed away.
          She broke down. We all did. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I thought I was ready. But I wasn't. No one ever is. I'm going to miss him. But he taught me a lot. And it wasn't just how to drive a fourwheeler or catch a fish. He taught me a lot about life. Through watching him, I learned life lessons that will remain with me forever. But most of all I learned how to be proud of what I've accomplished in life, to be proud of what my hard work had earned me. And as a man who built his life and his family year after year with the blood sweat and tears of hard works, that was the best lesson he could have ever taught me.
          And though he is gone, he still remains. In his wife, his children, his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. We'll miss him dearly, but his memory will never die. Papaw lives forever with us.

Life is all about choices

          Life is all about choices. I read a story recently that made me really think about how our decisions affect those around us. It was a story of a basketball coach at Division II Southwest Minnesota State. His name is Brad Bigler and I just want to reflect on one part of his tragic, tragic story. One night in July 2012, Bigler and his family were heading home from a cousin's wedding. Bigler's two oldest children (a 3-year-old and a 2-year-old) had decided to stay behind at the reception, so Bigler and his wife Heather only had one of their children with them, their 5-month-old son Drake. Also in the vehicle was Bigler's wife's grandmother. Bigler was in the passenger seat because he was texting frantically trying to get one of his friends a job, Heather was driving the car. Suddenly Heather screamed the words "He's in our lane! He's in our lane!"
          That's the last thing Bigler remembers. The vehicle that was in their lane ended up slamming into the Bigler's vehicle despite his wife's best attempt to swerve. The Bigler's vehicle ended up in a ditch with the entire passenger side ripped off. Brad Bigler was unconscious. His 5-month-old son Drake wasn't moving. Heather called 911, she thought her husband was dead, Drake was struggling to breathe, she saw a man walking around aimlessly. The man who was wandering about was the driver of the other vehicle, who ended up blowing a .351 blood alcohol level when the police arrived, more than four times the legal limit in Minnesota.
          At the hospital Bigler and his baby boy Drake were in adjacent beds, separated by only a curtain. Both clinging to life. Drake wasn't responding to any test, and doctors told Heather that her 5-month-old baby boy was brain dead and the only thing keeping him alive was the life support. They wheeled Brad Bigler in next to his son, still unconscious, and desperately tried to wake him up. Heather said the doctors were telling Brad "Sir, your son's not going to make it. Do you want to say goodbye?"
          But Brad wouldn't get that chance. He didn't wake up in time. His son died at 10:10 p.m., 50 minutes after the crash. Brad wouldn't wake up until 4 a.m. the next morning after being transferred to another hospital. He would survive, and so did Heather's grandmother. Drake, the 5-month-old boy, was the only one who lost his life.
          The man who killed him, the man who chose to drive at four times the legal limit of blood alcohol content, had been convicted twice before for the same thing. Both times previous he was more than 2.5 times the legal limit. Third time was the charm when he killed a 5-month-old child with his actions. Was justice served? The man pleaded guilty to three counts of criminal vehicular operation and was back on the streets after paying $4,000. The answer is no.
          But I'm not arguing the justice system here. I'm talking about choices. We all make choices every single day. We choose what to eat, what to wear, where to live, where to work. And some of us choose to drink and drive. These choices don't just affect you. They affect everyone around you. They affect people you've never met. They affect people like the Bigler family. And they affect 5-month-old Drake. Some of you may find it difficult to imagine a 5-month-old, but the Bigler family made it easy for you. They played a 5 minute video in court for everyone to see. Some of you may not want to watch this, because odds are you will cry, but you need to. Because this is what was taken from the Bigler family, this is what immature choices can cause, and this is the little boy that a drunk driver killed.

          Calling a cab is easy. Being the designated driver for your friends is easy. Drinking and staying at home is easy. Don't let a 5-month-old child's coffin rest on your conscience. Life is all about choices. Make the right ones. Keep it between the lines.


The full story of the Bigler family can be found here. All credit on research and reporting goes to Jeff Goodman of CBS