I’m currently listening to: Death Cab For Cutie - Plans - What Sarah Said
This morning, as I blurrily stumbled to my 8am class, I listened to the album Plans by Death Cab For Cutie for the first time in a long while. Eventually the song “What Sarah Said” came on, and I was transported back to a hospital room that I hadn’t thought about in over a month. Before this point, I had never lost someone especially close to me. I had certainly never watched someone die. The lyrics of this song had never meant a thing to me. Now Ben Gibbard’s bleak description of an ICU ring all too real:
And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breathes as I said to myself that I’d already taken too much today
As each descending peak of the LCD took you a little farther away from me
Away from me
Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself
‘Cause there’s no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I’m thinking of what Sarah said that “Love is watching someone die”
I don’t believe that it is possible to comprehend the power of that line until you stand next to a loved one and watch his or her vitals slow until they eventually fade. I remember gazing at that horrible screen as we all waited for my grandfather’s heart beat to slow to zero. I remember how the numbers changed colors as they descended lower and lower. I remember the horrible, barely audible alarm that the nurse had turned down as we prepared to say goodbye to one of my heroes.
My grandfather was the epitomy of a generation. He was raised during The Great Depression, the son of a town drunk. However, Earl was determined to leave a legacy that was much greater than what had been handed to him. He joined the Navy and served during both WWII and the Korean War. He would marry his wife Emily, and raise three children. Earl worked long hours, often during the night shift at the Government Printing Office in Washington DC, to ensure that his children would all have the opportunity to go to college. Eventually, he would retire to the small town of Willow Springs, MO where he served as a city councilman and mayor for multiple terms. My grandpa cared about people.
Earl was a highly intelligent man, despite never receiving more than a high school education, he spoke with a wisdom and understanding well beyond many college graduates I know. I think that is the ultimate symbol of how much the man valued education and learning. Growing up, I have many memories of playing Scrabble against grandfather as we sat at the kitchen table in his house at Willow Springs. He was always so clutch down the stretch of the game. No matter how much of a lead I had, I lived with the constant knowledge that some way, some how, grandpa would overcome the deficit to snatch yet another victory. Its funny how at the time, with my competitive drive, I was constantly frustrated with this ability, yet now I remember it with tears in my eyes.
However, intelligence was the least of my grandfather’s attributes. My grandfather geniunely loved spending time with me, and that is something that you cannot fake. I remember one time when I was younger, he took me to a park and I decided that I wanted to practice hitting ground balls to different parts of the infield. My grandfather patiently chased ground ball after ground ball as they errantly skipped far away from where I had intended. What kind of man over seventy would ever put up with that kind of crap? Only someone who geniunely cared.
Then, there were the times he took me fishing. Probably one of my fondest memories in life, let alone with my grandfather, involves the first time he took me to Montauk State Park to go trout fishing. I remember that grandfather had just given me his old Zebco telescopic rod (one that I used this summer, although it probably needs retirement), and I was ecstatic about going out and finally getting a chance to use it. It was such a beautifully sunny day. When we finally got to the park, I begged grandfather to buy me some new lures. He bought me a new spinner, and some kind of brown fly (even though I didn’t have a fly rod), although the second was really just because he could tell I really wanted it. After we had our tackle, we headed out to the river. At this point in time, I was still anxious, and more interested in casting out into the water than checking to make sure the area around me was clear. Sure enough, after a couple of casts, I managed to secure the hook of my spinner firmly into my grandfathers hand. I will never forget how graciously my grandfather reacted. He calmly reached into his pocket and found his knife (one of which I still keep in my fly-fishing vest) and I watched his jaw clench as he quietly cut through his skin to free the hook from his hand. The only thing he ever said about it was “that’s why its important to make sure you always check behind you.” Not long after this, I would catch my first rainbow trout. I will always treasure that image of our excitement on that day. Every time I pull another trout from a river, I think of him.
My grandfather’s attitude towards life will always serve as a guide for how I wish to become. In the last few years of his life, it wasn’t easy for him. My grandfather had more heart surgeries than practically anyone else I know, which is why it figures that cancer would be the one to finally take his life. However, no matter how bad it got, my grandfather always maintained a certain dignity and class about him. He never let it get to him. I remember the second to last time I ever saw him in a hospital, the nurse came in and rudely declared to grandfather that he couldn’t have a toothbrush. At first, I was petrified, what was happening? I then realized that grandfather had already made friends with the girl, and they were continuing a joke from previous visits. It turns out that the nurse was the older sister of someone I knew. That night, the nurse went home and declared that grandfather was the sweetest patient she had ever worked with. That was the story of my grandfather’s life. Whenever my grandfather ever comes up in conversation, the first thing everyone talks about was how sweet he was. I remember when I had broken down to tears in the hospital that day, it was my grandfather’s weak voice which told a joke and gave another forced smile to try and make light of the situation. We could all stand to learn something from Earl Musgrove.
And so that’s why, when I heard “What Sarah Said” this morning I was transported back to a hospital room, where we all gathered around a bed and told grandfather how much he meant to us before we let him go. My mom told one of the stories she loves, about the time she bounced a golf ball off of his head during a Sunday afternoon nap, and he didn’t even punish her. I remember weakly trying to regain my composure enough to tell the story of when grandfather and I went fishing, but eventually I just had to finish it early with “you were my hero.” There really isn’t much more to say. My grandfather was one of the great people who set an example for the rest of us, and as I sat in that room and held my mom’s hand as we watched him slowly fade I lost someone that I can never get back, at least as long as I am still alive myself. And now, as memories start to get blurry and fade, I felt that I had to record some of it before its gone forever. I miss you grandpa.
