Thread by @FirstShane

Have You Paused For Beauty Today?
Not just serious, but deadly serious.
This🧵is a little different,
A story of a memory that I rarely take out of it’s box.
Settle in, it hurts!
Yet it is told with love.
Make time.
A🧵
#ProudBlueEditorials #DemVoice1

Those who follow me may have seen me mention my Granddad now and then.
If you have, you know how very much I respect him and the wisdom he imparted.
The following is his last wisdom granted to me.

Though I, most likely intentionally, repressed some of the memories of that time, as you will soon understand why, the lesson and the wisdom has been with me throughout my life.
I share this with you now, not for sympathy, but a plea to have you see a simple truth.

Make. Time. For. Beauty.
True beauty, however you may define it.
And by the way, you may “own” a piece of beauty, such as a painting, “house”, or myriad of material things, but if your PRIDE of ownership is placed ABOVE appreciation, that is EGO.
Nothing more.

Granddad spent the last 20+ years of his life in a wheelchair.
Thankfully he received good benefits as it was discovered he had Muscular Dystrophy while he was still in the Army in Italy during World War II.
Didn’t talk much about his time there.

At most he would just tell people:
“All I did was drive the Brass around from place to place.”
heh
In Italy. In WWII.
Sure Granddad, you “just” drove.
We’ll go with that. 😆

Due to those benefits, with one heck of a lot of frugality, grit, determination, and some rather sharp financial planning and investments, my grandparents bought a cabin in the Wyoming Mountains.
I loved that cabin with all my soul.

It is still my home and heart even though it is no longer in the family.
It was filled with wonderful bric-a-brac.
In a previous life, the cabin was the Post Office and General Store as well as tiny Rail Stop for a very tiny town in the 1800’s.

Now I am not sure exactly what form of Muscular Dystrophy he had, but it had ravaged his body. He was beginning to feel something akin to “locked in syndrome”.
It took many years and started with his legs, but eventually he was slowly losing his ability to speak.

The insidious nature of the form of MD he had, did not affect the brain, other than of course, the depression that may come with any truly debilitating disease.
I was 17 that fateful year.
He was having a “good day”, where he could speak clearly.

That summer visiting at the cabin, Granddad did something he had never once done before:
Asked me to take him outside where we could talk privately.
I carefully wheeled him outside over the bumps and short stairs.

He stopped me on a steep incline, though I knew it was wrong, it was good enough for him.
I repressed, intentionally or not, the entire memory of what we spoke of in that short 15 minutes.
We’ll get to that in a moment. You’ll see why.

Grandmother was pretty much his sole caregiver.
They had a routine. She would get coffee in the morning and get ready before dressing him and getting him out of bed for the day.
Mornings at the cabin were his favorite.

The cabin was compact, just 4 rooms.
Unlike their house, at the cabin he could watch Grandmother as she prepared for the day, but also he could watch and delight in the squirrels playing in the pine outside the window.
Oh how he loved to watch those squirrels.

He made me promise a few things that day.
The first was to be unfulfilled.
Well, we were able to keep to the spirit of the wish, not the letter.

We would have had to get special permission you see?
He wanted to be buried next to that exact tree by the cabin, but the cabin was in a National Park.
That, my friends, is a whole ‘nuther kettle of fish.

Grandmother knew of his love for the tree and watching the squirrels of course.
She had a lovely scene of such made for his Headstone.
He also talked of the importance of seeing beauty and delightful things.
That was not the reason I repressed that memory, no.

He passed away one year after that conversation.
I was included in all of the arraignments.
That meant talking with the Mortician also.
Thankfully Grandmother was not there for that meeting to talk about the death certificate.
A deep secret she could never know.

When we were done, I remained in the Morticians office and though I still did not fully remember that conversation a year ago, there was a question that had to be answered.
I’ve met many a Mortician, they do not shock easy!
My question shocked him to his core.

Official cause of death: Choking while eating.
Grandmother tried everything she could and already felt guilty.
By that time he had to be hand fed everything of course.
My question had to remain secret until well after she passed as well.

The Question:
“Did he swallow his tongue?”
The shocked Mortician thankfully answered with honesty.
“Yes. How could you possibly ask that as it is so extremely rare.”
In a flash the old memory came back.
Oh my friends, it hurt so bad!

That damnable disease left him no choice, no alternative.
Memory! :
“For two years I have been practicing. I won’t make it another year. I love you. This is the last year you will see me. This is the last year I can visit the cabin.”
…

“You do what you got to do Shane, but when the time comes, when I can no longer do anything at all,
I. Am. Going. To. Swallow. My. Tongue.
Grandmother cannot know. Promise me that.”

That is an extremely hard promise for a 17 year old.
Heck, a hard promise no matter the age.
But that respect I had for him?
Oh am I ever so proud he saw that same respect for me.
I’ve tried my best to live up to that respect every day.
Still do!

Should I have told someone?
Some sort of “Duty to Warn” perhaps you say?
HAH!
Who would I tell?
Who could possibly talk a man who had practiced the near physically impossible for over two years in preparation out of what needed to be done?

Yes, I did say needed.
He could not communicate in any meaningful way.
He was beginning to lose his vision as well.
Lost control of almost every muscle in his body while his beautiful mind kept on ticking.
Every muscle but one I suppose.
Where there is a will, there is a way.

Granddad. Had. Willpower.
Unbelievable Willpower.
Astounding Willpower.
And somehow, though I’ve never relayed this part – he was technically a “step”,
He imparted a fraction of that willpower to me.

You hear that you Loomer’s and Tur’s of the world?
You False Fools making a mockery of being a “step” parent or grandparent?
I
Will personally take One, One Thousandth of my Granddad’s Willpower,
And defeat anything YOU can come up with to destroy democracy.
SIT DOWN! 🤬

Even if he did only as he says,
“Drive the Brass around”,
He fought your lick spittle kind with a smile on his face and the sheer willpower to get the job done.
I. Mean. To. Honor. That.
And WILL Honor that by dong so myself.
No use for lick spittle fascists.
NONE NEEDED

I see beauty in the wind.
I see beauty in the squirrels and life at play.
I see beauty in my own grands now.
I see beauty in defending democracy.
I see beauty everyday.
Take. Time. For. Beauty!

The moment you stop taking time, end game.
Can’t put it more bluntly than that folks.
It’s a simple truth.
One hard taught by my Granddad.
Hard taught, and dearly loved for that teaching.

There are many lessons in that single teaching too.
Oaths and Promises.
Time for beauty.
Willpower.
Respect.
More!
So much more, even I am still learning lessons from that single teaching to this day.
Hope you will find a few as well.

Now we SHOUT! Shout it with me.
WE
Demand Better,
Because we refuse to forget the lessons of the past.
WE
Stand Together,
United in Willpower, fighting this darkness they wish for.
WE
Will. Vote. Them. OUT!
…

Because Steel Hard Determination and Willpower is needed in this fight.
And despite everything they try to claim to the contrary,
That same Determination and Willpower can still be Delivered with Compassion and Love.
Granddad. Proved. That!
This one’s for you Granddad.

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Please and thank you ever so much.