In Loving Memory
~In Loving Memory of my grandfather ~ Joseph I Ruks
Monday, May 24th 2004
For me there are very few times when I have actually stepped outside of my body and been vaguely aware of events unfolding. Monday morning would have been one of them. I was completely caught off guard at the sound of my father's voice delivering the news.
The story goes that my grandfather (GF) had prostate cancer. This was a recent diagnosis, within the last few weeks. Through an unfolding of events he found himself in the hospital, fighting mental demons and the physical. We were unaware what the full scope of the situation was but the sound of DNR order ringing in my ears led to my visit to Washington state. I almost cancelled at the last minute but thought "What the hell, a free day off of work!"
I am never sure what a visit with my father's family will ever be like. There is a strange dynamic there that I really do not understand. The chance I would see my GF was slim. The actual visit that took place came after much strife but I did get to spend 10 minutes with my GF. I was suprised to see that he looked so healthy. About 5 years ago he became very ill and lost so much weight it was hard to look his way. He was pale and cool as he held my hand, the desire to hug him so strong but my GF is a proud man and that was the distance he was willing to go. I am so sad that my dearest sister never got to know him.
My uncle explained that my GF had yet to see an oncologist. This was scheduled for Wed, the 26th. We knew for certain that Joe had cancer and that it was spreading. Seems likely he had it for at least five years if not ten and was in the middle to end stages. "2 weeks or as much as 3 years" Joey said, the eldest son and namesake. After seeing my GF it made sense. I left Washington thinking to myself that by this weekend we would know what exactly we were facing. And yet here I am just a few days later writing about what might have been.
I don't know what to do or how to feel... I wish I could be more comfort to my father. Per my grandfather's wishes there will be no memorial services so I will hold my own.
I have a hard time with visualization. I can barely call my son's face to mind if not he is not in front of me but I clearly remember the townhouse my grandparents called home for most of my childhood. It was an oddly peachy/pinky colored place. There was a double car garage that opened onto an alley. If you exited from the regular doorway you stood on their back patio, and from there it was through the sliding glass doors into the dining area. To your right was the kitchen and through the kitchen a doorway to an extra bathroom, a utility room I think and maybe a bedroom. If you kept heading forward through the dining room you entered the living room. I believe they owned a sectional at some time. I remember playing as a child with my uncles not much older than I. We wrestled in sleeping bag and chased each other through the house. I remember Thomas playing D&D back in the day of the honeycombed grid playing board. The living room had the front door, which opened onto a courtyard, and the stairs to the rest of the house. I don't remember much about that second floor other than the bathroom. I think it had a stand up shower with no bathtub which impressed me as a child.
Downstairs, the kitchen and the garage, was my Grandpa Joe's domain. I remember him cleaning up after meals. He would wash all the dishes in warm, soapy water before placing them in the dishwasher. Joe was a particular man, maybe bordering on OCD, but no that isn't right. He just had a way about him. My father has some of those very same qualities. With my father I relate it specifically to food. My dad cuts his pancakes meticulously into little squares, or places his eggs over his hash, or rolls his sausage into his English muffins.
With my Grandfather it is most definitely the tins. Hundreds of tins. In the garage the walls were lined with shelves, lined with tins and then labeled. The tins are from a brand of tea. I meant to stop by the store to remind myself of the brand. They are in paper boxes these days. The tins were gold all around the edges and then black I believe with gold script. They had that charming little round metal lid that settles into the container. I can almost hear and feel the way you use a screwdriver or fork or what not to pop out the lid. Nuts, bolts, screws... Galore! I loved to play with that label maker, with the little raised letters on the bright, red and shiny labels. You know, like the old pricing guns. I think I thought that was braille when I was small because you could feel the letters. I used to tease when I was older about how my grandpa made us go out on the back patio to chew gum so as not to get it in the carpet.
It was such a special treat when my grandparents would visit from California. In the later years it was rough because the house was always a disaster. I don't think my mom was the wife they wanted for my dad. I think sometimes my dad was a bit ashamed. I can hear my grandma Pat yelling at Joe to sit down and visit rather than cleaning the kitchen. I remember my delight at having him there. For those few days, and a few after the house would be right. Maybe a sleepover could take place after they left.
My grandpa Joe was a man of science. I am not sure in what context exactly. He always had maps and barometers around. I remember my dad telling stories of Grandpa Joe playing around with liquid nitrogen... The banana shattering.
In regards to the strange family dynamic on the Ruks side, it takes a lot to be considered adult enough for the adult table. My grandpa always tried to keep us children entertained. He was a warm person. I never quite understood why even after they moved just a few hours away to Washington they never came to visit, we always went there and as life wore on and things got in the way I forgot what a special person he was.
I remember the last time I visited with my grandparents. I was taking my mother up to see my father on his first visit after deployment last spring. We had to drive from Belfair, near Bremerton, to Ft. Lewis. Grandpa Joe got out a map to make sure I knew my way. I hope he is finding his way to a place of peace.
For a little girl who can remember so little of those early years I can remember so much of him during those times... The polo shirts with the white tshirts underneath, the glasses, the buzz haircut, the sound of his voice, they have never changed. His suits for his Sunday morning church. Drew Carey always reminds me of my grandpa, the glasses are about the only real resemblance... and the relation to Ohio. My grandpa is one of those people that always called me Jenny, I can hear the cadence of his voice.
I love you Grandpa Joe.
