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tourbi
Age: 57 Zodiac: 
| Joined: 09 Jan 2008 |
| Posts: 2640 |
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Location: tourbiland, at the foot of Pikes Peak, USA
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 Posted: Sun Jul 13, 2008 3:45 pm |
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Gone Fishin
Pamela Jenkins
The friendship between Gene and my Grandpa Merle went back long before I was born. It seemed that Gene had always been around. Although not related to us, he was still a very important part of our family, for Gene was Grandpa’s fishing buddy.
Early in the morning, Gene would drive over to my grandparents’ house. My grandpa would be watching out the window for the old Chevy’s headlights to flash as they turned into the driveway. Grandpa was already dressed and ready to leave, his fishing gear standing outside the door. As he shuffled through the house, Grandma’s dog Shorty bailed off the bed and snapped at his heels. Grandpa laughed loud enough to wake all of us. Even a nippy little dog couldn’t squelch his excitement. Grandpa was going fishing.
With nothing but a thermos of hot coffee and some cinnamon rolls from the cafe, Grandpa and Gene fished until they grew hungry enough to call it quits for the day. In the early afternoon they drove back to the house. We could hear them laughing and talking before they ever got out of the pickup. After they unhitched Grandpa’s boat, they came to the house carrying the catch of the day.
We loved to eat the crappie and catfish they caught out on the lake. Grandpa would add a little hot sauce to the oil as it was heating, then drop the fish filets in when it was hot enough. Grandma would make cornbread and set out a plate of green onions. She’d add fried potatoes on the side to make it a royal feast.
Gene worked as a pipe liner. Often his job would take him away from home for a month or more at a time. Grandpa had other friends he fished with in Gene’s absence, but somehow it wasn’t the same. As soon as his old friend called to say he was back in town, they made plans to take the boat out to the lake.
As the years passed, we noticed that Grandpa was getting around a little slower; the cool weather bothered his rheumatoid arthritis more. A few times he called Gene and canceled their trip for the next morning, citing such excuses as the fish hadn’t been biting as well lately, or the wind might be picking up too much to take the boat out on the water. When Grandpa could no longer climb into the boat by himself, Gene would gently lift his friend up and set him over the edge, steadying him until he got his balance.
Gene’s wife scolded her husband for continuing to go fishing with his old buddy. She said, “What would happen if you had an accident on the water? What would you do if you were both thrown overboard?”
Gene pondered this question for a moment, then said, “Well, I guess he’d have to sink or swim.” Gene and Grandpa had a good laugh over his answer, though Gene’s wife frowned at their sense of humor. Grandpa laughed even harder because of it.
When Gene returned from one of his work-related trips, he was shocked at the change in his friend. Grandpa had lost weight. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, more than just the arthritis. A trip to the family doctor confirmed our worst fears.
Cancer. Inoperable.
In our grief and confusion, we tried to think of ways to beat this disease. We talked about surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and the miracles of modern medicine. We cried and we prayed. We made plans to seek a second opinion.
Grandpa, however, made plans of his own. He and Gene went fishing.
A few short months later, I sat in the funeral home listening to the preacher talk about my grandfather. My mind began to stray. I was miserable with grief. I missed Grandpa’s hugs and jokes. Most of all, I missed his laughter and sense of humor.
The front of the room was awash with beautiful flowers of all colors. There were so many wreaths and sprays, green plants and arrangements that, at first, I missed seeing the yellow flowers, a bright ring of golden blooms. A yellow ribbon was draped across the front. Printed in large sparkling letters were the simple words, “Gone Fishin’.”
I looked around the room until my eyes met his, brimming with tears. I knew without a doubt who had sent those yellow flowers. I was also sure about something else.
Grandpa would have loved it.
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