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A LIFETIME
ONE JAYPLAY WRITER REMEMBERS HER
ONE JAYPLAY WRITER REMEMBERS HER GRANDPA AND HIS POSITIVE INFLUENCE
// CAROLINE KRAFT
Fondest memories: Caroline Kraft sits on her grandpa's lap as a child. The loss of her "Papa" has left a void in her life but her memories of him and his influence are still present today.
Your average 80-year-old might sit inside to avoid heat stroke during the Oklahoma summertime, but not my grandpa. Papa could be found drenched in sweat, mowing his lawn in a straw hat, khaki shorts and a short-sleeved collared shirt. He had a full head of hair and bright blue eyes. Papa played tennis every day of his life and his small yet muscular frame showed it. He was always full of life; he had a hot temper and a good sense of humor. My brothers and I spent much of our childhood at my grandparents' house, and those days are by far some of my fondest memories.
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My grandpa was a man of routine. He woke up at 6 a.m. everyday to get the paper. Dressed in his pajamas and leather house slippers, he always ate cornflakes and a banana for breakfast. He would cheerfully ask my brothers and me, "Did you make straight A's at school today?" Sometimes the question alone motivated me to study harder. Papa was always on time, whether he was taking my brothers and me to sports practices or paying bills. He was also a worrywart. He never pulled out of the driveway without reminding everyone to wear a seat belt, and he always carried spare change, a pocket knife and a handkerchief with him, just in case. Papa was the most reliable person in my family.
He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease when I was in sixth grade. Papa's memory continuously worsened. He stopped being able to sleep through the night, and he often became disoriented and fell. My grandma couldn't take care of him without compromising her own
He suffered his first of several minor strokes during Christmas of 2000. His brain never fully recovered from the damage of each stroke, and his memory noticeably declined.
health, so after two years, my family placed him in a nursing home.
Visiting my grandpa in the nursing home was difficult for me. I will never forget the confused look on his face whenever he forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. Sometimes he would become angry with himself and he would tense his hands, squint and let out a deep sigh. I wanted him to know it was OK that he couldn't remember. He would ask me the same questions over and over again during our visits. I tried to answer each time with the same enthusiasm.
Despite the repetition, my visits with Papa were never boring. Papa was feisty. He often had something to say about the nurses once they left the room. "Have you ever seen a butt that big?" he'd ask me, his eyebrows scrunched together in wonder. As irreverent as those comments were, I couldn't help but smile.
Eventually, Papa's memories regressed to his life in the '50s and '60s. He would tell me how excited he was to go back to his home in Oklahoma City, a house I had never known. He fought in World War II all over again in his dreams. He would yell and fight the sheets in his sleep, reliving the traumatic memories that forever changed him.
Papa also kept his hot temper. One time he had a roommate with a bad memory and incontinence who wouldn't stay on his own side of the room. Papa would tell my family how much he hated "that son of a bitch," and we weren't surprised when Papa gave his roommate a black eye for rummaging through his stuff.
When Papa was 89, he fell at his nursing home and suffered a hematoma, a life-threatening bruise, on his brain. He had to have
emergency surgery to remove the excess blood between his brain and his skull. Papa fought to recover for the next three weeks, but more complications arose, and my family started preparing for the worst.
My mom told me to visit him alone so I could say goodbye. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I walked into his room, filled with beeping machines and monitors. He was wearing an oxygen mask, and he had a tube down his throat. Papa was thin and frail, far from the days that he could chase me down the hall and throw me over his shoulder. His eyes were barely open, and he couldn't speak. I just held his hand gently and tried to ignore the knot of emotions throbbing at the back of my throat. Papa had forgotten many names by that time, but before I left, he managed to say, "I love you, Caroline." I told him, "I love you, too," determined not to cry in front of him.
The night my grandpa died, my parents insisted that I go home early because I needed sleep for school, but I refused to leave. Even though they said that Papa probably had another day left, an overwhelming eerie feeling wouldn't let me walk away.
The room was dark. My uncles, aunts, mom, brothers and I were standing around his bed. My grandma was holding onto Papa's hand as if she could keep him from leaving. The nurses had already shut off the monitors. The only
sound in the room was the compression of his oxygen tank. I watched his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung partially open, as if he was too tired to bring his lips together. In an instant, his face lost its warm glow, and everyone knew his struggle was over. My grandma started weeping. Everyone else began comforting each other. I imagined his soul floating above all of us and slipping out the window into the night sky.
I was too shocked to cry. My emotions couldn't register what I had witnessed. I drove home feeling separated from reality. I went to school the next day and told my friends about Papa's death in a matter-of-fact way. I couldn't understand why I didn't feel miserable. I thought the first day after a loss would be the hardest, but I was wrong.
My first tears came at Papa's funeral, and four years later, I am still mourning his death. I am grateful that he had a long life, but it doesn't make me miss him less. I have learned that the pain of loss reappears in unexpected moments. During my high school graduation, I wished that I could hear Papa cheering for me in the crowd like he did for my brothers.
Even now, there are moments I feel like I really need his support. Time cannot fill the void that death leaves behind, but I know that Papa is still alive in my memories, and his positive influence on my life is permanent.
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INDEX
Classifieds. .3A
Crossword. .4A
Cryptoquips. .4A
Opinion. .5A
Sports. .8A
Sudoku. .4A
Scattered T-Storms
TODAY'S WEATHER
All contents, unless stated otherwise
© 2011 The University Daily Kansan
Although some would like to keep the uprooted tulips instead of throwing them away, the University is not allowed to give them away because the flowers are bought with state money.
It's just part of the tradition at KU, said Shawn Harding assistant director of the landscape department. Facilities Operations is in charge of eight flowerbeds that contain about 11,000 bulbs and hundreds of shrub beds. In addition to planting flowers, the crew picks up trash in the morning, mows the grass at least once a week and otherwise maintains the about 1,000 acres of land on campus.
"I just want to have a nice place for people to come and learn." Harding said. "I want it to be a destination"
SEE FLOWERS ON PAGE 2A
Facilities Operations also tries to use native grasses in areas that aren't high in traffic, such as the West Campus, and limit the number of flowerbeds. This reduces costs and the number of ripped-out flowers.
"We keep all of the leaves and any green stuff in a big pile and we just keep turning it," Harding said. "It definitely helps us reduce our cost. We can just fill that in and let it decompose."
"I'm trying to do stuff that doesn't require a lot of water and I'm trying not to fertilize at all" Harding said. The only fertilizer the University is going to use this year is a selfmade compost mix.
TRAVEL
Student to take "freedom ride" across country
Freshman travels the original route
BY WESTON PLETCHER wpletcher@kansan.com
The first "freedom ride" took place almost 40 years ago when more than 400 black and white civil rights activists rode from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans on public buses to protest against segregation laws in the South.
William Dale will get the chance to retrace the route of the original "freedom riders" in early May, joining a few of the original freedom riders and learning about civic engagement.
Dale, a freshman from Topeka, is one of 40 students from around the country to participate in Freedom Riders 2011, which is being organized by the Public Broadcasting Service series "American Experience."
"The students selected are the civic engagers of tomorrow. They are passionate about a plethora of issues," Dale said. "I hope to bring that passion back to KU. I want to learn from them and teach others
From May 6 to May 16, Dale will travel by bus from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans just like the first freedom riders. The students will make stops at many of the locations that the original riders visited, which include Atlanta's Morehouse College; the Anniston, Ala., Bus Station; Vanderbilt University's First Amendment Center; the historic First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Ala.; and finally will end the trip in New Orleans with a rally to welcome the original "freedom riders."
about my experience."
Dale said he was looking forward to the trip. He said he wanted to be able to discuss current social issues with other like-minded students.
"There is so much to learn, and I look forward to absorbing as much knowledge as I can," Dale said.
— Edited by Samantha Collins
William Dale, a freshman from Topeka, was one of 40 students from across the country to be accepted to participate in Freedom Riders 2011.
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