The following story, written by Brian Whitney, is being posted in honor of Grandpa, Harold Whitney, who passed peacefully on February 13, 2008. 

(In 1985 with Grandpa...)

My grandpa

There is a generation of people dying in our country right now. They are the ones who shaped the nation for everyone who are enjoying our freedoms today. The families who lived through the Great Depression and World War II, are in their 80s and 90s now, and the generations taking their place are a far cry from that amazing group of people. That generation can still remember when our country was whole, single-minded and felt like a big family.

I am visiting my grandfather in Seattle right now. Born Harold Eugene Whitney, he grew up as a cowboy in Montana, went to college on a basketball scholarship back when they used to do a tip-off after each basket and would shoot with two hands on either side of the ball. After a year of school, he enlisted in the US Navy December 10, 1940, at the age of 19 years old.

In the Navy, he was stationed at Pearl Harbor and was aboard the battleship Tennessee when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He told the story of that battle to me today. Every time I've heard it, he reveals new details of the event. When the alarm finally sounded (the first alarm was sounded incorrectly on his ship, probably because of the surprise nature of the attack), he went to his station only to get stuck in water rising past his knees, and smoke so thick he couldn't see his hands in front of his face. When he called the top deck to ask if he could leave his station, they asked him, “What the hell are you still doing down there?”

They were already flooding his compartment to put out the fires! Barely making it topside, he fought fires and helped rescue the other survivors that were drowning in the ocean. He was there to witness one of the saddest days in our country's history.

Throughout the rest of WWII, he fought in many of the key battles in the Pacific, including Midway, Iwo Jima, and the Battle of Samar, where my Grandfather and his crew were told by the captain, "Give 'em hell, boys. We aren't coming out alive."

They had accidentally stumbled upon the Japanese combined fleet and were seriously outnumbered. Instead of turning to run, they were ordered to sail straight at the massive Japanese fleet to give the rest of the fleet time to escape and prepare. Can anyone in our generation even comprehend being sent to an almost certain death? He was awarded the silver star for steering the U.S.S. Heerman through that battle after a shell killed almost everyone in the bridge. He did that knee deep in the blood of his fallen shipmates. Again, what he went through is so far away from the reality of my own life where I get paid to sit in front of a computer all day that I can only shake my head in disbelief.

After coming home from the war, my grandfather built a family with my grandmother. Their traditions were old-school with my grandmother staying at home to raise the family, and my grandfather working to support the family. He retired from the Navy after 21 years and worked for the state for another 20+ years. My grandmother was a sweet woman who had no problem with staying at home and being dominated by my grandfather who would sit in his chair after work and bark orders. A lot of the dynamics of their relationship make no sense in today's American culture. That's just how much has changed in two generations of American family. People rarely got divorced in their day. Now, if you aren't part of the 50% or so of the married couples who end up divorced,  you may still be in an unhappy marriage. How many of us are that lucky to find a happy, long-term, dating relationship, let alone a happy marriage?

My grandfather, who was always taken care of by my grandmother, reversed roles in the late 90s. My grandmother began dying of Alzheimer's Disease. If you have not lost someone to this awful, cruel disease, I hope that you never do. It strips you of all memories of the people you have known in your life. If we think about what life is all about, it is really about the relationships we've developed and the memories we created along the way. He stood by my grandmother every step of her illness, even when she no longer recognized him when he'd go to see her. He took care of her and cooked, even though she had cooked for him the previous years of their marriage. He still loves her and is learning to appreciate how great she was to him even now. As he sat talking to me about love and marriage yesterday, he told stories about some of the dumb things he did that she should have popped in the jaw for but never did.

In the end, he went through more heartache and tears than any human being should have to endure because of how much he loved my grandmother and what she went through. But do you think he would do it all over again, knowing how hard it would ultimately be? Absolutely. I've used this as a lesson to myself in my own life. I'm never going to be afraid to love someone special with all of my heart just because that love may result in my heart breaking one day. If you aren't prepared to be hurt, or to take chances in life, you aren't living.

This is the same man who taught me how to fish when I was a kid. I have many memories of us sitting in a boat, catching fish while he shared war stories or was giving me advice about human character or life. I learned leadership from his example, and much of my strength and the confidence I have in myself I learned from him, as well.

But what I respect about my grandfather the most is that he never stopped allowing himself to learn and change over time. He had both the largest amount of confidence in the room and the most stubborn personality, while also being the most down-to-earth and open-minded. He stubbornly smoked for 30 years and then one day out of the blue, quit cold-turkey and never picked up a cigarette again. After mourning the loss of my grandmother, he started internet dating in his late 70s and 80s finally getting married just this past summer! But even as he sits and tells me about how that latest relationship recently fell apart, he wants to understand why and has been asking me about my own divorce, trying to relate to the pain I went through. At the age of 34, I have found myself this weekend giving advice to my 87-year-old grandfather for the first time in my life.

As I sat down to play cribbage with him today, I am reminded of how alike we both are and I can't help but be proud of that fact. As soon as I get a nice scoring hand, he reminds me about how lucky I am. When he wins, he gloats and thanks the heavens that his skill can still find a way to beat dumb luck. Even at almost 90 years old, he can still talk trash with the best of 'em. He's as quick with a comeback to any one-liner I feed him as any of my friends are. I already catch myself kidding with my own kids with the same corniness my grandfather has always used with me. And like me, he will randomly start singing in his raspy country voice as he's walking across the room without a care for what anyone in the room thinks about it.

My grandpa is sitting in front of me as I write this. For the first time in my life I'm saying goodbye to someone knowing I'll never see him alive again. He's sleeping peacefully, escaping from the pain of his tumor, and the cancer eating at him. He's on medications for pain, swelling and diarrhea; anti-depressants and medication for all of the nasty side effects for those medications. While it is sad to see a mentor and someone I love so dearly suffering, I only hope that I have as much life experience and love in front of me as he has had in his.

Brian Whitney
December, 2007