sleepless

so i couldn’t sleep tonight, as usual, too many thoughts and songs in my head. in particular as i was laying there I could hear my grandfather Richey singing one of his favorite songs, one that he used to sing a lot at family get-togethers. it’s a silly old song and not worth reposting here, but it made me sad because it reminded me of him….

He died this last January, just a month after my grandfather wheeler died. I kept meaning to post some sort of tribute or something for him here but could never figure out what to say, it was too much too soon after going through the same thing just a month prior. I guess now is a good a time as any to post a few of my thoughts about him, though it’s incredibly hard to do him justice.

he was my teacher, one of my heroes, and one of my best friends, though i didn’t ever really get a chance to say that. when my parents threw me out for not believing in their god as a teenager my grampa and gramma richey took me in and let me live with them until i could get my feet under me and get a place of my own, when I tried to move down to LA to break into the music scene there and failed they took out a loan against their house to loan me the money I needed to pay off my debts and move back to northern california… it took me years but i was finally able to pay them back the last of that money last year. but more then just bailing me out of tough spots when I needed a hand, he was always willing to support me and love me, unconditionally. and that was worth more then anything else.

One of the most bitter things for him towards the end was when his vision and motor skills got so bad that he lost his license to drive and became effectively home-bound. Public transportation in fremont is a joke, and what there is isn’t very friendly or convenient for older people, so in a day his world shrank dramatically. The damage that did to his spirits was incredible, to be penned up inside unable to be an active part of the world he cared about so deeply. I don’t want to turn this into a rant about how horrible americas’s privatized car-based economy is so I’ll leave it there, but i seriously believe that losing mobility like that took years off his life.

He was a poor farm kid who put himself through school and took tremendous pride and joy in learning things. In particular, he loved to memorize epic poems, which he would occasionally recite at family gatherings. He was a lifelong teacher and organizer in the teachers union who worked with what lefties today call “underprivileged youth” but back then were just called “poor kids” – kids who reminded him of his own childhood. For years he volunteered at a shelter for abused women in his spare time until he got so old he couldn’t do much physical labor anymore. Even then he tried his best to make the world a better place, actively seeking out environmental and social justice organizations and donating more then he could afford out of his public schoolteacher’s pension. He was an ordinary person with an extraordinary heart who lived an incredible life and did his best every day to make the world a better place.

On of his favorite poems to recite was called the cremation of sam mcgee, written by a guy named Robert Service about the alaskan goldrush. I don’t believe in an anthropomorphic “god” or heaven or any of those fairy-tales, but – like sam maggee who’s ghost was so glad to finally be out of the cold – I imagine my grandfather at the end being relieved to be able to be part of the earth, part of the world he loved, instead of confined by old age to his rocking chair and the endless frustration of c-span re-runs. I miss him more then I can say, but there’s no point arguing with death, it is what it is, the best I can hope for is reconciliation and the knowledge that he lived his life the best he could. I’m going to end with another of his favorite poems, one he memorized as a child:

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom God loved best,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!