Looking Back

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

Prologue

Today is August 6th and it is a special day. In fact, every day of the year is a special day to someone. It is someone’s birthday, anniversary, or other celebrated event. Below I have shared a few of my reminiscings that took place on this day of the year.

Chapter I - Serious

On August 6th, 1973, thirty-three years ago today, I attended the funeral of a special friend. She died of liver cancer. She said she was surprised that it wasn’t lung cancer taking her life since she started smoking at the age of seventeen. Her attitude about death reminded me of some of the brave men and women who stoically went to their executions in the sixteenth century as they fought for human rights against the tyrants who ruled the land. She did not fear death, nor was she angry about the circumstances in which she found herself. Although our lives had separated I knew I would miss her.

In August of 1993, twenty years after her death, I finished writing a series of short stories about her that I titled “Legacy of a Lady.” One day while on a flight into the backcountry, I tossed those stories out of the plane one by one. I was chided for my behavior but I knew something that no one else knew; the stories were only lost on paper not lost from my mind. I had written them for an audience of one (me) as a tribute to her. I read them to my family and then returned them back to where they belonged, in my heart and in my mind.

As human beings we have failings and we disappoint one another from time to time. As a teenager I disappointed this lady on occasion but our relationship was such that we could talk about the situation and she often dispensed motherly advice to me. There is a saying that states, “The surest way to turn teenagers off is to tell them something they already know.” Since teenagers already know everything it becomes challenging to find ways to get them to listen, accept and modify their behavior. In reality, teenagers are only students of their parent’s behavior. Remember the old familiar statement about giving adults suggestions, “Advice not requested is rarely heeded.”

Looking back, I do not recall one instance when she and I had one of our little chats that I did not follow her counsel. She had a way of reaching out; making sense of a situation without getting her panty hose twisted around backwards. She helped me see where a small adjustment on my part today would produce significant benefits tomorrow. This lady who shared my mother’s name and treated me as her son was dead at fifty-nine. Her funeral thirty-three years ago today was a sad moment for me but looking back, oh how precious are the memories.

Chapter II – Not Quite So Serious

On August 6th, 2003 while on a solo hike up Rattlesnake Canyon I received a call to meet a friend at the Salt Lake City Cemetery. My wife Kaye would say, “Now Jerry, was that a call from a real person or one of your imaginary friends?” From her question you might get the idea that I was walking with a slight mental limp. Well, it doesn’t matter. After the call I turned around and headed back down the canyon to enjoy a different adventure. Maybe that call was destiny keeping me from being bitten by a rattlesnake that day.

Arriving at the cemetery, I went over and visited my long time friend Bill McMahan. This place had become a respite from the world for me since Bill was buried here. I try to come at least once a month and enjoy the solitude. I have lost other people dear to me, grandparents, the lady who treated me as a son, and even Kaye’s parents but they are all buried elsewhere. So there I stood, in front of Bill’s grave. I reflected on our adventures together that began thirty years ago. I also thought about some of the things we had shared since his death.

I often brought things to the cemetery to share with Bill. When I left the house that morning to hike Rattlesnake Canyon, I didn’t know that I would be visiting the cemetery so I struggled to come up with something that I could share. Bill had only one sweet tooth in his head and he never wasted it on candy bars and other treats. His sweet tooth was for honey. Bill didn’t like just any honey but favored a honey that was locally produced. After his death, his wife granted my request and let me have some of his honey.

I realized I had that honey in my survival pack that day. I also had two bananas in my lunch. I had never mixed honey and bananas but I heard a voice say, “Go for it.” Coming from the hot car, the consistency of the honey was thin. Pealing the first banana I stuck it all the way to the bottom of the honey jar, twisted it up and down and back and forth making sure that it was fully covered.

If the honey could talk it would have complained about that cold banana. But the coolness of the banana just made the honey stick with a heavier coating. I ate that banana covered with honey and began pealing the second one so I could plunge it into the honey jar also. But this banana would be for Bill. As I coated the banana with honey, I began to rationalize in my mind. The honey would make a mess on the grave marker and attract flies.

To solve this problem I would eat the second banana and leave Bill a note telling him how great it was. I didn’t think he would mind. Never before or since that day have I mixed bananas and honey but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. It was what some call a virgin experience. One day Bill and I will laugh about some of these experiences. Some things happen without any forethought or planning; the moment is just right. When that moment passes it becomes a sweet memory of looking back. It’s hard to get much sweeter than honey on a banana.

Chapter III – Serious Again

My mother-in-law was born on August 6th and I have many memories of our time together as she spent the final months of her life in our home, in our care, in our hearts. In anticipation of her own passing she often said, “I do my crying in private and my smiling in public.” That lesson I haven’t learned very well. I still cry in public.

Epilogue

The fact that these things all occurred on August 6th isn’t what is important. That these special people lived and loved and touched my life in so many ways is what is precious to me. Looking back while at the same time looking forward, I am excited about the future and thankful for the past: the lady who treated me as a son, the man who introduced me to honey and bananas, a mother-in-law who taught me by example how to die with dignity.