~Gilbert Parker~
Over the winter of 2003 my grandfather became ill and had to enter the hospital. He was a great man, like all grandfathers. He had lived through the depression, fought through World War II, built a life and a family in the post war days, and sent his son away to college for the first time in our family history. He was a very proud man, but to me he was just my grand-pa. When he entered the hospital I went to see him with my parents. I realized that the hospital was close to a friends place that I frequently visited. Over the course of late winter and spring I went to visit him almost every evening and just sit and talk.
During that time in my life, I was lost. I had a job, and friends, and a life, but none of it made any sense to me. I felt like a fraud, because the life I was leading didn't seem like my own, and I was lonely. There were many nights I sat in that hospital room and listened to my grandfather tell stories, mostly about the war. He described a time that he was scouting in the bombed out cities of France, alone, weaving through the rubble looking for Nazi's. He said that he rounded a corner and came eye to eye with a German soldier, alone, also armed to the teeth. My grandfather raised his gun a split second sooner than the German, and the German was killed.
I think about that story often. One second in time was the difference between the existence of us all. Had the German raised his gun first, my father, myself, and Marlow and Quint would have never been born. Our family name will continue in history, and the difference was a split second in time...............I listened to my grandfather tell a lot of stories about the war while in that hospital room. I never told many people that I went to visit him as often as I did. I went because I wanted to be there, and because I didn't want him to be lonely. I went because I liked to listen to the stories that he told. It helped me understand what was important in this world, and what was not. My grandfather passed away a few years later and at his funeral I talked to some family members about those nights that I sat listening to his stories about the war. My father said that as far as he knows, I was the only one he ever told those stories to. He didn't talk much about the war, and after listening to the things he told me, I understand why. My grandfather was a great man, and part of him now survives alone inside me. That is what it means to have family.
On the last night I went to the hospital, I remember thinking that my grandfather was going to pass away. I went to the small chapel located in the hospital and I prayed for him.........then I sat in there for hours and just thought. I thought about my own life, and I thought about the person I was. I prayed that I could find some meaning for myself, and some meaning to my life. One week after sitting in that chapel I started paddling, and I met Marcelle.
~Dejan Stojanovic~
To continue the story, simply click here..................... The Ole School Days of RVA
