Don Khuth Chronicles

It has been almost twelve years since my grandfather’s funeral. During those twelve years I’ve never once visited my grandfather’s grave. I don’t know if I was afraid of the cemetery or I was just lazy but I finally made myself go and visit.

Twelve years is a long time. I hadn’t realized that it was that long since my grandfather passed away. I didn’t figure out it was that long until I arrived at the site. The grave site wasn’t exactly where I thought it was either. Since twelve years had passed, I’m surprised that I was able to remember the area.

The only thing I remember about the cemetery that my grandfather was buried in, was that it was in Burlington along Plains Rd. I didn’t know that there were a couple of cemeteries in the area. The one that I thought was the right one ended up being the wrong one. Luckily, there were a couple of nice ladies that was able to make a few calls and pointed me in the right directions.

From the information that they’ve managed to get, they informed me that my grandfather was buried in Woodland Cemetery in Section 10, Row 40, Grave #2. When I arrived at Woodland Cemetery, I didn’t have any problem finding Section 10 but I did have a problem locating the rest of the area. The cemetery was covered in snow and there was nothing to mark which row was which. The only thing I remembered was that the grave was closed to the road.

I found a small building that had some workers inside of it. I walked in a asked if one of them could help me locate a grave. I handed one of them the information about the location and he said that he could assist. He pull out a map and told me to follow him in his van.

After driving around for a minute or so, the van stopped at the opposite end of Section 10. The worker looked at the map, flipped it around a couple of times and then told me that we were stand at the right spot. When I looked at the grave stone, I saw a different name. At first I was confused but then the man kicked off a layer of snow and there it was, my grandfather’s grave stone. I thanked the man for his assistants and walked to my car to get the wreath that I bought earlier.

I cleared off the remaining snow with my hands because it would be rude to use my feet. I had some respect. By the time I was done with all the snow, my hand had gone numb. It was -12 degrees Celsius and I didn’t have any gloves with me. I could barely move my fingers at the time. The rest of my body was starting to shiver from cold.

I squat down and made myself into a ball to try and stay warm. After a couple minutes of this, I managed to stop shaking. But as I stared at the grave stone, my eyes started to water. That’s when the tears just starting flowing out. I couldn’t control it. I haven’t cried since elementary school but here I was, a grown man, crying uncontrollability.

I haven’t seen my grandfather since I was fourteen years old. I was just starting high school at the time. I was a teenager and I was still learning about life at that age. All of a sudden I’m hit with news that life eventually ends. How do you cope with something like that at such a young age? I was always one to keep everything inside, hidden away from everyone. At the time, you probably wouldn’t have even known I was mourning. The whole time I was there, I must have wept at least three times. Each time, the tears came out on its own.

I didn’t really know what do to as I stood there. I doubted that my grandfather could hear but for this one time, I pretended that he could. I updated him on how the family is doing. I told him how all the kids are all grown up now. I mentioned that I achieved my goal of graduating from college. I said whatever came to mind. I told him about my regret for not getting to know him better while he was alive. Just expressing all of that didn’t feel like it was enough but if he was able to hear me, I’m sure he appreciated the update.

As I stood there, another funeral arrived. They were burying someone in Section 10 as well. But the weird thing was, none of them appeared to be sad. They all seemed to be just normal. No one was crying or anything. The service last maybe no more than five minutes and they left. First the priest or the bishop or whoever left first and then the family left shortly after. I know that it was cold and they probably can’t stand the sub zero temperature but they could have stayed a bit longer.

When we buried my grandfather, we were out there for a while. I remember tossing in some coin onto the casket. It was actually lowered into the ground but only a few shovel of dirt was tossed on top. The cemetery guy took care of filling it up. The family that I saw today didn’t see the casket enter the ground. They probably said their goodbyes and left. The cemetery guy came by a few minutes later to lower the casket into the ground.

As I stood there, I lost all sense of time. I checked my watch and saw that it was close to 11:15am. I had been standing out there for a good half hour or so. I secured the wreath to a near by pole and said my goodbyes. I made a promise to come back in the summer to properly secure the wreath onto its own stand. The ground was frozen solid so I couldn’t get the stand far enough into the ground. I left the stand lying there beside the grave. Hopefully, it doesn’t get blown away by strong winds.

I wiped whatever tears I had left and walked back to my car. When I got into the car, I noticed that it was actually 12:15pm. All those tears must have blurred my vision and I read my watch wrong. I was standing outside for about one and a half hours in sub zero temperature. At first I was shivering a lot from the cold but the longer I was out there, the warmer I started to feel. It could have been hypothermia kicking in but I didn’t really care at the time. I had a lot of other things on my mind.

I just stood there thinking about the past, the present and the future. I haven’t done much with my life. I’ve always had some sort of excuse not to do things. For the longest time, school was my biggest excuse for everything. I wouldn’t do anything because I was “supposedly” too busy with school. But I wasn’t. That was just and excuse. Now, the excuse is work. I’m not busy with work. It’s all a lie I use so I won’t have to do anything. No matter what comes up, I always find an excuse not to do it.

It got started thinking on where I’m heading. I don’t even know where I’ve been let alone where I’m going. I’m stuck working at a job that drains every ounce of energy out of my body. I am too tired during the day to have energy to do anything else. If I want to get my life on track, I’m going to have to find myself a normal job. Working the night shift is not normal at all. And I need to stop making excuses and just do it.

My grandfather lived to be sixty two years old. Of those sixty two years, he spent about eight years in Canada. During those eight years he probably did a lot. I know he did a lot of fishing. He went fishing practically every day. He would bike down to the habour front and spend the whole day there. Fishing was what he enjoyed and I’m glad that he was able to live the rest of his life in Canada where he was able to do the things he loved without haven’t too worry about much.

I am not old enough to be administering advices to anyone but if I could advise you on something, it would be this. “Slow down and smell the roses.” There’s so much that life has to offer you but you won’t see it because we’re too busy living in the fast lane. When you’re moving that fast, everything is a blur and you’ll miss out on the more important things. You need to slow it down a little and appreciate the little things in life. Get to know people a little more. Tend to you loved ones. Reflect on your thoughts. There are important details in the little things but if you don’t slow down enough, you will overlook something great. Take a look around you and pay attention to the details and you’ll see simplicity at its best.

The one thing that I regret was not getting to know my late grandfather more. My family came to Canada in the summer of ’86. My relatives including my grandfather arrived a few years later. I didn’t know him very well because as a kid, all I wanted to do was spend time with my friends. I didn’t talk much with my grandfather until we moved into the current house that I’m living in now.

Every time his old age pension cheque came in, he would give me $20 and tell me to order pizza. I was usually the one that took him to the bank to cash the cheque. He wouldn’t leave any of the money in the bank. He cashed the cheque and withdrew all of it in cash. As we headed home from the bank, he would hand me $20 and I was run to the pizza store and order two large pizzas. I think I ordered pizza once a week.

He was a fun guy to be around when he was sober. But there were a lot of times when he was drunk. We have to tell the liquor store not to sell him any more booze because he was getting drunk very often. But somehow, he still managed to buy alcohol. It’s amazing how he managed to do that because he didn’t speak English. Every time he was around someone that spoke English, he would make sign language and the other person surprisingly understood.

There was one time where he got completely hammered and walked outside the house. My mom told me to go bring him back in. He was outside hanging by the tree on our front yard. No matter what I did, he wouldn’t go back him. He was persistent on staying outside. Then he grabbed a tree branch, broke it off and started eating it. The way he was biting on the branch, looked like he was going to break his teeth. But surprisingly, he had pretty strong teeth for an old guy. After standing outside with him for ten minutes or so, I finally managed to convince him to go back inside. I walked him to his bed and put him to sleep.

I don’t remember much about my grandfather other than the fact that he was drunk a lot. I think he was even drink during his last day. It was unfortunate that I had to see him that way. My bedroom was right beside his bedroom. He had fallen off his bed and wasn’t able to get up. I heard him fall so I went into his room and tried to help him up. I was little at the time and he was too heavy for me to pick up. I would have went and got my dad but he wasn’t home at the time. He played in the band back then and at the time, they had a performance for a party.

My grandfather was in a bit of pain but I had no idea what to do. Once in a while he would tell me to rub his back or massage it but even then I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew that he was drunk. He reeked of alcohol and he was trying to puke but nothing came out. I was there massaging his back for half an hour before my dad came home. He called for an ambulance and they took my grandfather to the hospital. That was the last night that I saw him.

The next day, my mom told me that my grandfather wouldn’t be coming home from the hospital. I knew exactly what she meant by that even though this was probably the first time I’ve heard of death. I pretended like it didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to cry because I was a boy and boys don’t cry. But I couldn’t help it. I locked myself in the bathroom and just started crying.

I sat there on the toilet in anger because I wasn’t strong enough to help my grandfather off the floor. It was as if, somehow, it was my fault for not doing anything. I was the oldest of the boys and I should have had enough strength to help out and I should have done more. But looking back to that night, I don’t think there was much I could have done. I’ve seen him in that condition so many times that I thought he’d be fine by morning. It was just a minor hangover and with time he would have been fine. But there was more to it, more than what I knew about at the time. I think the alcohol did a lot more damage. I don’t know the exact cause of his death and I’ve always been afraid to ask.

That night probably changed the course of my life drastically. I learned not to take things for granted. I learned to get to know people more, no matter who they are. Whether that person works at a cashier at Tim Horton’s or the lady that vacuums the carpet in the office. I want to know as much as I can about them. I take pride in knowing the little things and the minor details.