RIP Grandpa Krumm
My mom called me at 7:52 this morning and told me that my grandpa, Claude Krumm, had past away after a 1 1/2- year battle with cancer. It went into remission a couple times, but the most recent time it came back it hit my grandpa very fast and very hard. It was so difficult to talk to my mom on the phone; I could tell she was trying her absolute hardest to hold back tears.
This is the first death in my immediate family, second overall. My cousin Jack took his own life this summer, but I knew my grandpa far better.
Nobody in my life has ever led by example more than my grandpa. He worked incredibly hard and spoke very little. He didn't have much use for words, only actions. He worked on every building and house in the town where I grew up, and did it for far cheaper than anyone else would have done it for. A few years ago, there was a large amount of flood damage to my Grandpa Fry's cabin. The insulation had to be dug out from underneath the floor and the carpeting needed to be torn up. After my dad and I got rid of the insulation and floor (which was a bitch of epic proportions), my Grandpa Fry knew he didn't have enough money to get both problems taken care of (at least not sufficiently). My Grandpa Krumm charged my other grandpa half what it should've cost, and threw in some linoleum that makes the cabin look nicer than ever. He refused every later attempt my Grandpa Fry made to give him the full amount.
That's one way I try to emulate him. He was honest and fair, more so than I will ever be. I've always gravitated more toward my father's side of the family, but in a lot of ways I wish I was more like my Grandpa Krumm.
The funeral is on Wednesday; I'm going to be home Tuesday morning through Thursday afternoon. There's a good chance I will be spending 75% of my time with my Grandma Krumm, along with the rest of my family, to make sure she isn't alone in their comfortable home for the first time in 50 years. At least until some time has passed.
My grandpa held on long enough to get to his 50th wedding anniversary with my Grandma Krumm. They celebrated it only a week before he died.
The next to last time I saw my grandpa was at a family reunion on August. My grandma said that if I had anything I needed to say to my grandpa, I'd darn well better say it. That scared me to hear. It was the first time I ever told my grandpa that I loved him. He said "Yup." It was the last thing he ever said to me, and it was fitting.
Great, now I'm crying as I write this.
I had few lengthy conversations with my grandpa, but then again, few people who weren't his own children (or my dad, whom my grandpa truly loved and respected) ever had. We didn't have much in common, but he came to EVERYTHING I did in high school. And he was proud of me. He said that a lot. He was at all the football games, the plays, the award ceremonies, whenever I hosted a band that toured through our town (even if he knew he was going to hate the band). One regret I have is that I didn't thank him enough for being there. I'm going to be doing a lot of thanking from now on.
I feel really bad for my cousins Colton, Dustin and Kenton right now. Both of their grandpas have died this year. I am very fortunate that my Grandpa Fry is the healthiest 82-year-old man I know.
I don't know how to grieve, as I have done very little of it in my life. I felt guilty that I didn't cry when Mom told me about Grandpa Krumm's death this morning. But I haven't gone 30 seconds (except when I was on-stage tonight at A.K. O'Connor's) without thinking about him and what he meant to me. And that he's not going to be there anymore. That's sinking in, and it hurts so horribly bad.
I loved you, Grandpa. I always will. I'm lucky that I lived in the same town as you, and that you got to see me grow up. When you're looking down on my life, it is my greatest wish that you are proud of who I have and will become.
This is the first death in my immediate family, second overall. My cousin Jack took his own life this summer, but I knew my grandpa far better.
Nobody in my life has ever led by example more than my grandpa. He worked incredibly hard and spoke very little. He didn't have much use for words, only actions. He worked on every building and house in the town where I grew up, and did it for far cheaper than anyone else would have done it for. A few years ago, there was a large amount of flood damage to my Grandpa Fry's cabin. The insulation had to be dug out from underneath the floor and the carpeting needed to be torn up. After my dad and I got rid of the insulation and floor (which was a bitch of epic proportions), my Grandpa Fry knew he didn't have enough money to get both problems taken care of (at least not sufficiently). My Grandpa Krumm charged my other grandpa half what it should've cost, and threw in some linoleum that makes the cabin look nicer than ever. He refused every later attempt my Grandpa Fry made to give him the full amount.
That's one way I try to emulate him. He was honest and fair, more so than I will ever be. I've always gravitated more toward my father's side of the family, but in a lot of ways I wish I was more like my Grandpa Krumm.
The funeral is on Wednesday; I'm going to be home Tuesday morning through Thursday afternoon. There's a good chance I will be spending 75% of my time with my Grandma Krumm, along with the rest of my family, to make sure she isn't alone in their comfortable home for the first time in 50 years. At least until some time has passed.
My grandpa held on long enough to get to his 50th wedding anniversary with my Grandma Krumm. They celebrated it only a week before he died.
The next to last time I saw my grandpa was at a family reunion on August. My grandma said that if I had anything I needed to say to my grandpa, I'd darn well better say it. That scared me to hear. It was the first time I ever told my grandpa that I loved him. He said "Yup." It was the last thing he ever said to me, and it was fitting.
Great, now I'm crying as I write this.
I had few lengthy conversations with my grandpa, but then again, few people who weren't his own children (or my dad, whom my grandpa truly loved and respected) ever had. We didn't have much in common, but he came to EVERYTHING I did in high school. And he was proud of me. He said that a lot. He was at all the football games, the plays, the award ceremonies, whenever I hosted a band that toured through our town (even if he knew he was going to hate the band). One regret I have is that I didn't thank him enough for being there. I'm going to be doing a lot of thanking from now on.
I feel really bad for my cousins Colton, Dustin and Kenton right now. Both of their grandpas have died this year. I am very fortunate that my Grandpa Fry is the healthiest 82-year-old man I know.
I don't know how to grieve, as I have done very little of it in my life. I felt guilty that I didn't cry when Mom told me about Grandpa Krumm's death this morning. But I haven't gone 30 seconds (except when I was on-stage tonight at A.K. O'Connor's) without thinking about him and what he meant to me. And that he's not going to be there anymore. That's sinking in, and it hurts so horribly bad.
I loved you, Grandpa. I always will. I'm lucky that I lived in the same town as you, and that you got to see me grow up. When you're looking down on my life, it is my greatest wish that you are proud of who I have and will become.