My mom's father, Charles Bartlett Bingham passed away on October 3, 2012. He was 91 years old and had been suffering with Alzheimer's for a few years.
Grandfather and I in June of 2004. This was as he was preparing to move from Veyo to Salt Lake. We are standing in front of "the house on the hill" overlooking "the ranch".
The last time I saw him was during my visit in May of 2011. At that time he was living in an assisted living facility and had just had his 90th birthday. Our conversations were a bit circular, but when I would remind him of my name, he would smile and say, "Of course! My little Ambo" which is what he called me as a little girl and I knew that for that moment at least that he knew me. He loved seeing my girls and always shared small treats with them. He was such a loving man.
When I was little, Grandfather (as I always called him) seemed larger than life. I thought of him as part cowboy, part surgeon (he was an oral surgeon by profession), and part superhero. I loved watching him ride horses and work on the ranch. He was such a hard worker. He always had a project or 2 or 3 that he was working on around the land. He believed that breakfast was the most important meal of the day and he'd awaken the house with shouts of "wo-oh, wo-oh, breakfast!" at very early hours. We'd stumble downstairs and sit at the bar to be practically force-fed a breakfast with all the works--freshly squeezed orange juice, cracked wheat cereal (which I choked down with liberal amounts of brown sugar or honey and milk in it), flapjacks, soft-boiled eggs, and giant green vitamins. And no matter how you may have felt about that particular part of breakfast, your protests were drowned out with the words, "What was that you said? No? I think you meant to say, 'Yes, Grandfather!'. And he'd say that til you gave in! That big breakfast came in handy though, since no visit to the ranch was complete without a day spent helping with a "wood project"--filling the woodpile beside his work shed so they'd have enough wood to keep a roaring fire in the wood-burning stove all winter.
My earliest memories of grandfather are of climbing with him up the tall, tall tree with the tire swing around his arm.Then I'd hold onto the tree with all I had while he situated himself in the tire swing and then pulled me onto his lap before we'd FLY. All of my cousins and I remember "the ranch" or Rancho Veyo as the most magical place. We'd spend all our time there playing outside with cousins. We'd go from the trampoline (with jumping platforms alongside it), to the tire swings (with big platforms to climb in the later years), to the 3 wheelers (which I never really learned to drive after attempting once and driving into a ditch), to the barn to feed the horses or look for mice, to the house for meals and snacks and back out again. We spent hours playing rook and playing pretend and somehow mostly avoiding injuries in spite of all the possibilities. I remember the way the swamp cooler felt in the upstairs hallway and the sounds of the desert at night when we slept with the windows open. I remember watching the aunts and uncles laughing and playing games and gathering in the evenings while Grandfather read favorite stories to them from his file. He read some humorous stories (often ones he found in the Reader's Digest) and some that were more spiritual. When he got choked up, he'd pass the story onto someone else in the room to finish. He was a stalwart member of the church and served as a patriarch for many years. He gave me my patriarchal blessing when I was 14 and I can still hear the cadence of his voice when I read through it. I love him.
It was nice to see all of my Mom's side of the family at his funeral and to spend a few days with Dan's family as well. I brought Candace with me while Dan held down the fort at home. Despite being a funeral, I think most of us were just happy for Grandfather. He had become a shell of the man he once was as Alzheimer's took him from us one memory and one day at a time. He was now free of his mind and body and able to be with my Granny again after 11 years. And my mom. It broke my heart a little to watch Grandfather's surviving children and wish my mom was standing there with them.
Candace and I flew in on Friday, Oct. 5. My in-laws picked us up and we spent the night there. Grandfather's funeral was on Saturday Oct. 6 with a viewing at 10 am and the funeral itself at 11 am. It was conference weekend, and when Dad and Tyler arrived at the viewing, Tyler asked if I'd heard the big news from the morning session of conference. The mission age had been lowered! From 19 to 18 for boys and from 21 to 19 for girls. I didn't believe him. But I found out later he was telling the truth--what a change! I'm excited to see how it effects missionary work and missionaries. There was a nice luncheon after the funeral for all the cousins. With Grandfather and Granny now gone and all of my cousins and I busy with our growing families, who knows when we will all gather together like that again. It was a nice day.
Candace and I...
Tami, Tobi, Penny, Terri, Vicki, Tab, and Helmut--the surviving children
The girl cousins at the luncheon: Mikayla, Candace, Michelle, Heather, Jennie, Me, Julia, Erin, Carrie, Marissa, Jessica, and Jamie
Grandma Great and Candace in the evening after the funeral (Oct. 6)
Aunt Amberly
Jane, Heather, Michelle (and baby Alyssa)
My awesome mother-in-law. She was so helpful on this trip, taking care of Candace for a whole day so I could drive down to St. George for Grandfather's burial.
The Ranch. I'm posting all of the pictures I took because I love them all. I love this place and the memories it holds for me. The burial was on Monday Oct. 8. We left early to make the drive down, stopped off at the ranch for a quick visit, and then went to the cemetery before heading back.
The granary--it was the perfect tiny playhouse for my cousins and I
The ranch house itself. Granny and Grandfather always had noisemakers and chimes on the porch and a hummingbird feeder or two.
The work shed (note the pile of chopped wood!), the basketball and shuffleboard court, the sand volleyball pit
The backside of the ranch house with the large carport and the basement stairs
The croquet lawn. My grandfather's pride and joy in the middle of all that desert.
That red gravel/dirt that was all around. I remember how it feels and sounds under your feet and even the smell of the dust.
The remaining platform. I don't remember it having railings--we'd take the swings up there and off we'd go!
The remaining tire swing. I even sat in it and took one last swing.
Tyler climbing up to the platform.
"CBB 15 Dec. 1977 BJB Tami Vicki"
At the cemetery...
Tobi, Tami, Vicki, and Penny
We flew home on Tuesday Oct. 9. Candace got some last loves before we headed home.
