Flashback Friday-Granddad Waggoner

It's been 15 years ago this April since my granddad died.  That's a long time, seeing as how it's about half of my life.  I was looking through my scrapbook this week and ran across some pictures of him and realized that I have never written about him.  That's sad, considering that he loved me so much.  He was only 68 when he died.

1981

My granddad didn't have any daughters; he only had my dad.  My dad ended up with one boy and four girls (poor thing) and I was the first granddaughter.  Actually, I was the first granddaughter on both my mom and dad's sides.  Needless to say, I was spoiled and everyone thought that everything I did was adorable....until my brother and sister (the twins) were born and ruined my life!  Haha, just kidding, Ash and Ty.  But in all seriousness, in every picture of me from 2 to 3, I am sporting a sad, frowny face.  My mom says that everyone would freak out about the twins in public and I would put my head down and get sad because I was immediately invisible.  My mom felt bad and taught me to speak up and demand to be seen.  I would get in the way of their stroller and say "I AM THEIR BIG SISTER, BRITTANY!"  But I've now gotten off the subject.  Anyway, my granddad spoiled me to death and loved me very much, even after the twins were born.  My mom says that when I came along, his heart immediately softened and he was a different person. 

Taking a nap together....looks like he was the one sleeping

A few things about him.....he used to watch Shirley Temple movies with me and watch me sing and dance on the coffee table.  He let me do crazy things to his hair; he always ended up with about 20 pony tails.  He used to take me to the store and buy me Fruit Roll-ups when I was a toddler and I always told him that my mom let me get two boxes, which wasn't true.  I wasn't allowed ANY boxes.  He knew I was fibbing, but he bought them anyway.  My granddad was sweet, but he wasn't so to my grandma.  He always said "Dammit, Betty," which is what I called my grandma for a while because I thought that that was her name.  He never did take that as a clue to stop.  He liked the word "Dammit" a lot. When I was 3 and in the car with him I said "Grandad, put your seatbelt on, dammit!"  Of course, he thought it was cute...or so I hear. 

I loved Shirley Temple, probably because of my granddad.
I am on the right in the tutu, the enormous doll is in the middle,
and my sister, Ashli, is on the left.

He used to pay me for artwork until I was around 10 years old.  I stopped drawing them because I thought he was getting ripped off.  My pictures sucked, but he would give me a dollar or two per picture.  I starting to do the Picasso thing, or something you would call abstract, but if I were being honest, I would call it what it really was...a lazy scribble....I couldn't draw with a clear conscience at that point.  When I quit drawing pictures for cash, he would give me dollar bills just for visiting him.  I would get up to leave (even as a teenager) and he would say "Wait!"  He'd reach into his billfold and pull out some cash.  He always had my grandma get 5's and 1's so he could give us each some money.

When I was little, he would take me to basketball games where the cheerleaders would fuss over my pig tails and chubby cheeks.  He loved that, or so I hear he did.  I don't remember.  When I got older, I was a cheerleader.  Anything about our football team that was in the paper, he cut out and gave to me.  I was in the paper a few times and he made sure to put those in "Brittany's folder" too.  When he died, I got a fat file folder and discovered that he had saved every picture I had made for him along with every article about any school I ever went to.  He saved everything. 

He wrote me letters when I was living up north with my mom.  This
one is so cute because he is all excited that he can write me; I am "the only
grandchild who can read!"

I don't remember my granddad ever walking. I only remember him being in a wheelchair because he had diabetes, very bad diabetes.  I remember watching him give himself insulin shots.  I sat and watched, mesmerized, until it was so normal that I didn't realize how very sick he was.  I took his life for granted because he was sick the entire time I was alive.  One time he went into shock and I was the only one there.  I found him, collapsed and passed out on the floor.  I remember thinking he was dead as I panicked and called 911. My grandma was a diabetic too (they weren't healthy at all) and she went into shock and was passed out on the floor when I was around 2 or 3.  I remember that too; I was alone with her.  I think about it now and realize what a terrible disease it is; I really didn't realize how sick they were.

My granddad had to have part of his foot amputated because diabetics lose circulation in their feet, and I guess he got an infection and it turned gangrene.  He had tried to hide it, but I remember seeing it and getting very upset.  The morning of his surgery, I was 17, and I came over to see him.  I told him I loved him and that I would see him later.  I hugged him and acted as if I would see him again, because I thought that I would.  He'd had surgeries before and I didn't see how a foot amputation would be serious.  I was a dumb kid.

I went to school and at the end of the day; I went home with my friend, Jamie.  I remember sitting in her living room and I popped up and said "I need to call my granddad.  He is in the hospital and I need to check on him."  I called him and he seemed fine.  I remember telling him how my day was and telling him I loved him.  He said "Brittany, that meant so much that you came to see me this morning.  I realize how loved I am!  You're such a special girl and you mean so much to me!  You've always been such a sweet girl!  Granddad loves you very much."  He sounded so happy and proud of me, and honestly, I didn't think it was that big of a deal that I went to see him.  Why wouldn't I?  He was my granddad.  He was the happiest I had ever heard him.  I said goodbye and that I loved him and told him I would come to see him soon.

That night I stayed at Jamie's and got a phone call at 3 in the morning.  My granddad had a heart attack from the medication and he died.  I had an extra hard time with it because I hadn't been prepared for it.  I didn't understand how he had made it through the surgery and then died later.  Also, losing him came at a really bad time.  From December to April, I had totaled a car by flipping it 4 times and landing upside down; it was a miracle that we hadn't been killed.  My sister has a scar down her back, which I still feel guilty about, and she had a friend in the car who could have been killed....all three of us were very lucky, but still cut up from climbing out of the car onto the glass that had been all of the windows, and all because I didn't know how to control a car when hitting water.  I felt so much remorse.  I lost about 10 or 15 pounds from anxiety and had nightmares for months about car accidents.  I couldn't drive anymore because I too scared.  My grades went down the tubes because I felt bad and couldn't sleep, which led me to get kicked out of Anchor and  kept me from cheering my senior year.  On top of that, my dad and step-mom were getting divorced and I was separated from my sisters....along with my other sister and brother, who lived with my mom.  That year sucked.  Losing Granddad was the worst, and I didn't deal with it at all.  The day of the funeral, I went to Disney World with my boyfriend.  It was his idea, but I went, and it was weird.  I refused to cry or get upset about anything, but that summer, I cried a lot and finally dealt with everything. 

I think that when my granddad died, it was almost the hardest to watch my dad.  My dad and his dad were so close.  I almost feel like my dad didn't make a move without talking to him first.  Now he had lost his best friend.  It was really hard for him, as it always is when someone dies. 

I may not think about him a lot, but I have always been so thankful that I went to see him that morning and that I called him after school.  I don't think that there could have been better words exchanged for the last time I was going to talk to him.   I know he loved me.  I wish he could see my kids, but I feel like he probably does.

Here are some more old pictures:

My Granddad owned some land and he gave it to the city, but the condition
was that the trails in the park were to be named after his grandchildren.  My trail is spelled wrong.
Here are my cousins and brother and sister posing with my sign. Don't have a clue where I was. 

My mom and my dad with me at Sea World

Nice mustache, dad!  HA! This is at my grandparents' house and
this is my very first memory.  I have written about this before.  I was
15 months old.  I remember getting whiskers painted on my face.

This is me before my brother and sister were born.

And then they ruined my life and cried all of the time. ;)

One last thing....have you ever seen a prissier child?  I only wore dresses. They are ridiculous!  No wonder I never played soccer or anything that required getting dirty!

My dresses all had bells in them so when I swished, I jingled.