Once in a Lifetime Event 1703

I was musing today as I walked back from the mailbox. I remembered one of my favorite stories. The story involved my grandfather, my drunk uncle Kenny and my mother.

My grandfather was in a hospital in Saint Ann, Missouri and dying of anesthesia. The operation was a success, but the patient did not survive. The story begins on the night grandpa died.

My uncle was in a bar drinking when he talked to another World War Two marine. My uncle was in a marine raider battalion during the war and was trained in stealth tactics, harassing Japanese held islands before major invasions. The original special ops. He only spoke of one mission, one time when he was drunk. He was feeling sad about sneaking up on Japanese troops in the middle of the night and slitting their throats. Back to the story, the other marine in the bar had been fishing that day and caught a huge catfish. My uncle asked if he could see it. They went outside to look at the fish. The head on it was as big as a human skull. Uncle thought grandpa would like to see that and maybe it would cheer him up a bit. Uncle left the bar after closing and well after visiting hours at the hospital, but being well trained in stealth, easily slipped past a few nurses on the overnight shift and up the stairs to grandpa’s room. Grandpa was asleep (in a coma) but uncle thought he might wake up in the morning, so he placed the huge catfish head under the bed so grandpa could see it in the morning.

Grandpa died that night and never got to see the catfish head, but the next morning the shift nurse did. She was shocked, astonished and unsure of what to do. The nurse called my mother to ask her what should be done, asking if the head may have been part of some voodoo or other religious ceremony. Of course mom knew right away it was uncle Kenny and told the nurse it was okay to just throw the head away.

I know it was sad that grandpa died, but whenever I am reminded of the story it brings a smile to my face, thinking uncle did a nice thing and knowing grandpa would have enjoyed seeing the head. We buried grandpa days later, with me, my brother Tom, uncle Kenny, uncle Tom, Tim Mahoney (a young man who grandpa took fishing with us when Tim was a kid) and my father as pallbearers. It was the only time in my life when I saw those men crying as we carried the casket. It was the first time I ever cried.