The day after Xmas, we found out that Grandpa Christensen had passed away. He was 92 years old and had lived a nice full life. We were all grateful that Grandpa was able to be freed from the confines of his aged body. He hadn't been able to move or communicate very well. The week before his passing, Grandma had to feed him. Taking care of Grandpa had been a strain on Grandma so we hope she can get some rest now and feel better.
His funeral was held Wednesday, December 30th with a viewing beforehand. Normally I have a really hard time with corpses since it never looks like the person to me without the spirit inside. However, there were something about the expression on Grandpa's face that was warm. He had aged considerably since I had last seen him, but it was definitely the Grandpa I loved. I looked at his hands and you could tell he was a man who always labored. I am glad he has found rest.
There were some great stories shared about Grandpa. Here are some of them.
As told by Aunt Sonia:
My dad love the history of Manassa. He enjoyed driving through town pointing out the places he had lived as a boy and where others had lived. He enjoyed telling stories from his childhood. One of his favorites was about the time when he and Otho Bagwell decided to play hooky from school. They were in the first grade. The story went like this.
My dad: “Why don’t we play hooky today?”
Otho: “How do you play it?”
Dad: “Well, I don’t know. You just don’t go to school. You do something else.”
Otho: “Where shall we go?”
Dad: “I know where there is a new baby we can see.”
So, they went to see the new baby, whose surprised mother asked “why aren’t you boys in school?”, to which they replied “we are playing hooky.” They visited various other residents of the town, confessing to each that they were playing hooky until they ran out of ideas, so my dad suggested that they could go play at his house. My surprised grandmother asked why they were home, and to her they explained that they were playing hooky, and then explained that they shouldn’t do that.
Another story I liked was about when he and uncle Alfred caught a ride to town in the milk truck. The milk truck was probably a model T, they sat in the back on top of the milk cans. At the corner, the truck lost it’s brakes and crashed into the ditch. Milk spilled and cans rolled and boys and the driver were rattled. No one was seriously hurt, but Uncle Alfred never did find one of his books among all the spilled milk and cans.
My dad had a sweet tooth which I think we all inherited. He loved to drink home made root beer, eat watermelon and even ate tomatoes sprinkled with a little sugar. He always preferred the corner piece of cake as it had thicker icing (grandma’s penuche frosting on applesauce cake comes to mind). We all liked to go with him when he took an animal to the Alamosa cattle auction because when all the selling and buying were done, we always went to the A&W and had a banana split for lunch. That never happened when we went to Alamosa with my mother.
One of my best early childhood memories is of the day that my dad took me, Miriam, Lowell and our dear cousins Wanda, Shirley, Marie Christensen and Vincent Echols to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs at the theater in Alamosa. We each got to buy our favorite candy, then we sat together in the theater to watch that thrilling movie.
He worked hard into his 80s and was noted for his strength. Once he stopped in New Mexico to aid a young man whose motorcycle had died along the road. He lifted that motorcycle into his truck surprising it’s young rider who commented about how strong he was. Just a few years ago, Wendell and I were visiting in the summer and my dad went outside to trim the lower branches of the evergreen which stands just to the south of the little house on the corner, so the house could be warmed by the sun. We saw him out there standing on a ladder with the chainsaw raised, and Wendell said “I think I better go help your dad”. Awhile later, Wendell came in worn out and had to lie down, and my dad was still out there working. (the effect of that altitude on people coming from sea level is part of the story, but his stamina and strength exceeded our, even so).
Grandpa served in WWII in the Philippines as an MP. Shortly after arriving, Grandpa was at the post office when a bomb was thrown, landing at his feet. The bomb didn't detonate but broke into pieces in front of him. He tried to pick up a piece of it and it burned his fingertips it was so hot. It really didn't make sense why it hadn't detonated, but he always told his family that God had protected him from harm. While serving in the army, he didn't write a whole lot about what he saw; his journal entries mainly outlined ordinary things of army life. He served as a spotlight operator.
After the war, he went home for a few years to help his family with the farm. He was in his 30's when he decided to serve a mission for the Church and was called to Uruguay for 2 1/2 years. He had been corresponding with Grandma, who was one of his classmates from school. He bought her a ring in Brazil on his way home from the mission.
Mom shared a funny story. She said there was a major house rule when she was growing up: absolutely no jumping on the bed. The mattresses were old and jumping would cause it to collapse. The mattresses were really heavy and fixing it was a difficult task.
We all know rules are made to be broken. Mom and Sonia (and maybe Lowell?) were jumping on the beds, and sure enough, one collapsed. They were all scared but went to fetch their dad. He was perturbed for sure. The kids stood and watched while he worked to fix the bed. They were sure that they would get some kind of punishment for breaking the rule.
While Grandpa was lifting the bed, he passed gas. Mom said that was something he never EVER did in front of them. They all started giggling. He turned around and cracked up. It broke the tension, and they didn't get in trouble.
There were many sweet stories about Grandpa. He was always a kind man. It is hard for me to imagine him being angry at all. We will all miss him a lot and look forward to the day when we will see him again. I can't wait for my baby to meet him.
