Twenty years ago today, my paternal grandfather, Livingston Gifford Gardner, died. It wasn’t unexpected. Grandpa had been sick for as long as I could remember and we’d gotten a call in early December 1994 saying that doctors gave him about a month to live.

Although he’d been sick for close to 20 years, I can’t remember the name of what he had. His illness claimed both of his legs in separate amputations, but he always looked on the bright side of things and I never once heard him complain.

Grandpa was an incredibly generous and compassionate man. He was involved in the early days of Lambs Farm when he and his company, Pioneer Pet Supply, donated the inventory that helped begin the pet store staffed by people with developmental disabilities. That pet store eventually became Lambs Farm and Grandpa sat on their Board of Directors from their inception until 1977, when he and Grandma moved to Sanibel Island, Fla.

In the Summer of 1980, Grandpa introduced me to politics as we watched Ronald Reagan accept the nomination for president at the Republican National Committee. I remember sitting at his knee on the lanai of his and Grandma’s Sanibel Island home, sharing his favorite snack of peanut butter on Ritz Crackers as he shared with me how Ronald Reagan would change the world. I fell in love with politics that summer and think of Grandpa every time I vote.

Grandma and Grandpa had five children – Giff, John (my dad), Jeff, Kathy, and Ray – and after the mid-1970s, they were spread between Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, and Colorado. Because it was not easy keeping up with everyone, every month without fail, Grandpa would write a family letter summarizing all the news. Of course, this was long before the internet including email and Facebook, so these monthly letters were the best way to keep up with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I always loved it when I received a shout-out from Grandpa.

My favorite memory of Grandpa is our annual bet on the All-Star Baseball Game in July. Even though he grew up on the North Shore, Grandpa had the unfortunate affliction of being a die-hard White Sox fan, while I have bled Cubbie Blue for my entire life. The bet was simple: He took the American League and I had the National League. Originally we bet 25¢, but we eventually increased our bet to $1.00. Even though we both knew we were betting, our official rules stated that we had to seal the deal with a phone call prior to the first pitch. We both paid up promptly when we lost, although one year, I had to invoice Grandpa because he was a bit lax in his payment.

About 4 or 5 weeks before Grandpa died, the call came saying he had a month or maybe six weeks to live. I was devastated. He would be my first grandparent to die in my lifetime and I just didn’t know how to process it. I cried and cried and then did the only thing I could think of to do: I booked a ticket to Florida for early January.

I remember my parents trying to talk me out of the weekend trip. They insisted I’d regret seeing Grandpa in the state he was in those final few weeks. He wouldn’t recognize me and he couldn’t talk, they said. I went anyway. My dad was already in Fort Myers when I arrived.

We visited with Grandma and then went over to the nursing home to see Grandpa. He didn’t look much like I remembered, and although he was mostly non-verbal, he still had his laugh as Dad, Grandma, and I shared stories and memories. I even fed him.

Although I’d been pretty stoic for the entire weekend, on my last night in Fort Myers, I was very emotional. About 9:00, I told my dad I was going for a walk and would be right back, but I had to see Grandpa one last time. I sat in his room, held his hand, and spoke to him for what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than an hour. Visiting hours had long ended, but the nurses never asked me to leave.

Eventually, dad found me and all but had to physically remove me from Grandpa’s room. I simply didn’t want to say good-bye.

Grandpa hadn’t coherently spoken all weekend, but as Dad and I walked out of his room, I turned around one last time and said, “Good bye. I love you Grandpa.” Clear as day and without missing a beat, Grandpa replied, “I love you, Jessica.”

I boarded my flight back to D.C. early the next morning and sobbed from the moment I boarded until the moment I walked back into my office.

Grandpa died peacefully a couple of nights later. Although it was incredibly painful seeing Grandpa in those final days, I’ve never regretted that trip for one moment and I’ll always his final words to me in my heart. It’s hard to believe that it’s been 20 years since he passed away because I still miss him. Fortunately, he still visits me every so often in a dream.

In researching Grandpa recently, I came across some pretty cool documents that I’d never seen before:

• “Obituary of Livingston Gifford, Ph.B. 1875,” Yale University Obituary Record, 1936-1937, p. 140. (Livington Gifford was Grandpa’s grandfather and Grandpa was a member of the Yale Class of 1940)
• “Henry Gardners tell betrothal of Marie Louise,” Chicago Daily Tribune, Oct. 3, 1938, p. 15. (Marie Louise was one of Grandpa’s sisters)
• “Miss Peggy Bear’s Engagement to Gifford Gardner Announced,” Chicago Daily Tribune, Mar. 31, 1941, p. 13.
• “Obituary of Livingston Gifford Gardner,” Chicago Tribune, Jan. 21, 1995. (I’ve seen Grandpa’s obituary before).
• “L. Gifford Gardner; Helped Teachers Found Lambs Farm,” Chicago Sun-Times, Jan. 21, 1995. (I’d never seen this obituary until tonight)

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