I know that this blog should have been written a long time ago, but I just couldn't bring myself to write it just yet. Back in January, just a few weeks after moving to Oxford, my grandfather Thomas Allison Doggett passed away in Orem, Utah. I have always been close to my grandfather, and even lived with him for over a year, but this put me in a unique position. I feel like I came to know my grandfather the best while I lived with him but it was during the time of his life that I think he would like to be remembered for least. Towards the end he couldn't even get up in the night to go to the bathroom without me, his food had to be pureed, there was no chance of him driving anywhere and even riding in the car was a challenge.
So as I remember my Tommy Boy do I try and record the memories of his youth that he mentioned or do I write the stories of our life together? For now I guess I will stick to those memories that I have of him and the glimpses of the young man that I was privileged to see.
Grandpa was always kind, considerate, and grateful. If I wanted to find out what he thought of a dinner I had made I could never ask "did you like dinner?" because he would always say "of course, it was delicious". Later I learned to ask him if he would like me to make the same dinner another night, he would reply if he didn't like it "well it was great but why don't we hold off on it for a little bit."
Grandpa was, and still is, a family man through and through. His wife and her needs came before everyone else. I remember once grandpa woke up from a particularly vivid and violent dream where he had murdered some intruder with a garden rake (apparently his first thought was to kill the dream robber with a sword but then he realized I wouldn't let him have a sword) and when he woke up his first thoughts were to his family and making sure Grandma and I were safe. Even when the police man Lieutenant Quigley came to the house (Grandpa of course called 9-1-1 instead of calling me) Grandpa wouldn't let me go upstairs without Lieutenant Quigley to make sure I was safe. Another time a family dispute arose. Grandpa realized that both sides were at fault but he sided with his wife. Later we talked about it and he told me that he would always side by her no matter what because that's what you do for your wife and he told me he wouldn't mind if I stood my another family member who had no one to stand up for her, as long as I knew that Grandpa knew both parties were wrong.
Sometimes I felt like living with my grandparents was like living in a whole different reality and it would rake on my nerves. The time that I looked forward to everyday, the ritual that I loved the most, that gave me strength to make it through each day and each meal, came about 6 pm every night. That's when Grandpa would go to bed. First I'd help him in the bathroom, and then i'd get his toothbrush ready so he could brush every night. Next we walked to his bedroom, his concentration on the walker and saying goodnight to his wife, while I concentrated on making sure his knees didn't buckle. The scariest part was getting grandpa into bed. He would back up until his legs were against the bed and then fall backwards and hope he was close enough. After a few more minutes of maneuvering he was finally tucked in under the covers.
Then while the sunlight fled from the yard, with squirrels gathering up the trees, and perhaps a rabbit or two darting back to the safety of their dens, Grandpa and I would talk. Just talk. Just the two of us. It was his time to talk about whatever he wanted.
Usually we talked about death and dying, what it would mean, how it would feel, where he would go, who he would see, and how to wait patiently for that moment that you never knew when it would come. Sometime he would tell me his regrets, not knowing his grandfather better, never traveling to Australia, other times he would talk about his past, sailing up and down the New England coast, his time in Japan, summers in New Hampshire, his teen years in Watertown, and other times we would talk about problems that were on his mind, would the ceiling get repainted, how would they move the Quincy crane to Romania safely, was the bridge in New Hampshire safe, how were his sisters doing, what were the angles on the ceiling light. Sometimes we could work together and try and solve the problems, but usually there were too many variables and too many unknowns for us to work them out.
It is true that Grandpa always felt his responsibilities and duties strongly but he was always a jovial man who loved to laugh and had a twinkle in the eye to accompany his quick wit. Our favorite movie was "My Fair Lady". When he wanted to make me laugh he would quote his favorite line "damn, damn, damn" which I think was partly his favorite because it was the only time he could swear and I would laugh instead of giving him The Look. The look that said 'Grandpa, you know better.' No when he quoted Professor Higgins I would chime in with a 'just you wait Henry Higgens, just you wait!' or sometimes a 'wouldn't it be lovely'.
He loved to tell stories which were what I call faction, fact and fiction. We would call it a bunch of baloney, and somedays when he would get depressed that he had no purpose in life I'd tell him, without his baloney i'd starve so I needed him around to make me some more! Grandpa was also known for his incredible vocabulary, a testament to the hours he spent in study as a teenager and throughout his life. If there was ever a word I didn't know he'd tell me to look it up in my Funken Wagnel it was a great day when I could come up with a word he didn't know!
The last advice my grandfather gave me before coming to Oxford was as follows:
1. Give em Hell
2. If in trouble - Pray
3. Don't be obstreperous
I love you Tommy D
Finally my term is over!
This is me outside of the playground we use to go visit when I was a little girl in St. James Park. I look really fat in this photo so fyi - I had almost 5 thick layers on it was so freakin' cold!
