"WAKE ME UP THE DAY BEFORE TURKEY SEASON."

To say my grandfather Wray Osterhout and I were close is an understatement. When the old man went to Korea 3 days after i was born, on a hot August morning in 1952, Gramp was the one, along with my mother, who I imprinted on. For my first 14 months of life he was my father. Then a stranger walked in the door of our tin can trailer and took my mother's hand and attention away from me. Before I knew it i had a couple of brothers and.....well you can guess the rest. My life as an only child in that trailer with my beautiful mom and visiting, doting grandfather had come to an abrupt end. Traumatic? You have no idea.

Fast forward 57 years and here I am living a couple miles from the family cabin my grandfather built at Wolf Lake, an artist, a church builder, a carpenter, a turkey hunter. I just got home from my parent's house in Ct. All my brothers and my sister were there. I'm exhausted. They asked why I wasn't posting on this blog. I told them I didn't have anything to say. And this was true. Turkey season wasn't until May and I was at a loss for words. Work and planning for the Mortgage Burning Church was taking up most of my time......oh and by the way my father was dying.

When my grandfather died i remember my old man telling me he knew how close we were and he was close to him as well, so he could relate. He knew I was hurting and angry and pissed off at the world. We had that in common and he hoped maybe we could build on that and......then he kind of dropped it. I appreciated his condolences, but knew he never could have loved that old coot as much as I did. You have no idea.

Until I was about 22 or 23 we butted heads constantly. (And still do from time to time.) But then a funny thing happened. As I matured we became friends. We accepted each other. And about that same time he began to drill in me the importance of a close family. "Did you call your brother, sister, neice, nephew, etc, etc. ?" became his mantra. He may have loved his father, but he never had ties with his sibs. He didn't want that to happen to us. And it didn't. There's only one or two people in this world I like hanging out with as much as my family. And I have a lot of really fun, great looking, cool as shit friends. So when i get the call that all of my siblings are gathering at my folk's house and my presence is requested i get in the car and go.

The old man watched his old man die in the mid-sixties and it shook him. Now we are watching ours go and tough doesn't come close. Plus mom has been sick for years and seems in the pink compared to dad. Yet, no small part due to the upbringing we have received from these two amazing people, this is no sick house of mourning. We are always loud. But now we are louder. I bring hymns to sing with titles like "I'd like to Make the World Ashamed" and "Snatch of Ages". Duke brings rum and cooks a ham. The kids from the youngest great grand daughter up, lounge and join in the razing and bull. Bird and I undress and dress the old man as he bitches, grumbles and lets us. He tells Bird to wake him up the day before turkey season. As the night progresses we cry, laugh, argue, drink, cry some more, fight, cuss each other, run away, come back, get hurt, kiss and hug, drink some more and tell each other how much we goddamn love each other. I have no idea how we will survive without our parents and feel like I'm the first person on earth to have dealt with such a great loss. You have no idea.