My grandpa Bechtel is the most amazing man in my life besides my dad and Rascal (my cat). He's one of the only people who truly love and appreciate me for who I am no matter what I look like or believe in. The hardest part about his death was that I was physically and emotionally aware of his passing. I woke up in my Dad's basement to Renee typing on the computer and for some reason I knew. I could feel that he had died during the night or early morning. I felt the lack of his presence like a pressure over my heart. I closed my eyes and tried to wake up from my dream. I actually awoke to Dad shaking my shoulder gently and then it clicked; this was no dream, I was already awake. Grandpa was Dead. After Dad had told me and had gone back upstairs, I just lay on the air matress that was my current bed and tried not to scream or cry or slip into a coma (although I wished that I would). When I finally gathered the strength to be able to walk upstaris to face Dad, Renee, and Chloe without crying, I went into the Kitchen. I ate breakfast without knowing what I ate, who was in the room, or what they were saying to me. I just concentrated on trying not to break down screaming and crying. I vaguely remember getting dressed and going shopping for dressier clothes for the service; for we planned to go to Omaha the next day. I remember riding in the car for the 6-7 hour trip from Sycamore, Illinois to Omaha, Nebraska.

My first major painful moment since his death was when Grandma Bechtel invited us to a pre-service and 4th of July party at her house. I did not want to go. I started freaking out and Dad sat down and asked me why I didn't want to go.

Grandpa was not going to be there; Their home would just not be their home without him there. I didn't want to be in a place with so much him, but no physical flesh and blood representation. I wouldn't be able to deal without him there.

Dad finally calmed me down enough for me to agree to go. I don't remember much about the party; I spoke to people I didn't know, but knew me from my childhood; I ate food that must have been good because Grandma had to keep refilling the hors 'd' vours plates in the kitchen; I walked around a lot, outside and in the basement mainly. I was looking for some part of the house that was him. I ended up talking quite a while to Andrea (my cousin) and it must have been funny because the parents and grandparents above us on the deck asked us to quiet down a bit. After Grandma's party we went to Aunt Laura's house and shot off fireworks. Happy 4th.

The next day was Grandpa's service. All of his close family was sent to a large meeting room in the Church to wait to be seated. I greeted people with my Aunts and Uncles and Dad from my seat. Some I knew well; Some I'd never met. After about 30-45 minutes (the amount of time it took for the Church to overflow with his friends and patients) a man came in to take us to the main church room where the service was to take place. The first 4-5 pews were reserved for our family. I was seated inbetween my Uncle Martin and Andrea. I kept it together surprisingly easily during the service; until the soloist came out to sing songs for the service. I held it up through the whole first song, but when it got to Josh Groban's "You Raise Me Up"; I couldn't hold it anymore. I let silent, sobless tears fall as Uncle Martin tried to comfort me by rubbing my arm and my back. It didn't help:

"You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up. to walk on stormy seas.
You raise me up to more than I can be."

I would like to think that if Grandpa picked a favourite grandchild, it would be me. Not to know that he loved me most, but to know that he cared for me as much as I cared for him. He was my favourite Grandparent.

I miss Melvin Bechtel very much. Sometimes so much I can't bear it. Knowing what he looked like the last days of his life. The too skinny, completely bald, pale, weak, and small man that could only lay in the hospital bed. Constantly in pain. When I saw him during the chemo. the only things that told me it was him lying in that bed were his hands, nose, and voice. Everything else hinted toward a stranger.

I never really got closure. One day I just no longer felt his presence on this earth and never saw him again.

I still remember the last thing I said to him in that too white, too sterile room:
"I love you Grandpa.
I'll see you soon."
I couldn't bring myself to hug him a last time for fear that I would begin crying.

As I got in the elevator to leave with my dad, I was praying to God that my dad wouldn't speak, so that he wouldn't see and hear my tears.

I miss my grandpa soo much.

I wish I'd had more time with him; building something in his workshop; riding in his car just talking about nothing in particular; going with him to the Children's Museum as a child.

I will proudly carry his last name: the only of his grandchildren to have it: until the day I die. Any children I have will also have his name. He's the greatest man I know.

I love you Grandpa.

I'll see you soon.
~Kelsey