Memories of Gil/Dad/Grandpa Nihart

By Beverly Call, Step-Daughter

The following is a copy of the memories of Gil/Dad/Grandpa given at his funeral, Oct. 2, 2009. In the opening remarks thanked the grandchildren for the impromptu singing of “Amazing Grace.” This was only a fraction of Gil’s grandchildren representing their willingness to show their respects in honor of him. Acknowledgement was also given to Tom, Gil’s oldest son, who had traveled a really long distance to be present, and to Tom’s daughter, Victoria (grand-daughter) who was at her father’s side.

Apologies were expressed for my inability to include all the wonderful memories submitted to the blog with admonishment for others to take the time to read those accounts directly. As I tried to extrapolate memories from the blog, I found that I was losing the richness of each individual tribute. And so, I chose to speak primarily from my own memories.

When someone passes, we seem to want to express the significance of their life in a way that we can each claim a special place in it. I was reading the grandchildren’s bolgs and realized that we all own a piece of Grandpa and that he owned a bit of us too. I wonder what wonderful stories he is now relating to his loved ones about us as we share stories of him.

I too have a special claim to him, for perhaps, I was the first one of Mom’s children to open the door and let him into our lives.

Mom was going on a date with a mysterious man whose identity she refused to divulge, but I knew whoever this person was, he must be magical, since Mom wasn’t crying any more and she seemed to be anticipating his arrival in a way that gave life to her step and a smile back to her face. This was my mom - she had been lost for such a long time.

I opened the door to a slender, chiseled featured, ‘Marlboro Man’, with slicked down hair, and gleaming eyes. His voice was gentle with overtones of laughter intertwined between his words. He energetically patted the dog, said something about his cockapoo and his children and whisked mom away. There was an unmistakable attraction between them, and I liked him. In a matter of minutes, he had come and gone, leaving unseen vibrations behind that breathed new life into our home.

I have called him Gil for most of my life. I loved him because he was my mother’s husband. I loved him because he came into our life when we so desperately needed him. I loved him because he was authentic and full of surprises. I loved him because he loved our mother and in turn us because we were hers. Our children knew him as their grandfather. He sent flowers when we gave birth, attended birthdays, weddings, and took trips with us and our children.

When Mom and Gil married, he brought one heirloom clock, wrapped in a towel, as his soul contribution to the household. He soon discovered that Mom loved clocks and the home was eventually filled with clocks counting out the moments punctuated by melodic chiming orchestrating the days they spent together. I was rarely with Gil without Mom. They would come to visit together, eat together, went to work together. If it weren’t for the times he’d roar off in his supped up car stating “See ya in the funny papers,” they would have never been apart.

After Mom retired, they moved several doors down from me, where for the next nineteen years, I had time to get to know him even better. To me, Gil was a study of contradiction and extremes. I never knew when he would want to take me aside to see the roses in bloom, marvel at a fruit ladened tree or hear something horrific on the news. He could be complementary saying sweet things like “I thought you were an Angel”, or rack my nerves with dire predictions that my trees were about to fall on my house and I could lose my job.

He wasn’t one for pretentious conversation; He loved to tell a good story and even loved it more if Mom would embellish it. In his later years, he loved to listen while mom talked on the phone. She would say some outlandish remark about what Gil had done today and you would hear him denying every word of it, while chuckling in the background, reviling in the attention and proud to have once again managed to get her hackles up.

When they were together there was laughter, sometimes childlike sparring, mixed with quiet romantic moments. Gil courted her with flowers, cards, and yes loves letters, which continued throughout the years. He enjoyed her decorating (except the twin beds) declaring “There goes my love life”. He also enjoyed her music, her cooking, her writing, and even liked her to “decorate” her face. He would go shopping with her and wait outside the stores patiently for hours while she tried on clothes. He would be visibly disappointed if she didn’t make a purchase. He loved to retell about how he had surprised her with tickets to Hawaii - with less than a day to get ready and to the airport. She never knew what car he would be bringing home, but she knew it would be reliable and she could count on him to keep it serviced. One memory that stands out in my mind is Gil lugging two large hot pink suitcases down the front porch stairs bragging “My woman sure knows how to dress.” He never complained about Mom being a women and he seemed to really enjoy her feminine company.

Five years ago, I traveled one more time with Gil and Mom to Gil’s final home here on earth. Here he has been surrounded by love, attention, and care.

Although Gil recently lived mostly in the moment, and was unable to recall much of the past, he never tired of learning about his surroundings and what was going on. He especially enjoyed following the evening news, the 2008 campaign/elections, and watching Lawrence Whelk reruns. To Gil, television was an event to be shared and enjoyed with others.

Only the thoughts most deeply etched in his memory would surface from time to time. His strong work ethic and desire to be self-sufficient was expressed after 9/11 when Gil wondered if he should sign up again with the air force to help our country; He thought the extra income would help with the finances. About a year ago, he inquired as to how they were able to live and thought he should be working. Mom reminded him that he had worked most of his life and now was retired. This summer he started to confuse his children and thought I was Kathy, his only daughter. He was overjoyed to see her again. It was a fleeting moment, and he was saddened to be told that it was me. I think it should bring great joy to his children to know how deeply they were imprinted in his heart and in his mind.

Gil was a believer. He believed in God. He believed in the goodness of life. A meal was never eaten with out “Giving Thanks”. He asked for blessings for those less fortunate, and he blessed the hands that prepared the food. He was grateful for the little things. He believed in the power of one. He personally wrote the President when he felt the government was running amuck. He dedicated time and money into compiling his best sermons into printed pamphlets and then stood outside of the grocery store and handed them all out. When I asked him “why?” He stated he felt prompted to do so.

When he retired from teaching, a banner was stretched across the street declaring Mr. Nihart Days and all the students wore paper ties in his honor. At my ten-year Ramona High School Reunion, when my former classmates heard that my mother had married Mr. Nihart, I was practically mobbed by them - many declaring him their favorite teacher. He believed he could make a difference in the lives of others, and I believe he was right.

I realize now that it was not Gil who was extreme and sometimes contradictory, but life. Gil showed an array of feelings and emotions as easily as a child. He was able to embraced life’s extremes – sunset/sunrise, summer/winter, season after season, year after year, spanning nearly a century. He never gave up on wanting a new adventure or the chance to relive an old one.

About a week ago, he wanted to go somewhere, to “get out of this place”. So mom and Gil took their last journey together. With words, Mom painted a visual image and Gil followed along. They took Highway 6 to Bishop and stopped at Whisky Creek Inn for dinner. Bought pastries and milk at the World Famous Shepherds Bakery to take to the hotel and eat in bed while watching T.V. On the way home, they contemplated stopping off to visit Laura and Dave, but Gil said “I just want to go home,” and he fell asleep to thoughts of going home. Mom returned to his side two more times, and it was on the last visit that she told him to not wait for her here, but to go on and she would come. She didn’t know it at the time – but he was getting his wish. He was going home.

He packed light and leaves behind memories of the conch shell, whistling, runner’s shoes, big brimmed hats, beautiful gardens and lawns, fast cars, airplanes, fruit stands, trucking, teaching, the best Texas grapefruits, giant sized aluminum wrapped moth balls - to ward off deer, ladders, chain saws, roofing, desert cactus, romantic poetry and music. Family Home Evenings where he was the worlds best Button-Button hider, silver mines, [early morning breakfast at the Diner], nose tweaks, and so much more: A wife, and children that can all proudly call him “Dad”, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

My thoughts are too full to express all the funny, fun times I’ve enjoyed with him, but I will try to write them down on the blog.

In the meantime, if there is one thing I wish to say it would be – Thanks Dad, Thanks for sharing your life with all of us. Thanks for loving us. Most of all, thanks for loving Mom, and thanks for being you.