Grandpa, it’s my birthday

It was another hot humid day, after a rain shower the previous night. A neighbor called about putting some of his beef cattle on a pasture next to ours, but a tree of ours had fallen on the fence. Four boys and their grandpa were on a mission with our fencing trailer, an old tractor and a UTV to go fix that fence. We drove the fencing trailer as close as we could, but we were still probably 400 yards away from the broken fence. Ira carried the power saw, Dane had a roll of barbwire, Henry had the tool pail, Finley had the wire stretcher, and I had a post and a driver.

The weeds were so tall we should’ve brought a machete. In the marsh we couldn’t stay on top of the grass and frequently fell into the water. Finally, we reached the stream. Normally it would be below our boots, but, with all the rain this summer, it wasn’t. Finley was ahead of me and filled one of his boots with water when he stepped in a deeper spot, but that didn’t stop him. He walked the whole way through. By the time I crossed the creek, both of my boots were full of water. We continued through another part of the marsh and finally reached the base of the hill where the down tree was. Ira cut up the tree and then we fixed the hole. We used the post and left the wire that wasn’t needed on another post. And then the kids went back through the same way that we came. I decided to walk the high ground, which turned out to be a longer trip than they had. The previous winter, loggers had cut a lot of huge trees; the tree tops were lying in every direction, so it was impossible to walk a straight line to get back to our field road. I was exhausted by the time I got there, but the kids did wait for me.

When we got back, I asked the boys, “Do you want to roast some hotdogs and marshmallows at my house just before dark tonight?”

“Sure, Grandpa.”

It was something we had wanted to do the previous week but postponed in order to prepare for Keith’s memorial tractor pull. Henry and Finley came over early and started the bonfire with dry wood that was in the shed.

“Grandpa, do you know when my birthday is?”

“No, Finley. When is it?”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“What day is that, Finley?”

“July 2nd, Grandpa.”

Cora came and joined the party; everyone roasted their wieners and marshmallows and had root beers. I asked Finley, “What day is your birthday again, Finley? Is it the Fourth of July?”

“No, Grandpa, it’s July 2nd.”

I was just kidding him because he’s a nonstop talker. We have no visible neighbors so I brought out a box of fireworks and said, “Here you go boys. Light ‘em up.”

They had fun running around like all kids do and were careful. There were two boxes left over and Finley asked me, “What are those for, Grandpa?”

“Finley, those are for your birthday.”

On July 2nd, I texted Stacy at 6 a.m. to wish Finley a happy birthday from me, which I probably would have forgotten had he not kept asking me about it. Later on that morning, she replied that he had thanked me for the text.

Around 2 p.m. that day, I got a frantic phone call from Jacqui. “You need to come to the hospital now,” she said.

I was 12 miles away from the hospital and the haybine only travels 13 miles an hour, so I drove to a neighbor and borrowed a car. As I was driving past the hospital, the med flight helicopter was landing. “This is not good,” I thought.

The emergency room was filled with family members. Finley’s mother, father, brother, cousins, all of his uncles and aunts, and close friends. Within a few minutes, the doctor came out and described how they had tried to resuscitate Finley, but were unable. Finley had been having fun on a little two-wheel-drive ATV and there had been an accident.

The outpouring of love and support for our family has been incredible – from our local community, our extended family, and many, many others.

Finley was a jibber-jabber. Sometimes I thought he could breathe through his skin so that he could keep talking. He talked so fast, but clearly. He had this mischievous smile that somehow asked, “Am I in trouble or do you have another job for me?”

Finley loved basketball and helping the farm’s fair kids. He also helped other kids in school. He could put a smile on just about anybody’s face. Finley’s final gift was helping over 50 people through tissue donation.

Finley, we will always remember you and your birthday.