Good Night, Walt

We'll see you soon.

Walter Houston Slusser, Paw-Paw to Michael and me, passed away Wednesday, October 10. Happily, we know he went home to Jesus, so in eternal terms, it won't be long until we are all catching up again, hugging and listening to stories about Paw-Paw's days as a railroad detective, WWII Navy mechanic, and filling station owner (ever wonder why I am partial to Chevron? Paw-Paw owned a station for 23 years).

His most important roles? Being the love of my grandmother's life for 62 years and the father of four children, my wonderful daddy included.

After a very healthy and full life, Paw-Paw struggled with Alzheimer's Disease over the past 4 years or so, then a serious deterioration in his general health over the past 10 months. The picture below is from 2005--his body was still good, but the mind was melding memories from the past when he spoke. Joanna and my cousin and I were not granddaughters in his mind anymore, but sweet, pretty girls who came to listen to him tell about his successes and exploits in his younger days.


He had been in convalescent care since June of this year, and was about half the weight he is in these pictures. Mom and Dad asked me to come down when he was moved into professional care after I got home from Uganda in June, because it looked then like he might not be with us for too long. He actually started to thrive a little, however, so though we knew this would be his last stop on Earth, it looked like he could be with us for a decent stretch. I resigned myself to receiving one of those late night phone calls in Idaho when something happened to him, and having to make arrangements to fly down to join my family when he passed. God, however, had a much more beautiful plan.

I was in California meeting with ministry supporters and churches for the first two weeks of October. On the Wednesday afternoon of the second week, my mom received a call from my uncle; the home had alerted the family that Paw-Paw had stopped eating and taking his medications, and that he was at the stage where he could be with us for a few hours, or five or six days--they just couldn't say. It worked out that Dad, Mom, Michael, and I could get in the car and head right down to San Gabriel that evening; Joanna wonderfully agreed to stay home with the kiddos so Michael could join us.

We arrived to meet my Grandma Quack-Quack and my aunt in Paw-Paw's room. The next 90 minutes were spent holding Paw-Paw's hands, cooling his fever with a damp cloth, stroking his hair, and talking to him, though he could no longer respond vocally to us. We sang some hymns to him, and some Christmas carols and songs from the 40s--his lips tried to stretch to sing. Michael read to him from the Bible, and we said thank you for all he had done for us, and meant to us--he built scooters for Michael and me when we were small, taught me how to blow the wrapper off a Popsicle, set off sparklers and snakes with us on the 4th of July, pointed out every road runner on a cross-country trip when I was five-years-old, made me tapes of Country Bear Jamboree and Winnie-the-Pooh, and let me spend hours at his Chevron station jumping on the tire bell, sitting at his big desk looking at old family photos under the glass top, and drinking orange pop from an ancient soda bottle dispenser.

We reminded him that all his children know the Lord, and all his grandchildren, too--even his first two great-grandchildren. We whispered, "All is well; we'll see you soon."


We actually went around the corner to Monrovia for dinner, and after interminably slow service at the restaurant, we were at Starbucks getting coffee for the drive home when the phone rang again--these were his final moments if we wanted to hurry back. We were able to turn right around and head back to the home for the final goodbye. If dinner had been served at a normal pace, we would have been half-way back to San Bernardino when that call came. God's timing is awesome!

Good night, Paw-Paw. Love you a bushel and a peck!