Mickey Othic

"Sam, you just keep gettin' uglier every time I see you!"

Grandpa would say that to me on a regular basis during my visits to his house. He knew it would make me smile. Out of amusement when I was younger...and eventually, as I grew older, out of habit. He loved to make me smile. So much so, that when he'd get his desired reaction, he too, would chuckle. Usually he would throw in a, "You know it!?" Just to drive home his point.

Tonight my grandfather died. I'm relieved because I know he would've detested the way he was living in the last few days. I am relieved out of respect for the man that he was...

My grandfather loved to tell stories. When you had lived as much life as he had...you had a large supply to pull from. From the number of times he had to propose to my grandmother before she finally said yes, to the reason he was late for their wedding, to his countless hunting tales, and the trouble he got in during his youth. His stories captured my attention, no matter how many times I had heard them.

He pulled countless pranks. When I was a little girl, and in the midst of potty-training, my parents took me to Grandparents' house for a visit. During an attempt to use the bathroom, my grandpa stood on the outside of the door and said, "Hey Sam. Why don't you look in the toilet just to make sure there's nothing in there." Trusting my grandfather completely, I obediently investigated the toilet only to find a small snake wriggling it's way out of the pipe. I did what any precious child would've done...I screamed. Grandpa Mickey ran to my rescue, pulled the snake from the toilet, and explained that "It wasn't a real snake, it was just a fake one that he had put in the toilet." (All the while laughing.)
Later I sat on the couch pouting while nursing my broken potty-training spirit by eating a box of raisins. Grandpa sat beside me...holding that dang snake. He looked at me, held the snake up, leaned over and said, "Hey Sam, why don't you see if he wants one of those raisins?"

One Christmas Eve he took great pains to build the suspense surrounding a specific present in my pile. My interest peaked, I was steadily focused on his every word as he described the importance of the package. He told me to be very careful as I opened it, but not to take too long as the "present" needed to breathe. As I carefully opened the end of the gift, grandpa made a big commotion, grabbed the contents and flung them across the room as if something had jumped out on it's own. I screamed...he laughed...and introduced me to my new raccoon puppet. The rest of the night he couldn't understand why I didn't want to play with it.

He was tough. As his granddaughter, I don't have much first-hand knowledge, but I've heard stories of him making my dad and uncles go outside to pick their own branch off of the weeping willow tree for the whooping he was about to give them.

He spoke his opinion. Sometimes with such conviction that you either wanted to agree with him (even if you didn't)...or scream at him out of sheer frustration.

He disliked belts. Whenever I picture him, he will always have on a pair of striped overalls with a white t-shirt underneath. In my mind that's the grandfather uniform.

He was talented. My grandfather could take a piece of furniture, covered in years of dirt and grime, broken in places, other parts missing...and he could make it beautiful again. He saw the beauty all along. He has created, or rebuilt, countless pieces of furniture and antiques. Most of which my grandma had to dust. His talent was unique and respected.

I can hear his voice. "Hey Sam." "You know it?" "Listen, Sam." These phrases I heard countless times. At the beginning of sentences to grab my attention. At the end of a joke to elicit my laughter. Whenever he wanted to make a point. I can still hear his voice.

I visited him in the hospital just a week ago. My grandmother sat beside him. I watched as she caressed his hand and bent her neck to kiss his fingers. "These hands have worked real hard for me through the years," she said, honoring him with her words. I agreed with her and tried my best to give them privacy in the middle of a hospital room. When she wasn't looking I stared at my grandparents. I watched as she repeatedly caressed his hand, and touched his face. I watched as she reassured him with her voice, "I'm still here Mickey. I love you." I watched as she took his face in her hands and kissed him. I watched as she reached up and touched the back of his neck explaining, "He likes it when I rub his neck." Over 60 years of marriage...I can't imagine how much he enjoyed hearing her voice, and feeling her hand on his neck.

I got a chance to hold his hand. He seemed so frail, yet his hand was still strong from years of hard work. Looking at him I said, "I'm here, Grandpa. I love you."
Eventually he opened his eyes. I caught a glimpse of the piercing blue. "He has beautiful eyes," I thought to myself.
He looked at me and said, "You're Mary Ann aren't you?"
"No Grandpa. I'm Sam. Samantha. Stephen's daughter," I said searching for any connection he might recognize.
Grandma reached up from the other side of the bed, touched his back and said, "Mickey, that's Sam."
He looked at me, smiled, and said, "I know who you are."

I will always choose to think of that interaction as his last joke for me. I swear the last smile he gave me was mischievous...I wouldn't have it any other way.

Grandma Shirley, Grandpa Mickey and me...sometime in 1978.

Grandpa Mickey, Grandma Shirley, and Rory Grace..July 2004.

Grandpa Mickey and baby Rory in 2004. He's sitting in the rocking chair he and grandma refinished for Brad and I. They commented on how it would be great for us to rock our children in someday...they had no idea we were pregnant with Rory when they first showed it to us.

Grandma and Grandpa with Emme and Rory...November 2006.


Grandma Shirley holds baby Emme as Grandpa Mickey talks...November 2006.


Grandpa smiling at one of his stories.