by Bruce Kuiper

By a lake of clear silver he sits,
Ten strong fingers on fishing pole,
Back against ancient cedar tree.
Ruby fish take hookless line,
Rise and fall in gleeful spray,
Dart back to try again.
Intricate water designs intrigue;
Laying pole aside to pick up diamonds,
He hefts flawless stones,
Then, sidearmed, throws.
Green eyes twinkle at trios of skips and splashes,
Young limbs delight in movement and energy.

Hearing new laughter
He turns to find a freckled youth
Crooked now only in his smile.
Each nod, just once.
A massive brown dog rushes
From his lion friends and their game of tag
To bowl the brown-eyed boy over in wild welcome.
Each spring up from emerald grass,
Laughter and glad barking
In unrestrained reunion.
The dark horse-dog, reckless with joy,
Launches itself over the man, into the water
As the man pats the rock next to him in invitation.
Silver rain falls, the boy sits,
Upturned smile and outstretched arms.

The man reaches behind him
For the platinum guitar leaning there.
He grins, hands it across,
The boy cradles the gleaming whiteness like a son,
And the man fishes out of his overalls
His own precious harmonica.
He taps the gold against his palm,
And nods once more to his friend.

As the floppy-eared delight chases fish
They begin to play, heads bowed together,
Loud, triumphant, joyous, raucous, free music
Echoing across the lake through all twelve gates.
They play their alleluias
And sing with rumbling laughter,
Patiently waiting for other musicians
To join them on the cool rocks
By a lake of clear silver.

^{Envisioning Grandpa Anthony “Tony” Kuiper meeting
his namesake & great-grandson, Anthony Vos}

Anthony was…amazing. From the moment he came home I knew he was just really somethin’. I remember when I visited Gwen and Rian in North Carolina. I slept on the floor in the same room

as Anthony’s crib and I snuck him out of bed and we played on the air bed late that night and I remember just watching him in the half-light from the kitchen and being amazed by him. When he was about 4 years old he was pretty squirrely on Sunday afternoon and thinking I could get him to take a nap, I took him for a long drive. Well, that kid jabbered and jabbered and questioned this or that the ENTIRE time we drove around until I was exhausted!

More recently, I had been wondering (since he was now a teenager) when he would stop hugging so hard when we’d say goodbye…but he still gave great, big, hard hugs. I would usually rub his head when we’d say goodbye but had stopped that this last year after he’d grown his hair. He took all the teasing about his hair all in stride though and gave it right back.

At the science fair in Ames this last spring, I decided to surprise him and stop by to see his presentation. Once I got there though, I could not find him and wandered around for quite awhile before I heard him call my name. And I remember looking down at him from the seats in the auditorium and thinking he looked so small. Then when I heard him present to the judge, being awed by how ‘old’ he was.

I asked him if he needed anything and he said his walkman’s batteries ran out then told me he was glad to see me because he was “homesick” and he had slept in the tub at the hotel. Homesick! I couldn’t possibly allow my nephew to be homesick so I went out and got batteries…and some candy, and some more candy, and a magazine, and some more candy. When I got back to him, he looked in the bag, kinda’ smirked and said, “I only needed batteries…” Before I left, I asked his one more time if he needed anything, and he gave that same sideways smirk and said, “If I tell you, you’ll just bring me more candy!”

Yeah, well…

He was just really somethin’…and I miss him so terribly, terribly much.

So, Graduate, what would I say to you now as you faced the world? That we knew you would be great from the very moment we laid eyes on you.

We saw how talented you were with your poems and videos and projects that you did for the sheer enjoyment of creating something and hoping that others enjoyed it too. We felt how kind you were when you looked out for your little brother and spent time with your cousins who were so much younger than you.

Your graduation party would be huge~so many people that loved you. We’d be eating your cake and laughing about the graduation ceremony and what you or your buddies did to surprise everyone. We’d be talking about your college plans and how you would blow the world away. We would know this b/c you blew us away.

You would be 18 and “cool” but would still be on the floor playing with Naomi or taking time away from a visitor to listen to Gabe’s latest joke or would steal away in a corner with Tess to read her latest story…all during YOUR graduation party. We love you, Graduate. We wish you could’ve taken the world by storm like you were set to do.

Most of my memories of Anthony are from his earlier moments in life.

I remember when he was born.

They closed the Dordt Campus for the weekend

(I can’t remember what they called it…Tri-State Break?), so I went up to Hull to stay with the K’s.

This was either the day Gwen came home from the hospital or sometime real close…

Oh, I was a silly college freshmen then, didn’t think about much outside of my own little world.

I remember sitting in the livingroom and we were all laughing – probably me and Sheri – when I went into the kitchen to get something.

As I walked around the corner, something caught my eye and I almost stopped in my tracks. I felt like I was an intruder. I didn’t want to “mess up” the “moment.” that was happening near the dining room table.

Sunlight was streaming in the windows, and the rays were falling on Gwen and highlighting her hair. Before her the sun glowed in the soft baby fuzziness of Anthony’s head. The two were staring at each other as Gwen held him in her arms and just…looked and looked at him…and he just looked and looked back at her. I don’t know what each one was thinking as they had their unspoken conversation, but I could see they adored each other. Newborns don’t keep their eyes open that long…but he knew who he was looking at…and said his unspoken, “Hi Mom” with his eyes.

I knew I should leave, but it was so beautiful, that I wanted shrink to a fly on the wall and just watch in awe. I grew up a little bit in that moment.

What a beautiful, perfect little baby boy…

I grabbed whatever it was I was after, because I felt like I was witnessing something very special between mother and son that shouldn’t be watched or invaded upon, and I quickly made it back to the other room, trying to make a fast, undetectable escape.

I still think it was one of the most beautiful moments I have witnessed in my life.

One time, I was sleeping on the couch at “Uncle Al’s” house. It was a Sunday afternoon several years ago, typical of an Iowa winter. Cold and froze outside, warm and cozy inside.

We’d all just been to church and had another one of Aunt Jan’s delicious meals with the entire family – laughter ringing off the walls. (That Grandma Caroline sure can laugh!)

We all settled in for the cozy afternoon, and I claimed the highly sought after couch. I was sleeping fairly well, until…I felt eyes on me and had the heebie jeebies. I slowly opened one eye – half afraid of what I might find in that half scared-half asleep-not knowing where I am state…I barely got my eye open and POKE!

Anthony (a toddler at the time) poked me in the eye with a curious, pudgy little boy finger. Scared the wits out of me, but entertained the rest of the Kuiper clan.

What I remember best about Anthony was that he was true to his namesake – Grandpa Tony Kuiper.

Always joking, always kidding or teasing. When I look again now at Anthony’s pictures I can always see it in his eyes — his large, intelligent, laughing eyes.

One more thing for now: Regarding Julie’s posting about catching Gwen and baby Anthony in that sacred moment of gazing into each other’s eyes. The moment you describe has to be one of the most beautiful word paintings I’ve read and also one of the most profound moments in a mother’s life.

Those of us who are mothers know that it is impossible, before our children are born, to even imagine the fiercely intense love and protectiveness we have for our children after they are born and when we gaze into their eyes for the first time.

Praise God for Anthony! What a wonderful, wonderful gift.

It’s a quiet evening here, not too far away from the place you were born. Today we would have celebrated your 23rd birthday with you, and I find myself wondering what life would look like for you. What would you be doing? What passions of life would you be pursuing? What adventures of life might surround you?

Perhaps by now you would have fallen madly in love with a beautiful young woman – maybe even married and maybe even with a child that we would have welcomed as our first great-grandson! Who knows! I assume you would have graduated from college last spring, and I wonder if you might have decided to settle in as a potential partner in JTV. Or perhaps your passion for music might have encouraged you to pursue some graduate studies at some renowned university.

That’s the thing about imagining what you might be doing in life as you celebrated your 23rd birthday. We can imagine how crazy wonderful it would be to have you walk in the door with that crazy grin that always seemed to light up the room. We can fill our minds with imaginations for hours on end, and each imagination seems to recall one memory or another.

Every so often I set aside some time to watch the videos your mother took of you and Evan when you were just kids. I have watched the video of you eagerly waiting for the school bus on your first day of school. I have watched you racing your dog to a tree and back. I have watched you celebrate your 6th birthday, opening birthday presents and enjoying every moment. I have watched the ways you saw yourself as Evan’s big brother. And then I have watched the short videos you created and made.

These short videos are wonderful moments that help me keep you close to my heart and thoughts. But as wonderful as these moments are, they are also filled with an aching sadness. We miss you!

Five years ago on a Saturday afternoon in June you and I stood silent on a grass-covered hillside. You had suddenly pointed and whispered, “Grandpa, look! It’s a fawn!”

In the middle of some long-stemmed prairie grass, a fawn had been lying unseen about 100 feet from us. It was one of those joyfully unexpected surprises that occasionally comes along in the ordinary. Why did the fawn overcome the natural instincts? Was it out of simple curiosity that it decided to lift its head and fix its eyes on us for a brief moment?

We stood there, you and I, taking in the moment with a sense of silent wonder. And now on this day, we who fiercely love you and stubbornly hold on to all our treasured memories, will say once more that you are not forgotten and that we hold you in our hearts.

I was privileged to spend a lot of time with Anthony during his first 5 years or so. I found out quite soon how “attached” to him I was.

When Anthony was almost a year old I traveled with him and his mom on their first move to Jacksonville, NC.

It was a long trip, especially for an active toddler, but he allowed me to amuse him with 1 or 2 little toys.

On his first day in North Carolina he took some of his first steps by himself. I can still see the excitement and delight in his eyes.

When I had to fly back to Iowa by myself I could not say goodbye. I was sure that I could not be happy without Anthony and his family nearby. I feel much the same now.

Three years feels like a lifetime without Anthony, but at the same time the pain feels like the loss happened only yesterday.

Riding past parks filled with fresh-faced high schoolers, or seeing 16-year-olds working at their first “real” job helps to see where he would be … and hurts to know that he isn’t. He would be at the center of those groups, the life of the party but as responsible as a young man can be.

Three years, and missed every single second.

Last summer I was sleeping on the couch and Anthony and Evan got the idea to put cheese whiz in my ear.

As they were putting it in my ear I woke up and they were laughing. Then they decided to pin me down and put a big smiley face made of cheese whiz on my arm. I washed if off my arm but while they were putting it in my ear they missed and got it in my hair. It would not come out.

After that we went swimming so figured it would come out then. Well it did but the smell was there mixed with chlorine from the pool. It was an horrible smell and they just thought it was so funny. He always tempted to do it again but I was quick enough to get the cheese before he got the chance.

Anthony had a special love for music — of most any kind! We saw this already almost as soon as he started to walk.

We would often play kids’ classics, including the “Lone Ranger” theme song. It’s a song which strongly suggests galloping horses perhaps chasing some bank robbers trying to escape. By the time he was four years old, this was one of Anthony’s favorite songs, and he would have Grandma K play this over and over. One day he happened to hear this song on the radio when he was visiting someone else, pointed to the radio and told everyone, “That’s the ‘William Tell Overture!'”

I also remember riding in the car with Anthony, listening to music–sometimes classical, sometimes jazz, sometimes blue grass, sometimes blues. So often I would be listening and all of a sudden would hear Anthony picking up the melody of a song I know he had never heard before, humming along in rhythm and in harmony. I know I asked him several times when this would happen, “Anthony, how do you do that? How can you hear a song for the first time, a song you don’t know, and figure it out so quickly?”

“Grandpa,” Anthony would answer with a little dismissive shrug of the shoulders and holding both hands to the radio, “it’s just there!”

What keeps coming back to me this summer, over and over again, is returning to America and wanting desperately to see Anthony for the first time.

I missed my parents and sisters, of course, but having seen only photos for his first 9 months, I could think of little else on the plane flight.

And the actual meeting? I don’t remember much of its setting, but I will always remember those big expressive eyes that somehow always seemed to see through people and take in everything — and more.

Those eyes never lost their power, the power to melt your heart with puppy-dog qualities, the power to confront pretenses or injustice with dark fury, the power to produce laughter with crazed or dopey looks, the power to see potential in Lego blocks, plywood, toy soldiers, cheap cameras, corn kernels, and even people.

In our lives, we saw each other in bursts,
In quick, stolen moments of time,
Bonds shared by others,
Then splintered into shining shards
That somehow show unity rather than brokenness,
And uniquely complete us and show us
Why we are together,
Why we cling to each other
Even when we’re apart.