It was 50 years ago.
Monday, April 29, 1974.
On our farm located 25 miles northwest of Lincoln, it was a warm, bright, spring day, and I had just finished supper. I was outside working on a bicycle tire when I saw my mother run from the house to the machine shed, jump in her car, and race away.
My youngest brother, Gary, told me Grandma Heral Farnham (my mom’s mother), age 71, had suffered a heart attack and Mom needed to get to Lincoln to see her.
About an hour later, Mom called Dad to give him the worst possible news. I was listening in on the downstairs phone.
“She’s gone,” Mom cried.
Mom didn’t say much more, other than Grandma Farnham had been outdoors when she collapsed and had been found by a neighbor.
Mom didn’t come home; she stayed in Lincoln with her sister that night.
I experienced absolute shock. My whole body was numb. And the worst part was: This horrible feeling wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. None of it made sense to me. Grandma had driven to our farm the day before, and I had talked to her about spending time with her the following Saturday, the day of the annual Nebraska Red/White football game.
Grandma had recently moved from her home at 34th and Randolph to a mobile home park near First and Cornhusker about two miles northwest of Memorial Stadium. So, it would be a quick trip to the stadium.
Grandma’s death occurred early in the evening and the thought of going to school the next day was unbearable. School was the last place I wanted to be. I hated school. I hated it so much I never had an appetite, which led to a bout with anemia and my mother forcing me to eat liver — the most vulgar piece of food on the planet.
It’s no secret that 14-year-old boys aren’t the world’s greatest counselors. The guys I chose to share my pain with seemed indifferent. My private hell would last an entire week because Grandma’s funeral wouldn’t be held until Friday, May 3. The school had no grief counselors, and none of my teachers approached me and offered any type of comfort.
Most of that week is still a blur.
Mom cried a surplus of tears.
One morning as I was getting ready for school, Mom was downstairs in the shower, and I could hear her crying as I stood by the basement door. Not only did it feel like someone had stuck a knife in my heart, but for good measure, the stabber decided to give the blade a twist. With each passing day, the loss became more excruciating.
Grandma’s funeral service was held in the Roper and Sons chapel at 43rd and O in Lincoln, and it was unbearable. I fought back tears so intensely I thought I was going to vomit. My family and I followed the hearse that carried Grandma across Lincoln after the service to her burial site at Lincoln Memorial Park at 6800 South 14th Street.
I don’t remember a word the minister said during the service or at the cemetery. I just wanted the day to be over and life to get back to normal.
I was absolutely devastated.
My mother took me back to Lincoln the day after Grandma’s funeral to watch the annual NU spring football game. In a wild contest, the Reds beat the Whites, 41-40. I enjoyed the game, but Grandma kept entering my mind. This was the day she and I had planned to spend time together before and after the game.
When the game ended, I was roaming around the stadium, shooting a few pictures with my camera. I ran into one of my high school classmates, Charlie King, and he offered to take a picture of me with my Cornhusker idol, David Humm. Humm was one of my all-time favorite players and was a lefty like me. Humm agreed to have his picture taken with me, and Charlie got a decent shot. To this day, that photo hangs in my Husker room.
Humm was wearing his red #12 jersey, and I was sporting a red, short-sleeve, Nebraska football shirt boasting the 1970 and 1971 national championship teams.
My scrawny, 139-pound body looked pathetic standing next to an All-American quarterback.
David Humm probably had his picture taken with hundreds of kids.
However, I’m betting that he never helped a 14-year-old climb out of a week-long unwanted visit to hell like he unknowingly did me.