Hang on, Bugga Don

I had a bad feeling as soon as I picked up the phone this morning and heard the tone of my dad's voice. My immediate worry was that something had happened to my Grandpa Don and that he had died. I was only half right. That's the good news.

Bugga Don, as I called him back in the day when "grandpa" was too hard for me to pronounce, fell down the stairs at his home in Green Bay this morning. He and my Grandma Gladys had begun their typical morning routine with breakfast, devotions and a game of Scrabble. He was on his way downstairs to shave when he fell, for reasons we don't know.

My grandma, having heard a crash, found him unresponsive and with no apparent pulse, and she called 911. A rescue squad arrived quickly and was able to restart his heart on the fifth defibrillation attempt. He has been in the hospital, on a respirator and well sedated ever since. His heart, brain and body all seem to be in good shape. We should find out tomorrow whether he is able to breathe on his own. If so, he can be sedated less, and we might then learn whether he has suffered any brain damage — he was without oxygen for five to seven minutes, so we're all aware that he might never be the same. But he's alive, and that alone is a blessing. My parents and grandma told me not to make the trip down to see him, but I'd really like to.

Bugga Don, who turned 82 last month, has had scares before. In the fall of 2001, he underwent urgent quintuple bypass surgery after rightly suspecting heart problems. I have fond memories of my evening visits with him in the hospital during his recovery. As I mentioned in May, he was more recently hospitalized amid some further heart concerns. He always seems to make it out of these things and return to his quiet yet playful manner. I'm praying that he'll be able to do that again.

My Grandpa Don is one of my heroes. Like my Grandpa Dick, who died in 2000, he served in the Army in Europe during World War II. Last Thanksgiving, I finally spent about 15 minutes — for my grandpa, that's a long one-on-one conversation — talking with him about what it was like to put his life at such risk at such a young age. I at least got a chance then to tell him how proud of him I am.

His career was in banking. I'll always remember visiting him at First Wisconsin Bank in downtown Green Bay when I was a young kid. Once, for an elementary school assignment, I asked him what advice he had for someone who was considering a career in banking. His answer: Consider another career. He has always been quietly hilarious like that. A couple years ago, I ran into him at a doctor's office and just got the biggest kick out of him as he made funny faces to entertain a little kid in the waiting room. A few months ago, he left a rare message on my voice mail to heckle Tracy about the Brewers during a skid. (He has had a special place in his heart for Tracy, if only because they both like "Matlock" so much.)

Before today, I had considered all sorts of things to write about from the first week of my middler year at Luther Seminary. My Grandpa Don wasn't one of those things, but he's at the front of my mind now. And although I wish the circumstances were different, maybe it's fitting that I write about him. Without my grandpa, I most assuredly wouldn't be at seminary. Of course, I wouldn't be alive, either. But it was surely because of the love and strong faith of my grandpa and grandma, who are founders of their Lutheran church in suburban Green Bay, that both my dad and my Uncle Mark attended what's now Luther Seminary and became pastors. And all that has helped to lead me down the same path.

In my prayers at night for the past couple weeks, I've found myself focusing especially on my three grandparents, thankful as I am that they are all still alive. It's about time now for me to pray again. This is, after all, in God's hands. God and my grandpa go way back, and whatever happens, God is going to take care of his quiet, loving servant. If we're lucky, Bugga Don will be able to read this sometime soon. But we're already lucky — indeed, blessed — just to have had him in our lives.