"The Lone Ranger" isn't just an old television show in my house. It's my oldest daughter's "THING". More specifically, her "thing" she shared with her Grandpa Andy while he was dying. While she was between the ages of 4 and 6 we lived with my husband's parents. We were there to help care for his dad while he slowly died of pancreatic cancer. Having grandchildren close certainly prolonged and improved his life, but as parents we worried about whether his gain would come at too high a cost for our children. We did the best we could to help her process the experience, but with a child so young, and right on the cusp of having conscious memories, how can you be certain? Ten years later, a rumor circulated through Hollywood that they were going to make a new Lone Ranger movie. We were about to find out how well we had dealt with our daughter's juvenile grief.
If you're not familiar with it, pancreatic cancer in its final stages is still incurable, and inoperable, and patients are usually given a six month maximum life expectancy. That six months is usually spent wracked with pain and heavily medicated. Living with a person who has this disease is not easy. Not only are you always aware that they will die soon, but you have to watch them endure the kind of pain that, at times they think no one is listening, leaves them begging God to let them go. Into this situation we brought three children. Thankfully, the younger two were too young to remember.
From the beginning, I stayed home with the kids days while my mother in law and husband went to work. This way she could keep their medical benefits and I could keep an eye on him. He probably thought he had a lazy daughter in law, but I deliberately stayed in bed most mornings, listening as he started the day with her and made her French toast. She was always up with the sun and he could never sleep for the pain. My interference wasn't wanted, but I paid close attention so I could conveniently wake up just as he was getting worn out and short tempered with her.
He watched all her shows with her and nearly killed himself more quickly by doing the "Barbie Dance Workout Video" with her. He showed her all thirty something of his five favorite westerns and then moved on to his five favorite samurai movies. At some point he found a complete box set of "The Lone Ranger" television series and they watched them together over and over again. Before the show would start, she brought out a fringed vest from her dress up clothes and dressed grandpa up as Tonto so he could play with her. They passed so many days this way that I lost track of them. She was the Lone Ranger and Grandpa was her Tonto. He played the guitar, so we picked up a child size guitar at a garage sale that she could learn to strum with him. It all played in to their imaginary world. A place they escaped to together.
For two years she was Grandpa's girl. She held his hand when he was hurting and sang to make him feel better. He taught her his confidential recipe for french toast. We didn't keep his sickness or pending death a secret. We just tried to do our loving while we still could. Some moments were harder than others. With so many heavy drugs in the house, we repeatedly taught our kids the importance of not taking medicine without parent approval. When the oldest found one of his dropped pills, she gave it up right away, but he fell apart, knowing it could have killed her by accident.
Hospice came in shortly after that and their services made a world of difference, as the physical demands of caring for him increased. He expressed the same concern we did about how she would handle his death. When that day came, we redirected her grief into loving on Grandma because they were both sad together. They talked about the good things they both remembered and what she could do at his memorial service. In the end she strummed her guitar and sang a song they both loved, with a hitch in her voice and not a dry eye in the building. We all spent a lot of time talking about how he wasn't in pain anymore and how he wanted us to celebrate his passing. The most awkward part of the process was explaining the box in which his ashes were placed. She couldn't believe her big Grandpa fit in that little box.
Children are amazingly resilient. She seemed to move on, choosing to remember the good things and be happy. Ten years passed when the Hollywood rumor mill spit out the new Lone Ranger gossip. My fourteen year old daughter got as excited about it as everyone else's fourteen year olds get about the latest boy band. She watched every episode of the original series again, twice, in preparation. Critical reviews meant nothing. She dressed up in her fringed costume vest...the same one grandpa used to wear, put her long hair in two braids with feather accents, and showed up at the theater with more enthusiasm than she had for the last "Twilight" movie.
To say I was nervous would be putting it mildly. She still tears up when she hears the song that was played during the video portion of Grandpa's Memorial Service. She asked me never to play it again, but it's popular so it turns up at random intervals out in the world. How would she react when this movie finally started?
Exactly like a teenage girl at a "Twilight" opening. It was the best most awesome movie ever!!! She truly had processed all her grief and only held on to the good memories she shared with Grandpa. Who cares what anybody else thought of it or how many "Rotten Tomatoes" it got? She felt only excitement and satisfaction to the core of her being. Sure, it's a little weird for a fourteen year old girl to be so crazy about "The Lone Ranger," but our eccentricities are sometimes the best things about us. They come out of our most intense and defining experiences and they add to our character and identity. That time was the most difficult two years of my life, but now I think I can say we did alright as parents.
A recent headline read "Disney to lose $200 million on Lone Ranger." I prefer to think Disney just gave a $200 million gift to my daughter. Thank you Mr. Depp & Co.
