Silly Mom Thoughts

 Dear Papa,

Tuesday, Veteran’s Day, will mark one year since you left this world. I still can’t believe a whole year has gone by that I haven’t seen your cheery face, or heard your silly Donald Duck impersonation. We miss you so much, Papa. Especially my dad. He misses you something fierce.

Papa, I didn’t cry after you died. I didn’t cry because I knew you had lived a long life and you had touched many lives, including mine. I didn’t cry because I saw all of your best qualities in my dad, your son, and for that reason I felt like you were still here. Everyone was sad at your funeral, Papa, and rightfully so. But as I stood there, holding my newborn daughter in my arms, the little girl that we had not planned but cannot imagine our lives without, I wondered if she was God’s gift to our family to help us grieve the loss of you.

I know I didn’t visit you in your last days at the hospital, Papa. I had so many reasons. You have so many grandchildren who were much closer to you than I ever was, who needed to be with you, and I didn’t want to interrupt that. I had a newborn who I didn’t want to bring into a hospital. We lived hours away. Excuse after excuse piled up in my mind and spilled out of my mouth when I spoke with my parents each time they visited you. I told myself I would see you when you got back home. But you didn’t make it home.

The truth is, that I didn’t visit you because I didn’t want to see you like that. I didn’t want to see you pale and dying, hooked up to one machine after another. I didn’t want to be there when you took your last breath. That wasn’t my place, that wasn’t where I belonged. I wanted my last memory of you to be the one I still hold in my brain. The memory where you’re smiling up at me at the intermission during my dad and uncle’s choir performance. Remember that one, Papa? When Dad and Uncle Keith dressed up in skirts and danced around like women? You thought it was hilarious. You were absolutely beaming that day, and although I remember thinking how old you looked all of a sudden, I also remember the pride on your face for your boys, and the enjoyment in your eyes.

(I know you were gone before this choir performance Papa, but my guess is that you were laughing your butt off from Heaven as you watched your boys in skirts… again.)

My only wish is that I had said goodbye to you, and I think you know that. Just a month ago, I had a dream that I was standing in my kitchen, getting you a glass of milk. You were there and smiling, and I was so happy that you were still alive. (I giggled later when I remembered that you were a milk man, did you send me that dream on purpose?) When I woke up, I cried for the first time since you died. Soon, my son awoke and asked me for some milk. Still sad from the reality that my dream was just a dream, I padded into the kitchen and began pouring milk into a cup for my son.

Standing in my kitchen, in the same spot that I had been standing in my dream, a warmth came over me. It was so warm, I checked the oven to see if I had left it on overnight, slightly panicked at the thought that I could’ve burned the house down. The oven was off and I continued my milk pouring. Again, warmth came over me. I checked the oven again, and this time I checked the burners as well. All of them were off.

My dream came back to me. I know it was you in my kitchen that morning, Papa. I know you were hanging out with me while I poured my son some milk. I know, because I had gone grocery shopping the evening before and had purchased all sorts of junk and goodies. Junk and goodies were your weakness in life, and apparently also in death.

Thank you for visiting me, even if it was only for a moment. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to cry when I hadn’t cried before, and thank you for your presence telling me that you’re okay.

We miss you, Papa and though you may be gone, you have not been forgotten. I see you in my dad, my son, and even my own face. You’re mark has been made on this world, Papa. I love you.

Love always, your granddaughter,

Lins