Dear Popo,They say, and you agreed, that the best thing about grandparenting is getting to spoil the kids and enjoy them but none of the responsibility. It seems that works both ways. We got your best. Without the complications and baggage of others' problems and hurts, you gave me unconditional love and acceptance. I feel wildly blessed to have gotten that. I am sorry your loss of hearing affected our communication, but you never had any trouble communicating that you loved me and affirmed me. The thing I love most from you is that same love for Casey and the boys. I saw you expand your family, more than once, with sincerity.
So many fun times: arcades, camping, fires in your yard, games in your living room, donuts, pancakes, puzzles, hobbies... I remember telling you one time that when I was younger I went to other places and did things, but when I was at your house I was the center, it was about me. It was just part of a conversation then, but I'm so glad I told you. Visiting as an adult was the same. How was I? What was new? What was interesting? What were the boys doing? Your broad smile and strong hands and arms.
I am proud to look like you and to carry your name. I am, after all, 25% you. What 25% do I choose to believe I carry? Donuts of course - that's literally in my DNA. But also questioning conventional wisdom, a penchant for puzzles, the ability to change, love of the odd thing (let's call it "unique" things), and sharp wit (and tongue?).
I carry part of you with me but I will miss your fountain of love and affirmation. I feel regret for not drinking in more. But you would just beam and say "We are happy to see you, come back when you can, I love you." Thank you, Popo, thank you.
I miss you but your investment of love and affirmation lives on. I hope that it honors you (even as I write this I see your beaming smile, of course it does).
That felt almost happy and now a few minutes later here I am so sad. As Henri says, dancing turns to mourning and mourning to dancing with no clear lines.
Grandparents occupy a unique throne. Thank you for using yours for me.
Your loving grandson.
3 comments:
Wow, David. Thank you for sharing your words to Popo. Thanks for reminding me what a terrific grandpa he was. I really miss him, too.
I cannot express how precious your words are to me, David. I do feel that it takes a grandparent to love a child unconditionally, and a grandchild to see the mature, loving richness of the grandparent. It seems to be so with you
Fathers are people we may seldom know, other than how we experienced them when we were children. Often seeming fierce, powerful, and unpredictable, we either strive for their attention and approval or rebel at our own need for it. Mostly, we do both. The wounds that we receive at their hands, either real or perceived, are seared into our developing brain, imprinting the basis for our relationship and reaction to them over the years. In spite of proof often to the contrary, we continue to view them through our child-like images, instead of seeing them as the men their own experiences have matured them to be. What do we know of our father’s deep wounds, disappointments, and pain? Did they realize their dreams? How did people and events shape their destiny?
Yet, I feel most blessed to have gotten to know my father as a person, another adult, a friend. And to realize that he had come to know me in the same way. It began happening late in the overall scheme of things, when life and aging caused him to finally sit and share. I was fortunate enough to have the proximity to benefit from the sharing. Some of the satisfying times I had with him were lively discussions of differing views, his laughter and banter over some foible of his or mine, sharing a satisfying inquiry into some bit of trivia, stories of his childhood and army days in WWII, little secrets of past bits of foolishness on his part. I loved playing Trivial Pursuit with him, the questions always producing snippets and stories of the past, insight into his experiences. He made special recipes when I came to eat, told me the heartbreaking story of his parents divorce, and shared his ideas, books, hobbies, and still unresolved questions about life with me.
Some of the last memories I have of my father were an intense looking into his eyes and seeing his love for me and his sadness, the feeling of his strong arms hugging me even when the rest of his body was failing, the question he seemed to have in his eyes about whether this would be the last time I saw him when I would leave to go home, the concern over matters weighing on his heart, his honest look of confusion, vulnerability, and need, my release of him as I saw it was time for him to go.
I longed to hold him here, but I could not. He had always let me fly away when I needed. He always gladly welcomed me when I returned. And in a moment he was gone. Shocking. Still, I feel him in so many things about me, and I miss returning to him most steadily. Linda
DVD,
Thanks for putting into words what I never seem to be able to. The picture in my mind's eye alternates between the Popo of my youth in his cuban shirts and the Popo in his later years beaming with pride in his VanDyke Farm and Feed hat. I miss him, too.
Linda,
Thanks for sharing those touching final moments. Those of us from afar sometimes feel that that closeness is beyond our reach, but I was moved by your words to that moment and time. Thank You
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