Papa

Our papa may have been a man of few words, but his life was a living example to us.  He was a doer by nature. He was  a hard worker both on the job and at home.   

He was busy doing dishes, or sweeping floors, doing yardwork, piddling away in the garage, or taking us out on cardboard hunts. The station wagon, a back yard perfect to get lost in, and a bar with slippery floors for spinning were a kid’s delight.  Growing up, his bark was way bigger than his bite. He teased us, he gave heavy handed birthday spankings and if you passed by him too closely, you might get a, “skeetz. . .”  

Papa was present in all the moments that mattered most to us.  I remember fondly the day I gave birth to Anjalene, his first great grand-daughter, named in part for his love, Angela.  He sat in the waiting room until after midnight to welcome her into this world. And my brothers would agree, he was at birthday parties, games, confirmations, graduations, weddings, and births until his knees started slowing  him down.  Alan and I will always have the memory of vacationing in Hawaii with him.  Seeing Pearl Harbor after years of hearing his war stories was a moment we won’t soon forget. There were always stories of serving in Italy with John Wayne told time after time. Papa’s love of westerns ran deep and were often playing when we stopped by for a visit. It was easy to get lost in a “shoot em up cowboy” movie with him. 

But in the end, it wasn’t Papa’s service that made him one of the bravest men we knew. At 91, he  willingly and confidently stared death eye to eye day in and day out over the last couple of years.  Bravery became waking up each day and still being here, despite a set of knees that were becoming increasingly uncooperative and were limiting his ability to get out and socialize. To be brave is to confidently know where we are going when this life is over, palms uplifted, to offer ourselves as the sacrifice.  That is bravery.  And there he was, glasses on, prayer book in place, rosary in hands: praying.  His very life had become a living prayer.

His body ached and the only thing that probably brought any type of real joy to his confined life the last four months was the hope of heaven.   We didn't see fear when we looked into his eyes. There was  a peace about him because he knew what awaits.  He knew there would be a grand reception and his soul would be set free from the body that was failing him in his old age.   He was ready.  He wanted to be called home.  He wanted God to usher him into the promised land. 

So from bed, he prayed diligently.  He prayed with a steadfastness and conviction that only comes from knowing and believing in our God.  He didn’t fear his death.  He welcomed it.  And that brings us comfort. . . that God would guide papa to the ultimate peace, the peace we have looked for our entire lives, but could not be found until our final moment on this earth.  His homecoming, surrounded by all of our love and prayers, was a beautiful moment.

The last words he spoke to me mid-week when I asked, “How are you?” was his traditional response, only this time whispered, “Still here.”  It was in that moment that his answer became the window into his soul.  He had poured into our lives in his own silent, strong way since the day of our births.  The power and depth of his words weren’t lost on me.  He will always be here, in our hearts for as long as we live and his legacy will be his love.

Me too

We had read.  We had prayed.  We had blessed. . .and I had just sat down with a book, ready to read and relax after a long day with fifth graders on a field trip, followed by supervising a group project after school. I was done. I was settling in when a small voice called out, "Mama?"
     "Yes, baby bird?"
     She paused.  I actually felt the hesitation in the air.  "I miss Papa," she said finally, her voice catching at the  end.

I immediately put down my book, pushed in my recliner and rose.  The walk to her room is a short one, but from the doorway I could already see her tears freely falling.  I sat beside the curve of her body and wiped tears away, rubbed her back, and smoothed down her hair.  "Me too, Nessa.  Me too."  And then I just held her until she fell asleep, thinking to myself. . .this missing that she feels will never truly go away.  "Grief changes shape, but it will never end."--Keanu Reeves

Papa is one of the first of many she will come to lose whom she has loved.  And grief will change shape through the years, but it will never end.  I feel it too.

Coyote Sighting

With Papa's passing, there was immense joy that he was free from confinement and pain, but sadness for the lives we are left to live without him.  But the very next day after he passed, I went out to run an errand in the night.  I ended up heading towards my parent's house.  That had been my home away from home the last two weeks, and I just automatically went that direction.  Suddenly on Foothill, I noticed cars slowing on the opposite side so I slowed too.  I knew I was coming towards construction, but luckily no cars were around me because all of a sudden, a coyote ran across the street. I braked and it stopped, just looking at me before it ran off.  My heart was beating wildly, I mean. . .I almost hit a coyote!

Turning down my parent's street just a minute away, the first thing I noticed was my dad's car wasn't in the driveway, so I knew they weren't home.  The next thing, Papa's light wasn't on.  And I sat in the driveway and cried.  On my way home, I called my brother to tell him but he didn't answer.  So, when I returned home Ernie listened, hugged me, and sent me upstairs to get some much needed sleep.  Minutes later, my brother called me back and asked what was up.  I recounted the story of almost hitting the coyote, but ultimately-just missing my Papa.  He stopped me and said I wasn't going to believe what he saw that morning.  It was a coyote, running in broad daylight about 10 am. down a busy street by our house.  I was surprised.  I haven't seen one by our house in years!  Now he and I had seen one on the same day after Papa died!  We would tease Papa about running wild and free when he was in heaven. Could it be some kind of sign?

I fell asleep pondering that.  The next day Nessa and I headed to my parent's to work on a project for school.  My mom has everything one would ever need for anything!  I was almost to their house when my cell phone rang.  Ernie told me I wasn't going to believe what he and Anjalene had just seen. . .a coyote running on the opposite side of our street!!!  I hadn't even told him that Alan had seen one the day before too!

Final God-incidence. . .Jonathan went to Science Camp the next day.  He had to return early for Papa's funeral, but he burst through the door holding his hand up for all us us to see his stamp.  He had randomly been assigned to sleep in the "Coyote Bunk."  Papa was showing up all around us.

So we did a little research about coyotes and their symbolism.
The coyote totem is strikingly paradoxical and is hard to categorize. It’s a teacher of hidden wisdom with a sense of humor, so the messages of the coyote spirit animal may paradoxically appear in the form of a joke or trickery. Don’t be tricked by the foolish appearances. The spirit of the coyote may remind you to not take things too seriously and bring more balance between wisdom and playfulness.

Other research suggests the coyote represents forging a new path, or way of doing things...

Definitely food for thought.  And then the day of Papa's funeral, as we pulled into the cemetery, one last sign waited.  It said Warning:  Beware of the coyotes.  

As usual, Papa had the last word.

 Our Family and Alan's will always think of you when we see or hear about a coyote.  Love forever.

My Last Tribute to Papa

Our papa may have been a man of few words, but his life was a living example to us.  He was a doer by nature. He was  a hard worker both on the job and at home.   

He was busy doing dishes, or sweeping floors, doing yardwork, piddling away in the garage, or taking us out on cardboard hunts. The station wagon, a back yard perfect to get lost in, and a bar with slippery floors for spinning were a kid’s delight.  Growing up, his bark was way bigger than his bite. He teased us, he gave heavy handed birthday spankings and if you passed by him too closely, you might get a, “skeetz. . .”  

Papa was present in all the moments that mattered most to us.  I remember fondly the day I gave birth to Anjalene, his first great grand-daughter, named in part for his love, Angela.  He sat in the waiting room until after midnight to welcome her into this world. And my brothers would agree, he was at birthday parties, games, confirmations, graduations, weddings, and births until his knees started slowing  him down.  Alan and I will always have the memory of vacationing in Hawaii with him.  Seeing Pearl Harbor after years of hearing his war stories was a moment we won’t soon forget. There were always stories of serving in Italy with John Wayne told time after time. Papa’s love of westerns ran deep and were often playing when we stopped by for a visit. It was easy to get lost in a “shoot em up cowboy” movie with him.

But in the end, it wasn’t Papa’s service that made him one of the bravest men we knew. At 91, he  willingly and confidently stared death eye to eye day in and day out over the last couple of years.  Bravery became waking up each day and still being here, despite a set of knees that were becoming increasingly uncooperative and were limiting his ability to get out and socialize. To be brave is to confidently know where we are going when this life is over, palms uplifted, to offer ourselves as the sacrifice.  That is bravery.  And there he was, glasses on, prayer book in place, rosary in hands: praying.  His very life had become a living prayer.

His body ached and the only thing that probably brought any type of real joy to his confined life the last four months was the hope of heaven.   We didn't see fear when we looked into his eyes. There was  a peace about him because he knew what awaits.  He knew there would be a grand reception and his soul would be set free from the body that was failing him in his old age.   He was ready.  He wanted to be called home.  He wanted God to usher him into the promised land.

So from bed, he prayed diligently.  He prayed with a steadfastness and conviction that only comes from knowing and believing in our God.  He didn’t fear his death.  He welcomed it.  And that brings us comfort. . . that God would guide papa to the ultimate peace, the peace we have looked for our entire lives, but could not be found until our final moment on this earth.  His homecoming, surrounded by all of our love and prayers, was a beautiful moment.

The last words he spoke to me mid-week when I asked, “How are you?” was his traditional response, only this time whispered, “Still here.”  It was in that moment that his answer became the window into his soul.  He had poured into our lives in his own silent, strong way since the day of our births.  The power and depth of his words weren’t lost on me.  He will always be here, in our hearts for as long as we live and his legacy will be his love.

Promises

"Because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace." Luke 1:78-79 (NIV)

I saw this and immediately thought of papa.  His ninety-one and a half years on this earth has been lengthy.  I have no idea how long he has remaining, as there isn't a diagnosis that we have to go off of, but I know he's tired.  His body aches and the only thing that probably brings any type of joy to his confined life is the hope of heaven.  And what a promise he has in his heart.  

I don't see fear when I look into his eyes. There's a peace about him because he knows what awaits.  He knows there will be a grand reception and his soul will be set free from the body that is failing him in his old age.   He is ready.  He wants to be called home.  He wants God to usher him into the promised land.  He doesn't mind leaving behind the legacy he was a part of creating because his physical work here is done.

From bed, he prays diligently.  He prays with a steadfastness and conviction that only comes from knowing and believing in God.  He doesn't fear his death.  He welcomes it.  And that brings me comfort. . .knowing what a tender and loving God we have, that he would guide papa to the ultimate peace.  The peace we have all looked for our entire lives, but could not find until our final moment.  It will be a beautiful thing: his homecoming.  Until then, we will love him well.

Brave

When I was a kid, bravery took many forms but it usually was associated with heroes I saw on the television: Mighty Mouse comes to mind. . .and Punky Brewster when she stood up to some school bullies.  Luckily, my school experiences were rich and without much drama or a need for bravery, unless you counted fearing recitation of a poem in front of the class.

Today, thirty some years later, bravery has taken a different face.  It's the face of the aged who is willingly and confidently staring death eye to eye.  It's the face of a ninety-one year old veteran, who still shares stories of life in Italy.  It is this man who has bravely lived life fully despite the loss of a wife and son many years before.  Bravery is waking up each day and still being here.  The gift of a day has become almost a curse with a body that is not willing to cooperate; however, he still opens his eyes to face the day.

To be brave is to confidently know where we are going when this life is over, palms uplifted, to offer ourselves as the sacrifice.  That is bravery.  And I see you, glasses on, prayer book in place, rosary in hands: praying.  All the time praying.  Your very life has become a living prayer.

You know what else is brave?  Trusting the people around you to care for you, to have your best interest at heart.  Brave is accepting their plan for you, even if it is different than your plan.

Brave is putting on your best face and letting your great grandchildren serve you.

Brave is ceasing the moment to instruct and pass on wisdom even though the words are fewer and far between:  "Behave," you told them when they kissed you good-bye the other night.

This is the real face of brave.

And we consider it an honor to love and care for you.

Papa Turned 90!

 Papa turned 90 back in January.  I know I'm kind of lagging.  That is what happens when I use my nice camera.  I kind of forget about it and move on.  But turning ninety is kind of a big deal.  REALLY BIG!

I know getting older is tough.  I've seen it with my own eyes.  Your body doesn't always cooperate.  You go from being independent to needing assistance sometimes.  And for a man especially, I think it's a pride thing.  But Papa is hanging in there--and with all things considered, bad knees being the only real physical ailment is a blessing. His dad lived to be ninety-four so longevity of life seems to be in their blood!

My Papa still has his sense of humor and is a kid at heart.  He loved the horns!

He wore his party hat and blew out his candles.

He chatted it up with his family and friends at a little place I would have never eaten at otherwise.  But it was good!  Those Senior Citizens know where the good deal specials are for sure!

In usual mom fashion, she went above and beyond to make sure it was something Papa would always remember.  He doesn't get out nearly as much as we would like him to but this particular day was a memory he will treasure and a true celebration of his life and the life he has left to live!

He has lost a wife and a son...but in spite of that, he is "still here."  (His words, not mine).  God's not finished with him yet...and us neither because there's a reason he's here and we need to invest in him and love him and learn from the life he has lived.  Sometimes not everyone takes him or his history for what it really is: a valuable lesson for us, for our futures.  I love when he tells my kids stories.  They know their Papa.  They will remember him and tell their children about him.  A true blessing right there!

 Who loves you Papa?  We do!!!!!!!!!