-

-
Such a little mark. In the end, it is what is contained within this mark that signifies ones life. As I was faced with the idea of speaking at Poppa's memorial service, I began searching for quotes to help tie together the ideas/thoughts in my head that I could not begin to form into words. I ran across one (which I now cannot find to reference!) that basically said its not the dates on either side that are important, its the - in the middle which represents that life. How does one even begin to talk about the life contained within such a mark... 1941-2014. So many years, so many memories, so much love, so many lives touched. One small - to sum it up.

Instantly it became clear. I needed to read the story I wrote about Poppa when I was a senior in high school. It would in no way be "enough" but it felt right. But the question then became, where was the story? I knew Poppa had it. Poppa loved it. Where did he file it? That is a question we still haven't found the answer to. But fortunately, in an 11th hour miracle, Cathy (uncle Greg's wife) asked specifically what story I was looking for and knew that Uncle Greg's copy was just upstairs in the den. 50 minutes before we left for the memorial service, the story was found. Now I could share at the service.

Speaking at your Poppa’s memorial service is never something you are prepared for. Where to start? What can you say that feels like “enough?” But then it suddenly occurred to me, I could share the story I wrote about Poppa 12 years ago. I was tasked with writing “a funny story about my family.” My family is not funny I told the teacher; no luck, start writing. After I submitted the story, someone leaked it back to the family…Poppa was reading the story I have never meant for eyes past my teacher. But even more to my surprise, Poppa LOVED it!

Family Dog

Written November 28, 2001 for Senior Careers assignment titled “Funny story about my family”

Family. When most people think of this word, warm thoughts fill their head. Pictures of family dinners, vacations, and holiday celebrations come to mind. Much to my disapproval, the image I hold falls short of these standards. 

           Dinnertime. Never has a meal been so dreaded. Add into the equation the extended family, and you know that its going to take all you have just to choke down a few, tiny bites of the mystery feast Grandma has so graciously prepared. Sitting in our assigned seats (Grandma must remain in charge), each of us begin to scan the table for some sign that we aren’t suffering alone.

           Occasionally a joke is cracked to lighten the mood, but then someone (usually Grandma) doesn’t understand and after numerous explanations, it’s considered a lost cause. After what appears to have been hours, everyone has successfully choked down their portion of the meal and graciously smiled at Grandma thanking her for the supper. Slowly, not wanting to make a scene, we one by one slide our chairs away from the table in hopes of making our getaway. Not so fast, says Grandma.

            Reluctantly we scoot back up to our assigned seat. Before we can ask why we weren’t allowed to leave, Grandma answers the question for us. “Its dessert time,” she joyfully announces, as she passed around the corner from the kitchen.

            Quickly everyone turns to the person who was placed next to them. Everyone is curious as to what they should expect on this tray Grandma is so proud of. The consensus is that it will be something that none of us want to eat. Unfortunately, we were right.

            Without delay she begins cutting into this mound of ingredients she calls a cake. Halfheartedly we all accept a piece, but only a small one as to the fact that we are all still stuffed from her wonderful meal. Once everyone has been served, eyes start wandering, looking for the brave soul to sample our dessert first.

You can always count on Poppa. He digs in and again, tells her how great her treat is. Knowing that we cannot leave until we eat, the rest of the family follows suit. Unfortunately, not everyone shares Poppa’s love for the treat. Leave it to the little kids, who really know what dessert should taste like, to spill the beans.

            “Grandma, what is this?” asked the youngest cousin with a sour look on his face.

            “Yeah Grandma. Did you forget the sugar or something?” adds his older sister.

            Taking this opportune time to break from their plate, everyone turns toward Grandma for the explanation. By the expressions on some faces, they would rather not be enlightened as to what exactly they are eating. Grandma fails to notice these faces.

            “Well it’s a new recipe,” she begins.

            We all know what’s coming next. She is going to tell us how she read that all the critics thought that this cake was just the best they had ever tasted. The sound of forks clanking onto the china breaks the silence. She proceeds with as much enthusiasm as before.

            “You see, well…it um… called for sourdough instead of regular cake flour,” we are informed, if you can decipher what she is trying to say through the food in her mouth.

            “Then it’s a reduced fat and sugar recipe. The picture looks really good,” she said as she finished the story.

            Robotically the plates start heading toward Poppa’s end of the table upon completion of her story. He is kind of like the family dog, he finishes off the table scraps. As we all excuse ourselves from the table, we again thank Grandma for our fabulous meal and claim that we had just ate too much of the other stuff to finish our dessert.

           Filing out of the kitchen, the same thought crosses everyone’s mind, “What will she find to cook for Christmas?”

Poppa kept this story for the last 12 years. He distributed it to people. He often referenced himself as “the family dog” because that was the kind of Poppa he was. We might often hear him say “Woman!” when talking to Grandma, but we also knew that he loved that woman more than anything. He would eat/drive/watch anything with Grandma, just because he loved her so much. He would eat our leftover dinner, drive us 3000 miles to collage, deliver a couch to college, show up to every school/sporting event big or small and be the loudest one to cheer us one…anything his family needed, big or small.

Our Poppa was the kind of man that we would have never been prepared to say goodbye to. It feels too soon; we aren’t ready to lose our go-to guy. There was never a time he wouldn’t help, there was never a special moment that he missed. We will all have such a large hole in our life for our family dog. But we also know that we are so blessed to have had him as our Poppa! Just like your favorite dog, they can never be replaced and will never be forgotten.
 

Ella and Poppa having deep conversations around the campfire. Watching the sea lions in Newport. Celebrating Grandma's birthday with a birthday crown.

Ainsley loved her Poppa. And he sure enjoyed her. They spent many hours reading books.

Aubrey and Poppa knew how to have fun. When they were together, they were laughing =)

Just a few weeks before the accident, I sent Poppa this picture of Ainsley. She has a play phone up to her head, and this was the conversation. "Hello Poppa, Ainsley. In the car. MUAH!"

Just a sampling of the love and admiration shown for him during his service. Standing room only. Police officers, fire fighters, family, friends, community...

Poppa with his 3 blue-eyed devils, as he affectionately called them. Then all 3 girls gathered by the window to watch Grandma and Poppa drive away. Goodbye Poppa.

And just like that, the - signifies the end. More memories than pictures, more moments than words.