-
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.
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| Ella and Poppa having deep conversations around the campfire. Watching the sea lions in Newport. Celebrating Grandma's birthday with a birthday crown. |
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| Ainsley loved her Poppa. And he sure enjoyed her. They spent many hours reading books. |
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| Aubrey and Poppa knew how to have fun. When they were together, they were laughing =) |
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| 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!" |
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| Just a sampling of the love and admiration shown for him during his service. Standing room only. Police officers, fire fighters, family, friends, community... |
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| 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. |
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And just like that, the - signifies the end. More memories than pictures, more moments than words.
