Papa doesn't live here anymore...

Three days ago, I told my mom that I would speak at Papa's funeral.  No problem, I thought.  I can keep it together and represent our family in the service.  But today, when my moment came, it was a struggle.  Not because "I'll be Missing You" played on the radio as I drove to the church.  Not because of the open casket.  Because just before my time up front, we sang a hymn, one of his favorites.  And I heard it.  The huge, empty silence hovering over the middle of the room, just above where Grandma stood.  Every time I have been in church with my grandparents, I have heard his voice rise above all the others, deep and strong and full of melody.  That was when I finally understood:  Papa isn't here anymore.

There is a vacuum, like the reverend said.  There is a hole in our family, a void in our hearts.  But even though he is gone, there are memories, stories and moments and images that we can cling to and remember that we were loved.

Every person at the calling hours, the service, everyone who wanted to there but couldn't make it, each of our lives were touched by this man.  Jonathan reminded us all that he was so proud of his family, that he looked forward to being a part of the moments of our lives.  With 15 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren, it was a full-time job.

He lives on in the faces of his grandchildren.  His work can still be seen around the farm that he tended for more than 60 years.  His commitment and fidelity is evidenced by the gold ring Grandma passed around to show us last night.  Papa was worth celebrating.  His sister-in-law remarked that he was a father whose children remembered him fondly, because he raised them with a steady hand.  His brother said that more than siblings, they were friends, with 81 years of stories to tell.  And what better way for us to honor him, and his memory, than to stand up, with Nathan leading on guitar, and sing like never before, oh my soul, and worship the one who redeemed us, the one who prepared a place for Papa to live.  Because he doesn't live here anymore.

The "Navy soldiers" folding the flag for Grandma

Papa

A patriarch is the male head of a family, its leader.  The man who sets the tone for everyone by his words and his actions.  It is easy to see what is important to my grandfather, who has always been known as "Papa":  his life is a study in hard work, family unity, and Christian service.  One of my earliest memories of Papa is attending his "retirement" party, although I've never known him to be idle for a day.  When, in his 60's, he stopped working for Westinghouse, he continued to run the 100 acre farm he lived on with my grandma.  In the winter months, when the farm was tended by my uncle and cousin, my grandparents went south, to the border of Mexico and Texas, but not to enjoy the moderate temperatures and slow down.  Those months were spent building schools and churches, meeting with other "retired" folks, and teaching the children of Renosa.  When I was in high school, they took this missionary work up a notch, spending a year in Honduras running a mission house.  It was the year of the earthquake that ripped that small country in half, and we watched on our TV as news reports came in of monumental damage, lives lost, and we wondered if Grandma and Papa were somewhere in the rubble.  But not too long after, they were able to call on a sat phone and let us know that they were okay, just managing a little differently now that many roads were cut off and buildings fallen to the ground.  Not exactly peaceful, easy living for a couple in their 70's.

Surrounded by their children and spouses

One of seven children, Papa always tried to make contact with his siblings on their birthdays, dispersed as they were across the country.  He attended family reunions for several different offshoots of his family tree.  He also came through Dallas to pick up my sister and I on his way to his brother Paul's funeral in El Paso.  I remember that Papa drove the whole way, an 8-10 hour drive, at least, and he was not as sensitive to my 7 year old entreaties to make bathroom stops as my parents were on such long trips.  Nonetheless, we made it without my bladder exploding, and went through the burial ritual.  The only thing I remember about my great-uncle's funeral was his granddaughter, a girl close to my age, with whom I'd been playing Barbies earlier in the day, sobbing into her mother's shoulder and crying out, "He's my grandpa!"  I wondered at the change that had come over her, and of course, couldn't understand her grief, as my own grandpa was sitting down the row from me, very much alive.  And really, if I'm being introspective and philosophical, that is the defining characteristic of my Papa, that he was there.  He was there, in our kitchen, drinking coffee and playing card games with us on his annual trip down to Renosa.  He was there at Christmas, watching his children and grandchildren open their gifts.  He was there in my living room, as I played the first song I learned on the clarinet for him.  He was there at my high school graduation, and again for college.  He was at the weddings of each of his grandchildren.  He was there, in my hospital room, the day after I gave birth to my first son.  He was there, six years ago, helping us move furniture into our new house.  And he was there, just last September, at Michael's first birthday party.

Christmas 2009

When my mom went into labor with me on April 3rd, some part of her mind must have disengaged from the pain and the relief that at long last, the baby was coming out, and thought about her dad, who was celebrating his 55th birthday at his home in Pennsylvania.  I think she was pleased at the idea of her daughter and her dad sharing a birthday, but I wasn't.  True to form, I stubbornly stayed inside her until the next afternoon, already determined to be original.  The fact that our birthdays were a day apart didn't seem to change anything, however, and we frequently celebrated together.  The first was on my fourth birthday, which we spent sharing a beach house with Grandma and Papa in Virginia Beach.  I don't remember much about that except for the house being on stilts, which was a novel concept.  There is a frequently told story from that trip, though, about my burgeoning vocabulary, in which I told Papa to "stop aggravating me!"  He said, "You don't know what that word means."  And I responded, "It means 'to fight'."  Another birthday spent together was my 23rd and his 78th, at which time I was a newlywed who bundled up with her husband and parents and drove to a Cracker Barrel halfway between Papa's farm and my new apartment.

Spending a snowy birthday together 2005



Our lives have only overlapped for 31 years, and though I've heard stories about his time as a young man, turning in bottles to get a nickel and heading downtown to watch a movie, playing basketball in high school and sailing in the Navy as a young man, becoming a father to five children and watching them grow, what I have seen is who these early experiences shaped him to be.  I know him as a man of consistency, someone who loves to sing and has a pretty good sense of humor.  I have seen the pride he takes in his family and a job well done.  I am awed by his knowledge of planting, growing, and harvesting, caring for animals and running all the equipment required.  That is what I remember, that is what Papa means to me.

On Your 31st Birthday

On our way to Prom, 2001

If you met your husband when you were both 17, you may be so impressed with the person he has become by 31 that you have to wonder if he's the same person.  Because you remember that boy who made your insides vibrate when he looked at you, talked to you, made you laugh.  You remember how strong his pull was, that you just wanted to be around him all the time.  And then your flirtation became a Relationship, and you went from being two lovely, perfect creatures to real people with flaws and differing points of view.  And you watched him spend his graduation money on CDs at Best Buy, and then hide them under his driver's seat because his mom would lecture him about it and you wondered if someday you would be the one he would hide things from under the driver's seat.  And he made friends with a ridiculous group of guys at college, and you were grateful for the distance because it meant you didn't have to go with them on group outings and when he told you stories about them over the phone he didn't see how many times you rolled your eyes.  And you wondered if they would ruin him, this sweet boy who gave you the cherry off his ice cream sundaes and waited weeks to kiss you, who wrote you silly poems and insisted that you had to have A Song because all couples have A Song, and when you decided on one you both liked, he preferred the one from the Notting Hill soundtrack and you were adamant that it had to be the Alison Krauss version.  So you weighed these things, the douchebag friends and the daddy issues and the conflict avoidance and the fact that he was really cute and had a nice car and loved you and when he held you it was like the earth shifted so that everything was right at last.  You didn't know which was more important and you wanted it to be like a math equation, except math was always your worst subject and this wasn't an algebra test, this was real life, this was maybe the most important decision ever, whether to fall head over heels or turn and run.  And then suddenly, it wasn't a choice anymore, it was inevitable that your life was going to merge with his, and so when he got down on one knee, you barely listened to everything that he said, you just waited for that question so you could say YES!  And then the day came when you said your vows, you were both still so young, but you'd been to weddings where the bride and groom were both younger than you, and it made you feel like you were old getting married at 22.  And it didn't take two weeks before you realized just how vulnerable you had made yourself, that you had given this person your life and your heart and he could destroy you completely.  And every time you passed one of those billboards for "when a diamond isn't forever", you prayed that you'd never have to call 1-800-DIVORCE, that you would treat each other as tenderly as the cake you placed in each others' mouths in that rented hall as everyone looked on.  Because he was still a boy, so much so that when you opened a drawer to put your clothes with his you found a note from his mom that said "Don't forget to shower and put on deodorant" and you couldn't believe that the person who held your heart had trouble remembering something so basic.

First Father's Day 2007

But you built a home together, one that was filled with garage sale furniture that you proudly brought home in your tiny Saturn, and the Dave Matthews posters decorating your bedroom, and the ceiling above the bathtub that caved in so you could wave up to the couple who lived upstairs and fought constantly until one day the lady was gone and it was silent up there and the ceiling was fixed and you didn't see anyone anymore.  And you learned together, and when he got the call that his aunt died, you knew that as much as your heart was breaking, his was breaking worse, and so you held it together and packed his black pants and sport coat and held his hand.  And when you peed on that stick and the two pink lines popped up, and you felt dizzy and sick and completely overwhelmed, he hugged you and insisted on going out for steak to celebrate because this was Good News, and he held it together while you puked and cried and threatened to shove a peanut butter sandwich down his throat, so help me God I wanted crunchy peanut butter, not creamy, and he drove to Taco Bell at 1am because you just had to have a crunchy taco (what was with the crunchy cravings?).  And when you held that baby in your arms, that life that you created together, you looked at him and didn't see a boy anymore, he had somehow become a man, a father, and he took that title so seriously and went to work without complaining anymore, and said, Yes of course you should be home with the baby, I'll make the ends meet all by myself, and suddenly you were home owners and he was cleaning out gutters and mowing the yard.  And you tried not to be surprised every month when he paid the bills on time, but it was still hard to believe that he was prioritizing the mortgage over a new Playstation.  And then another baby came and he shocked you even more by cleaning the bathroom without being asked and he learned to cook really good food and suddenly he was switching from Sports Center to the Food Network and was so confident and in charge.  And so you returned to the math equation, the listing of the good and bad, and his hair was disappearing every day, but so was Prince William's and if its okay for a prince then it should be good enough for the love of your life, and beyond the looks you noticed integrity and honesty and maturity, handling difficult situations and refinancing the house to get a lower interest rate and getting up in the middle of the night to clean up the kids' puke and then coming in and cleaning up your puke and you knew that you couldn't do it if the situation was reversed.  And he updates your phone and finds educational apps for the iPad, and even after all these years, he makes you laugh.  And when your car breaks down on vacation and your aunt dies and your sister moves across the country and the doctors say there is something wrong with your son, he holds your hand and there is no one you would rather be with when everything is falling apart.  And when your bank account is overflowing and your best friend comes for a visit and the flowers that you planted are blooming, there is no one you would rather be with.  And then you discover this common desire, this wish to give a child a home, and together you fill out the endless paperwork and go to the classes and then suddenly the phone is ringing and there is a baby for you, and together you nurse this little life and make him your own and you see that the love he has for the new child is just as fierce and strong as the love he has for the ones you made together.  And you hear him at night, tucking the kids in bed, praying with them, reading from the storybook Bible, and you know that he is sharing his deepest self with them.

Family picture 2012

You wonder.  Where is that 17 year old boy?  Of course he is still there in the face, if you Wooly Willy some hair back down his forehead and trim the beard back so its just a goatee, and when the radio station plays hits from the 90's, you see him in the man bobbing back and forth and rocking out to the songs you both loved from the time when you were falling in love.  And he's there in the laugh that still shakes his whole body and the earnest eyes that are all-too-often weary and frustrated these days, when the kids won't go to bed and the appliances need to be replaced and there aren't enough hours in the day.  And you realize that he needs to get away, to take a few days and relax, and so you book a cabin for two and you get your parents to watch the boys and once again you pack his bags because he is threatening to only bring a toothbrush and you know that the people you pass by on your little trip will definitely not want to be seeing all of that.  And you try to think of a way to let him know just how much he means to you, how much better your life is because he's in it, and you hope that he feels the same about you.  You hope he still sees glimpses of that 17 year old girl you used to be, the one who loved to watch movies and eat ice cream and laugh at all his jokes.  The one who always had a hard time saying the Real Stuff out loud, who never quite got the right tone of voice to say "I love you" and didn't know what to think of a boy opening doors for her and offering to hold her purse.